Ten minutes later, with Tilly clutching an almost life-size kangaroo soft toy—a gift from the zoo to Chris—they made their way to the harbour jetty and climbed aboard the luxurious motor yacht arranged by the studio.
“Well—” the actor smirked, lounging on the cockpit’s leather bench seat, “—that was one for the books. Thank God your paparazzi friend wasn’t there to capture it all, Rowan, or my reputation would be in serious danger.”
Beside Aslin, Rowan snorted. “You know, squirt, there’s a part of me that kinda wishes that had happened.”
Chris grinned. “Ah, shut up, sis. Or I’ll tell everyone on set what happened yesterday.”
Tilly lifted her face from the side of the plush kangaroo. “What happened yesterday?”
Rowan glared at her brother. “Nothing.”
Aslin forced his grin to stay away. He couldn’t however, stop his groin stirring. Even the thoroughly embarrassing arrival of Chris at his trailer and Rowan’s subsequent backward tumble through the door couldn’t taint the memory of making love to her for the first time. It was too potent. That they’d spent the night together only added to the powerful response in his body.
They’d travelled back to Aslin’s hotel room after filming finished for the day, hung the Do Not Disturb sign from the door knob and proceeded to get to know each other on a purely carnal level. He’d never come so many times in one night as he had last night. Thank sodding God, he was in peak physical condition or he’d be completely buggered now.
He’d just started to fall asleep when the morning sun began bathing his modest room in a warm golden glow. Opening his eyes, a smile had stretched his lips. Rowan still snuggled against him, her cheek resting on his chest, her thigh draped over his legs.
He’d let her stay that way, his gaze tracking the sunlight as it moved across the ceiling, as the realization he never wanted to share a bed with anyone else but her again crashed into him.
The notion of having sex with anyone else but Rowan had made his gut churn.
The thought of Rowan having sex with anyone else but him didn’t just make his gut churn, it made him…angry.
He’d stared at the ceiling, his heart thumping wildly in his chest, Rowan’s heat seeping into his body, his morning hard-on a steel rod of eager need, and bit back a shaky breath.
Falling in love with an American hadn’t been part of his plan when he’d left Murriundah. What the fuck did he do about it?
Now, standing on the motor yacht, the husky timbre of Rowan’s voice playing with his senses as she and Tilly and Chris talked amongst themselves, he still didn’t have an answer.
Nor did he have an answer about who was trying to hurt her.
He didn’t know what pissed him off more.
“Four more days of shooting before we pack up and move to Berlin.”
The sudden silence told Aslin he’d missed something important. He pulled his focus back to the three Americans sitting in the cockpit. “Sorry?”
Chris chuckled. “I said Nigel estimates we’ve only got four more days of shooting in Sydney left. If it all goes well, we’ll be flying to Berlin on Saturday.”
A cold tension stole through Aslin’s muscles. He flicked Rowan a quick look, doing his damnedest to keep his expression relaxed. Berlin?
Rowan wasn’t looking at him. She was studying the water around them, her shoulders square, her eyes hidden by black Ray Bans.
“What about you, Ms. Hemsworth?” Tilly frowned at Rowan’s profile. “Are you going to Berlin? Don’t you have a tournament in New Delhi to fight in next week?”
“Ah, shit, that’s right, sis.” Chris turned to his sister, his frown mirroring Tilly’s. “When do you fly out for that?” He waited for a second before sliding his gaze to Aslin. “Or are you not flying anywhere?”
Whatever answer Rowan was going to provide was halted by a group of women squealing Chris’s name from a yacht sailing past them. If she was going to answer at all. By the way she continued to stare out over the boat’s aft, her spine stiff, her jaw bunched, Aslin highly doubted a word was going to pass her lips.
He studied her, the thrum of the boat’s motor adding to the churning sensation in his gut.
Berlin. New Delhi.
She hadn’t mentioned New Delhi last night. Come to think of it, they’d hardly talked about anything last night. They’d fucked. Showered. Fucked some more. Ordered room service. Ignored the food as they went at it again. Picked at the cold burgers and chips while searching for something on the hotel movie service to watch before giving up any pretense of being restrained and fucking like rabbits again. Aslin drove his blunt nails into his palms. When, in amongst all that, had any chance of talking about their future plans popped up?