Copyright © 2018 by Hayden West
“Whoever is sending the threats is becoming bolder. You can’t ignore this any longer. You have to take it seriously.”
Mason “Rock” Stanton continued to stare up at the ceiling from where he lay on the couch in the suite. He began counting the swirls as he swung his left foot back and forth, skimming the plush carpet.
“How serious do you want me to be? I’m not cancelling my tour, people pay a lot of money for those tickets. The show must go on, as they say.”
His manager rolled his eyes and lobbed an orange from the mosaic bowl on the table. Rock snatched it out of the air. After rolling it around in one hand, he began peeling it, working diligently to get it off all in one piece.
“Stalkers would freak most people out.”
He raked a hand through his hair. Rock wasn’t like most people. Never had been. Growing up in a hugely abusive home, the thought of someone threatening him from a distance barely registered. To him they were nothing more than scared wimps who didn’t have the stones to face him and issue the threat to his face. The foster homes hadn’t been any better.
“If that’s the reaction he or she’s looking for, they should have picked another to be their intended victim.”
Jordan grunted. “At least you’re not ignoring this.”
Having finished peeling the orange, he popped a slice of the succulent fruit and bit down slowly, smiling as the juice spilled over his taste buds. Oranges were a weakness of his.
“It’s your job to worry about my safety. You do it so well I won’t play to the panic they want me to have, but I won’t argue with you about having extra security around.”
“Good, because it’s more than that.”
Rock paused but didn’t sit up, merely waited for his manger to continue.
“I’m assigning you a bodyguard.”
“You forgotten my security detail?”
“No, but this is different. You’re going to have a personal one as well.”
That information had him jackknifing to a sitting position. “I’m sorry, what?” Feet to the floor, he slanted his gaze toward Jordan who had his business expression on. “You know I like my privacy.”
“I don’t care, Mason.”
Shit. My real name, not my nickname. If I thought the expression was just for my own benefit this proves I was seriously fucking wrong.
Jordan continued, “You may be willing to play fast and loose with your life but I’mnot willing to do so.”
Mason hid his sigh. That wasn’t it at all. He had zero intention of doing that despite his devil may care attitude. Still it wasn’t worth his time trying to explain it all to his manager, so he shrugged and got to his feet.
“Whatever you think best, Jordan.”
Suspicion flowed in his manager’s gaze. Mason didn’t flinch.
“The bodyguard I hired.”
Mason ate the rest of his orange within a few bites, not speaking until he’d swallowed the last bit.
“Nope, no questions. You want him here, he’s here.”
Jordan gave him a rare smile. “Thank you. I’m glad, and I want you to meet him before we head home tonight.”
Not what I wanted to hear.
“Fine.” He began toward the door to his adjoining suite. “Let me know when he’s arrived.”
“He’s here now.”
Mason paused, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Where?”
“Waiting in my suite. I’ll get him.”
Great, now I have this shadow earlier. I thought I would be home before this starts.
Clenching his hand five times around the doorknob, he then turned back as if he didn’t want to crawl into the king-sized bed and yank the covers over his eyes and sleep. He’d gotten back from last night’s party no more than an hour ago. Bottom line, I’m fucking exhausted. While he’d not wanted to go, he had an image to uphold and maintain.
“Come out here, Mr. Culpitt.”
A shadow shifted in Jordan’s doorway before a man stepped into view.
Mason couldn’t begin to explain how pleased and grateful he was for having learned years ago not to show emotion. The man coming into view was everything his dreams and fantasies were made of. Gruff, bearded, muscular, and sexy as fuck walked through the doorway.
Christ, his dick began to thicken instantly. The broad-shouldered man stood beside Jordan, topping him by about three inches. His hair, a messy blend of darks and lights, his beard as well. Slashing eyebrows were above eyes of the richest green.
“Donavan Culpitt, this is Mason ‘Rock’ Stanton.”
Mason didn’t move while the man perused him.
One sharp nod. “Sir.”
That voice was sexy personified. He needed more for his dreams and long lonely nights when it was him and his hand.
“What are your credentials?”
“Airborne Ranger for years. Been in personal protection since.”
If his question had upset him, the man didn’t show it. “What am I supposed to call you?”
“Donavan is fine. Donavan. Mr. Culpitt. Up to you.” A lazy shrug rolled those massive shoulders.
He had a whole list of names he’d like to call him, but none were ones he should be mentioning now.
“Good to meet you. I’m going to bed.” He spun on his heel and marched into his suite where he shut the door behind him with far more force than necessary. He didn’t care. Right now, his cock was having a mutiny on his jeans doing its damnedest to escape.
Resting against the door for a moment, he rubbed himself through his jeans, needing the relief. A low moan escaped him at the pressure, and he clamped his mouth shut as he undid the single button on his jeans.
This is going to suck.
Wearing only his boxers, he made his way to the bed and slid between the sateen sheets, room dark and silent. With a groan, he curved his hand around his penis after freeing it from the opening in his boxers.