The Complete Rockstar Series

Gavin has no idea who this guy is. For all we know, he could be the stalker! Now I’m in for a long night because I’m sure as hell not going to leave him alone in the house with a random person who may or may not want to chop him up into little pieces. The security set up outside wouldn’t get to him in time if something were to happen.

I watch as the dark-haired guy climbs up on Gavin’s lap, straddling him. Long, thin fingers skate down the guy’s back, gripping his ass tight while they grind together.

Jesus. They can’t wait until we get back to Gavin’s house? The neck of my dress shirt is choking me. I dig my fingers in and pull, loosening my tie. It’s not enough. It feels as if I’m slowly suffocating. I have to swallow down a gag and focus on breathing.

I hadn’t planned on seeing a live sex show. And in a million years wouldn’t have guessed it would turn me on. The unexpectedness of that fact pisses me off, as does the hard cock in my pants.

When we get to the house, I hop out first, checking to make sure there isn’t a crazy person waiting to ambush Gavin. Of course Gavin doesn’t wait for me to finish my sweep. Instead, he stumbles out of the limo with what’s-his-name in tow, both of them giggling like the drunken idiots they are.

They shove past me to the front door and are inside before I can check for threats in the house.

“Christ,” I mutter under my breath.

I follow them inside and lock the deadbolt just in time to hear an upstairs door slam shut.

Fucking celebrities. This is why I don’t do this shit. Corporate bigwigs have more sense of self-preservation than spoiled rotten rock stars.

May as well finish my sweep of the house before settling in for a long night of babysitting.

First, I take off my jacket and hang it on a chair. Then I pull the knot out of my tie and slip it off, folding it up and sticking it in the jacket pocket. After loosening the top few buttons of my shirt, I still feel restricted, but less than before.

I move through the house to the back windows, looking out over the dark, deserted beach. Despite the lack of privacy, it’s beautiful. The moon is three-quarters full, so the sand and the waves glisten an eerie grey under the light. There’s not a soul to be seen. Not unexpected seeing as it’s—I pull out my phone and check the time—three-thirty in the morning.

Exhausted, I drag a hand down my face wondering if Gavin’s friend is going to stay all night. Something outside catches my eye. A faint shadow cast across the sand flickers.

Using small movements, I reach for my Glock. Thank god I haven’t turned any inside lights on yet. Hopefully, whoever is out there can’t see me. I turn the lock on the back door and slip outside, soundlessly closing it once I’m on the deck.

Sticking to dark shadows and corners, I creep down the stairs that separate the house from the sand. The back gate is locked and I realize I don’t have the key.

Bollocks!

I have to holster my weapon so I can climb over the six-foot privacy fence. When I drop to the other side, the soft sand makes a lot more noise than one would think. The shadow bolts.

“Hey!” I shout. “Stop!”

I give chase, following the black-clad figure down the paved path that parallels the shoreline. He’s too far ahead. He reaches a gap between two houses and ducks through and is gone by the time I catch up. I hurl myself down the narrow alley, coming out on the other side and darting into the street. All I see when I get there are the taillights of the fleeing car.

“Son of a bitch!” I put my hands on my hips, pissed that I let him get away.

When I realize that I left the back door to Gavin’s house unlocked, I hurry back the way I came. When I make my way back over the fence, I land hard on my knee, nearly busting my ass.

Standing, I wince in pain from the inevitable bruise that’s sure to form. My knee is going to hurt like hell for a few days.

I slide the Glock back out of its holster and hobble up the stairs of the deck. The lights are still off, so I can’t see much. I open the back door and peek inside, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. A quick sweep of downstairs proves futile.

Sighing, I realize I’ll have to check the upstairs as well. Where Gavin and his boy toy are currently getting it on. I pull at the neck of my shirt again. Jesus, it’s tight. I return the Glock and undo another button.

I bite the proverbial bullet and limp up the stairs, glancing around when I reach the landing. About half of the doors in the hall are open. Starting furthest from the master bedroom, I clear every room.

When I stop outside the final door, I hear moaning.

And grunting.

And slapping of flesh.

Wide eyed, I hurry back down the stairs as fast as my aching knee will allow, fleeing to the safety of the kitchen. I grab a Coke out of the fridge to keep me awake and an icepack out of the freezer and settle into one of the kitchen chairs with the ice balanced on my knee. It’s going to be a long night.

Gavin