My stomach cramps at the notion of some sick fuck crouched over him and watching blood bead and run over his skin from countless lacerations.“That sounds very much like something to be concerned about.”
He shrugs.“I’ve been sent worse.People proposition me with their insane fantasies all the time.All the stuff that they’d never dare suggest to a partner.Stuff they’d balk at doing if the opportunity actually arose to try it.”
I almost want him to elaborate and offer up specific examples, but what use will it serve me to be appalled?
“Unsolicited mail is one of the perks of the job.”He laughs at my stiffness, and dour expression.
“Yay, well then I’m glad that I’m not in the limelight.”
He reaches out, and for a moment, I swear he’s going to link our arms, only in the end he simply brushes his fingertips against the bare skin of my arm.“You’re going to be in the public glare all night.That is, unless you just happen to lose sight of me a time or two.”
“Ain’t happening.”We’re by the car now, a silver sedan with tinted windows and while said windows are wound up tight, that doesn’t mean Johns can’t hear us.“My instructions from Howard Falchard were very explicit.”I swear it’s as if three big neon pink X signs flash above Dylan’s head when I trip over the word explicit.“I’m not to leave your side under any circumstances.”I take a chance, and do link our arms, so that our sides brush against one another as we traverse the last few feet of tarmac.“Me and you, we’re going to be like this all night.”God help me!
God help us both.
Dylan wriggles his arm free of my grasp.“What about if I could hook you up with someone good?Someone you might actually have some fun with for the evening.Someone like Dare Wilde, perhaps?”
I shake my head.“No thanks.Never been a Wilde fan.”
“Not your type?”He squints as he assesses me.“Really?Are you a robot, Ms.Wells?”
“It’s Carter-Wells, or Kira,” I correct him.
“Yeah, but come on, what woman doesn’t get wet panties over the notion of cosying up with Dare Wilde?”
“Me,” I reiterate.
He considers this with his eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed into a moue.“So what, are you into women?”
“No.”If there’s a sharpness to my tone that causes him to flinch, then it’s no less than he deserves.“I just don’t happen to find irresponsible playboys terribly enthralling.”
Unless they happen to be irresponsible playboys who are also gay and happen to be called Dylan Drake.
I’ve always found him more interesting than Dare, right back to their first movie outing together inSunsetters.
“It’s going to be a serious drag having you lurking about all night.Though I’m sure you’re a lovely person, you’re totally going to cramp my style.”
“Yeah, well get used to it, buddy.I’m not going anywhere.I’ll be doing exactly what I’m being paid to do, until Howard Falchard says otherwise.”
“Fucking Falchard,” he mutters under his breath as he wrenches open the rear door of the sedan.He ducks inside, while I open the front passenger side door.Johns already has the engine running.
“Ride with him, Kira.”Falchard barks at me through my earpiece.He must be up in the surveillance room to know where we are.“I need you right beside him, stuck to him like you’ve beenNo Nails-ed to his bloody sleeve.This isn’t just about keeping a sicko at bay, there’s a multi-million dollar contract with the studio riding on how well we look after him tonight.You don’t just need to keep him safe, he needs to stay scandal free.”
Sounds as if Dylan’s belief this is more about studio meddling than a genuine threat might not be too far off the mark.Though what sort of scandal he’s supposed to create at a charity dinner, I don’t know.It’s not as if his orientation is news.His sexual preferences are a matter of public record, and it’s not like the studio can stuff him back in the closet and then go, “Surprise!Guess what, he’s still gay.”
I close the front passenger side door, and reach for the rear handle.I was banking on a little distance between us on the journey to get my wayward thoughts together.So much for that.
“Hurry it up,” Howard barks in my ear.“Get going now.”
It becomes apparent why as I settle in the rear seat.There’s a lone man approaching across the dingily-lit concrete tomb.A man I’m guessing is top of Howard’s keep-Dylan-away-from-that-shit list.
To be fair, Adam Bask is a controversy waiting to happen.His career has tanked spectacularly over the last eighteen months, but a nice tasty bit of gossip about a relationship with Dylan will get him a lot of talk show airtime.Johns hits the central locking, the moment I close the door, before Bask attempts to carpool.
“Buckle up,” I order Dylan.The fucker ignores me, his gaze fixed on the figure of Adam Bask as he strides towards us, in his Terylene shirt.
“Get us moving, Johns.”
I lean over Dylan in order to grab the belt and strap him in.He jerks to attention when I get up close, and stares at me aghast, like he can’t believe I’m touching him.“Your seatbelt.”
