The Complete Rockstar Series

“Send him in please, Donna.” Ross stands and adjusts his suit, straightening out the cuffs and fixing his expensive tie until it lays just so.

I rake a hand over my hair, but it’s pointless. I’m lucky I bothered to shower this morning after my company left. I’m sure I look like shit—with the lack of sleep and the constant stress I’m surprised I don’t look worse.

Good genes, I guess. I frown at the thought of my father.

I can hear Donna outside. “Go right on in.”

The door opens and a man enters. No, not just a man. A gorgeous man. Stunning, actually. For the second time in five minutes, my jaw hangs open.

The man is a study in opposites. His hair, swept back from his face and so dark it’s nearly black, is paired with bright slate grey eyes, a color I’ve never seen before. He looks rugged and dangerous, as if he could kill a man with his bare hands. Yet he’s wearing a tailored and expensive charcoal grey suit that showcases his body to perfection. He’s rough and he’s polished.

And I can’t stop staring.

“Mr. Hale, thank you so much for coming on such short notice.”

Ross has circled the table and is shaking the man’s hand.

“Call me Mitch, please.”

Jesus, even his voice is hot. Deep and silky, it’s as smooth as fine whiskey.

“This is Gavin Walker,” Ross introduces me, stepping aside.

It takes both of them staring at me and an uncomfortably long silence for me to realize I’m still gawking. Embarrassed, I snap my mouth shut.

“Sorry.” Jumping up from my chair, I extend a hand. “Gavin Walker. Thanks for coming.”

He clasps his hand around mine, large and hot and coarse, and pumps it firmly. “Mitch Hale, good to meet you. Wish it were under better circumstances.”

He smiles and I have the sudden urge to rub myself all over his beautiful, hard body. Heat spreads up from our joined hands, sending a flush of pleasure over my skin.

Mitch clears his throat and glances down where I’m still clutching his hand. Shit. I let go, flinching back in humiliation. I jam my hand into the pocket of my jeans, fingering the smooth, heart-shaped stone I keep there.

“Let’s sit.” Ross directs Mitch to the conference table. “Drink?”

Mitch holds up a hand. “I’m good.” I catch the slightest twitch in one of Mitch’s intriguing eyes.

“Okay. Here is the file we have so far.” Ross pushes a folder across the table.

Mitch opens it, scanning the contents. Waiting for him to read about the stalker that’s been harassing me is humiliating, yet it gives me a chance to study the man further. I should resist staring, but I can’t. He’s too gorgeous to ignore.

I flick my gaze over to Ross, who is busy returning emails on his laptop. Good. I don’t want Ross to catch me ogling the new guy. When my eyes land back on Mitch, I have to hold in a groan.

This guy is trying to kill me.

As he flips through the pages in the file—photos, descriptions, police reports—the end of his very wet, very pink tongue pokes out between his lips. Every once in a while, it sneaks back in so he can pull that lush red bottom lip between his teeth, biting on it in concentration.

Jesus. As subtly as I can, I shift on the chair to adjust the semi pressing against my pants.

More contradictions. That tongue, the biting of the lip, both so playful and innocent against the serious image he projects with the suit and the perfectly styled hair and the—I inhale deeply—hint of designer aftershave.

Suddenly, Mitch closes the folder and sits up, folding his hands on top of it. I jerk away, sitting back in my chair instead of leaning halfway over the table like a besotted teenage girl.

“This man is not to be taken lightly,” he cautions, his intelligent gaze traveling back and forth between Ross’ and mine.

Ross closes his laptop, giving Mitch his full attention. “We’re not taking it lightly. Gavin has security with him at all times since the…” Ross glances at me, “the incident in New York.”

“And before that?” Mitch asks. I stare at the hard line of his jaw then drop my eyes down to the curve of his throat where it disappears into the top of his crisp dress shirt. I pray that he doesn’t see the way my hands shake or the heat prickling my face as lust washes over me.