A thick lump filled her throat and she turned away from Aslin.
“C’mon,” she snarled, storming for the door. “I want to see my brother.”
If Aslin noticed her abrupt shift in mood, he didn’t comment. She almost wished he would. If he did, if he tried to cajole it out of her in the elevator ride down to the hotel foyer, it would give her an excuse to slam him against the wall and tell him to back the fuck off. Instead, he stood beside her, silent. His towering presence made her feel small and woefully vulnerable even as his undeniable maleness made her ache for his touch and wish he’d carried out his threat and stripped her bare back up in Chris’s suite.
Oh God, she was messed up.
She refused to cling to him on his bike. It was tricky. For one thing, they were moving through the Sydney streets during rush hour traffic. Aslin was constantly accelerating and braking, the G-forces throwing her backward and forward on the pillion passenger seat. For another, he smelled so damn good. This close, with her breasts brushing at his broad back, she breathed in the subtleness of his scent—sandalwood soap, leather and something else. Something perfect, intoxicating, addictive and uniquely him.
Even with the helmet’s visor down, she could smell him.
It infuriated her.
It aroused her.
When they finally drove through the gate at the film site, pausing briefly as Aslin flashed their security passes at the waiting guard, she was damn near giddy with sucking in breath after deep breath.
He’d barely brought the bike to a halt in front of Chris’s trailer when she threw her leg over the back and hurried for the open door of her brother’s on-site abode.
She tried to tell herself it was anxious impatience to see Chris that made her behave so ridiculously.
Aslin’s laugh behind her—low and far too knowing—told her she wasn’t fooling anyone.
She drove her nails into her palms and vaulted up into the trailer, determined to ignore the annoying Brit. Only to discover Chris wasn’t there.
“He’s on set, Rowan.” Aslin’s deep voice played over her senses, his breath warm on the side of her neck as he entered the trailer after her. “On the other side of the site in the old convict dormitories. No doubt waiting for us.”
She spun to glare up at him, her heart racing too damn fast for her liking. “Then why did we come here?”
“So I could do this.”
Before she could do anything—and with reflexes as fast as hers, she should have been able to do something—his hands came up to cup her face and he brushed his lips over hers.
She froze, the gentle beauty of the simple kiss stealing any ability in her to move.
When he straightened, her breath caught at the raw desire in his eyes. There was nothing arrogant, dominating, threatening or confusing about it. Just pure desire.
Her belly knotted. Her sex grew thick with wet need.
“I know I could take you here and now, Rowan,” he murmured, tracing her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb in a slow stroke. “I can feel your need in your body, see it in your face, but I won’t. I’ll wait. Fuck knows how I’ll find the control, but I’ll wait. Until you tell me to take you.”
She gazed up at him, unable to draw breath.
“And when you do—” the desire in his stare turned molten, “—I’ll unleash my control and nothing will stop me. Do you understand?”
She nodded. A single dip of her head.
Aslin smiled. “Good. Now let’s go find your brother.”
He stepped aside, holding out his arm toward the open door.
The pit of Rowan’s belly churned. For a split second, she wanted to say “to hell with my brother”, but the moment the thought formed in her mind—like the softest of whispers—prickling guilt and self-disgust rushed through her. She turned and hurried for the door, practically leaping down the steps to ground.
Only to bump into a woman with dyed-red hair wearing a skin-tight Chris Huntley T-shirt.
Rowan stumbled back, her cheeks flushing with heat as she smiled an apology at the older woman. “I’m sorry. I should look where I’m—”
“How did you get past security?”
Rowan jumped at Aslin’s growl. As did the woman. The blood drained from her makeup-caked face. Her stare snapped up to the Brit where he stood in the trailer’s open doorway. “Damn it,” she muttered, a second before she spun on her heel and bolted.
Rowan blinked. “What the fuck?”
She turned to look at Aslin, just in time to see him launch himself from the top step. He sprinted past her, a chilling expression on his face, his jaw set.
The woman ran fast. Aslin ran faster. If the situation hadn’t been so bizarre, Rowan would have been impressed by his phenomenal speed and grace. He caught up with the fleeing woman in no time at all, snaring her arm with one hand and yanking her to a halt.