Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 125248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
He was already in love with them.
Roxie followed him room to room, placing herself between him and any new person who entered. Ranger always sat near whichever open door or window he wanted.
God had allowed him to go back home a little over a week ago, and he did feel a lot safer than before.
Not fearless, but safe.
Things had been quiet since he’d resumed filming, so that helped, but God and Day insisted his detail remain on high alert until the police made an arrest.
Cassidy had been staying in the guest room…except at night.
Cassidy would work late sometimes, reviewing reports in the reading chair near the window while Xander pretended to watch television and not him. Some nights they talked and others, they touched.
They hadn’t made love yet, which was still a mystery to him.
The desire between them was so real.
Every accidental brush, late-night kiss that started gentle and ended with him breathless beneath Cassidy, fingers buried in his hair, aching with want.
Cassidy knew exactly how to make him lose his damn mind. He knew where to put his mouth, how much pressure made him arch into it, when to slow down, when to stop, when to wrap a hand around the back of his neck and murmur against his skin until Xander forgot where he was.
But Cassidy never let hunger overrule him. He was so mature in a way Xander had never experienced.
Cassidy cared more about him and his well-being, before satisfying himself.
He cared if he was too tired to climb the stairs after a long day. On the nights he came home hollow-eyed and overstimulated, Cassidy kept his hands gentle and his voice low. He never demanded conversation from him when silence was all he had left.
One evening, Cassidy had taken one look at him, shut off the downstairs lights, and guided him toward the bedroom with a hand at the small of his back. He’d tugged off his shoes, peeled away the parts of the day piece by piece, and ran him a hot bath.
He cared whether he’d eaten after a long shoot day. Twice he’d cooked scrambled eggs and toast for him because that was all he knew how to make.
Cassidy hadn’t been lying when he said he couldn’t cook. The man’s oatmeal had almost choked him.
They jogged together three mornings in the canyon, though “together” was being generous because two of those days, he’d nearly passed out into a shrub at mile one. On the third day, he’d lost focus and face-planted into a patch of rough grass.
Maybe if he’d been paying attention to his own form and not Cassidy’s strong thighs in his loose running shorts, he wouldn’t’ve tripped over that tree root.
“Good Lord, Xander.”
Xander snapped back to the bedroom.
Malik was staring at him in the mirror as if he’d sprouted horns.
Xander’s smile returned so wide his jaws ached.
“What?”
Malik pointed the comb at his reflection. “Damn, you got it bad.”
“I do not.”
“You just floated away for like five minutes.”
Maya, another stylist, laughed near the garment rack.
Xander rolled his eyes. “Can we please finish getting me dressed?”
“Sure,” Malik said. “But I’m gonna figure out who your secret lover is.”
“He’s not my secret lover.”
“Then why are you blushing?”
“I’m warm.”
“You’re in underwear and socks.”
Xander groaned. “I’m firing all of you.”
Roxie got up when Xander moved toward the dressing platform, staying tight at his heel. Ranger stood from the window and followed at a slower pace, taking up position near the patio doors.
The tuxedo waited on a mannequin near the full-length mirror.
Dom Ford had sent a custom design for the Golden Crown Awards. The first was classic and fierce. Black tuxedo jacket, satin peak lapels, white dress shirt, black bow tie, and a subtle midnight-blue lining embroidered with silver thread.
The second change for the afterparties was Gucci, a bit sexier and daring, soft black velvet with a low-cut silk shirt and a long-line jacket.
Xander stepped into it with help from the team, letting their hands adjust, button, smooth, and doublecheck every inch.
Malik finished his hair last, brushing the deep blond waves back with just enough structure to keep them controlled without making him look manufactured.
When they turned him toward the mirror, the room became quieter for half a second.
Xander stared at himself.
Full-bodied, not some narrow, carved, fake-tanned thing Hollywood kept pretending leading men should be. He had pale skin, was soft along the jaw, his eyes brightened by the thinnest line of kohl possible on his tear line and clear mascara on his lashes.
His team had outdone themselves.
The tux made him look powerful in a way he hadn’t expected.
Malik’s voice gentled. “Just look at you.”
Xander swallowed around the sudden knot in his throat. “Do I look okay?”
Maya made a sharp sound. “Okay?”
Malik stepped up beside him. “You’ll illuminate that red carpet.”
“I bet you say that to all your clients.” Xander laughed, his eyes burning.