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CHAPTER SEVEN

ICEMAN

S omewhere between getting pissy with Saint for making me want her so fucking much that my wayward dick kept hardening whenever she threw a smile my way and pinning Jonny ‘fuckwit’ Jansen up against the wall by the throat, I’d decided that me and the sexy little rock star needed to have a talk.

My aim was to do that on the way home from the studios, but Colt had other ideas when he called me to discuss the profile the FBI had put together on Saint’s stalker.

Colt was right; it was a straight male, aged between thirty and forty, and he had money. He was successful, confident, entitled, and thought the world owed him something.

Basically, the majority of the male population of Hollywood.

By the time Colt hung up, we were already at Saint’s beach house, and she’d wandered upstairs to get ready.

While she was out of the way, I checked the alarms and cameras and made sure the motion sensors were all working as they should be.

Then I took in a delivery of a fuck ton of dresses for her before hustling to my room to grab a shower .

I stepped under the hot spray, the water cascading over my tense muscles and washing away the day’s frustration. The second I heard Jonny J call Saint a cunt, I saw red. I didn’t remember how I got to him. All I recalled was how the devil himself couldn’t have held me back.

I was nowhere near over Saint, but that wasn’t exactly a shocker. If I were honest with myself, I was aware of my lingering feelings even before yesterday when I stepped foot in her house and saw her again for the first time in two years.

Her vibrancy and energy had stayed with me over the time we were apart. I knew exactly how Jonny J must have felt an hour before with my hand wrapped around his neck, because Saint had me in the exact same chokehold, though mine was emotional.

I struggled to think straight whenever she was around me, but the irony was that I also struggled to think straight when she wasn’t.

As the steam filled the bathroom, I couldn’t shake the image of her face from my mind.

Her azure blue eyes and pretty pillowy lips, her clear, olive skin, and the intelligence behind her eyes.

But more than anything, her vulnerable heart and her poet’s soul affected me in ways that sent me off-kilter.

I got hard just thinking of her face.

I’d been looking for Saint in other women, and for two years, I’d never found anything that came close.

Sex was meaningless and empty, but necessary for me to get through the night without waking up in a cold sweat.

But even then, I needed it to be extreme to get hard because if I couldn’t have intimacy, I could only deal with kink.

My dick hardened to steel, and my hand slipped down to grip the base with my fingers.

It didn’t take long for my thoughts to regress to the night I spent with Saint two years before. Memories played like a movie in my head, and I let out a low groan while fisting my cock.

Saint’s little mewls and sexy noises floated through my mind, along with her musical voice begging me to slide deeper and telling me how good I felt when I moved inside her.

My grip tightened, and I twisted my hand a little as I beat my fist up and down, my thigh muscles rippling with the force of my body’s reaction to my dirty thoughts.

I’d never let myself remember before because it hurt too much. But now the floodgates were open, I let it all come back to me. The taste of Saint’s skin, her quivering pussy, how good the tight slickness of her cunt felt when it gripped my cock, and how I saw stars when she milked the cum from me.

My free hand pressed against the glass shower cubicle, and I bowed my head, gritting my teeth as I felt my balls draw up and my dick swell. “Fuck!” I groaned as my hips bucked into my hand while cum erupted from my cock like a hot geyser.

Everything pulsed—my dick, balls, even my thighs from the force of my orgasm.

Ropes of cum coated my fingers along with the glass walls of the shower cubicle, and I gripped the base harder, squeezing and tugging while I milked out every drop.

With a low moan, I tipped my head back and let the spray of the water clean my body. Finally, I released my dick, grabbed my shower gel, and wiped the remnants of my mess away, making sure it all disappeared down the drain.

I hadn’t come that hard or fast for a long-damned time, but at least I knew I’d be able to get through the night without dragging Saint somewhere dark and quiet so I could lift her skirt, bend her against a wall, and show her all the good she’d walked away from .

We needed an honest conversation and a come-to-Jesus moment.

We also needed a day in bed so we could reconnect.

But before that happened, we needed to sit down and hash out what her fucking problem was and why she ghosted my ass when it was obvious we felt something deep for each other.

And whether she liked it or not, it was gonna happen tonight.

—————

Staring in the mirror, I gave myself a final once-over before grabbing my watch and fastening it to my wrist. My suit was sharp, but then that was how Tom Ford made them, and one thing Hendrix didn’t want us to cut back on was looking well-turned-out and professional.

For years, I’d lived in uniforms, first in the US Air Force, then in my motorcycle club, but unlike most other bikers, I liked putting a suit on occasionally. Maybe it was why I enjoyed working in close personal protection. I liked the social aspect of it.

Tonight’s uniform was a black shirt—no tie—and a black suit.

Our clothing changed depending on the time of day, what we were doing, and the event we were attending.

Like today, we were hanging out in the recording studio, so it was more casual attire in black pants and tees.

Now, it was a party for a rock band, so ties and waistcoats would’ve been over the top.

However, we still had to look the part and represent SDSS professionally.

Slipping my cell into my inside pocket and my Ruger LC9 into my body holster, I turned for the door.

Saint had spoiled me with the accommodation.

My room was huge with a super-king bed and a sixty-inch flat-screen TV with surround sound.

I also had my own private, luxurious en suite bathroom, which was just as well considering the dirty little mess I’d made of it earlier.

I entered the hallway and casually jogged down the stairs into the reception area of Saint’s house.

The place was large, light, and airy, with big rooms, huge, low-slung, soft couches, white walls, and high ceilings.

The kitchen and family rooms that led onto the beach at the back had wall-to-wall windows made the most of the ocean views, but also presented a security nightmare.

After we talked about ‘us’, Saint and I needed to discuss moving her out of the house for a while. She told me earlier that rehearsals were almost done, and they had the new songs down, so the band wanted to take a week off before they went to New York to record the album.

I wanted to whisk her away somewhere, a road trip maybe.

We’d lost a lot of time and needed to make the effort to get to know each other without any distractions.

Saint’s life was so goddamned complicated, and just for a few days, I wanted to show her that it didn’t have to be, and after our conversation in her kitchen the day before about the pressures of her job, I just wanted her to take time to relax, recharge her batteries.

And eat.

There was a car service picking us up to take us to the venue that Talia had arranged, so when the doorbell rang, I stalked straight toward it.

“Car’s here,” I yelled up the stairs as I moved across the entrance hall.

“Be right down,” she yelled back.

Undoing the bolts, I swung the door open to reveal who I thought was the driver.

Instead, I froze, my eyes fixating on a familiar, bearded face, dazzling white teeth flashing as he grinned from ear to ear.

Except the feeling of familiarity wasn’t from somebody I’d met before or even knew.

It was from a guy I’d watched fly spaceships, shoot at aliens, battle the forces of evil, and save the Earth from destruction more than a few times.

Hunter Page. Action hero. Heartthrob. Adored by men and women worldwide.

And Saint’s rumored boyfriend.

What the fuck?

A low growl escaped my throat.

I was just about to order him to get the fuck out of there and never darken my woman’s door again when Saint’s voice squealed, “You’re here!”

Hunter Page’s dark, brooding gaze settled somewhere over my shoulder, and his mouth curved into a wide grin. His stare scanned down, then back up again. “Fuck me, baby. You look like a wet dream.”

Slowly, I craned my neck, and my entire body jerked.

Saint glided down the stairs toward us and fuck me if the sight of her didn’t make me almost swallow my tongue.

She wore a slip of a silvery pink sequin dress that hit her thighs just below the cheeks of her ass.

The top of it was a halterneck, and the neckline draped loosely to show an expanse of smooth, glowing, firm cleavage.

The top part of her long, black hair was slicked back from her face and pinned up to give it height, while the bottom half cascaded down her back.

Her eye makeup was dark, smoky, and sexy.

My woman’s mouth was pale pink and so damned juicy-looking that I couldn’t stop the dirty images of sliding my cock between those glossed-up lips from stabbing through my mind.

It hit me then how much I hated Hunter Page with every drop of blood that flowed through my veins, but the asshat was correct about one thing.

Saint did indeed look like a wet dream.

Fuck me .

Fuck me.

Heat crawled up my neck, and I cracked it from side to side, my eyes never leaving the sex-kitten who strutted toward us on sky-high silver sandals with straps that crisscrossed up her ankle.

My mouth filled with saliva as Saint’s eyes met mine and held.