Page 3 of Undercover Star
Chapter Two
At 4 a.m., London wasjust waking. The early morning colour wash, a few pedestrians clutching coffee in travel mugs, a couple of joggers, and the intermittent trickle of cars usually made an enjoyable backdrop to Matisse's morning workout.
Usually.
When he'd had at least a couple of hours sleep.
When his head wasn't full of the weirdest request ever.
When he wasn't mentally undressing one hunky detective inspector. Over and over, until his body was as confused as his mind.
The rowing machine gave his body a workout but left his mind free to wander. The Nordic skiing machine did, too, and a sweat-soaked hour later, Matisse called it quits on the exercise front. As distracted as he was, working out with free weights would be a recipe for injury. Matisse wasn't stupid enough to try.
He hid in the shower, spending far longer than usual under the hot spray. When he came out, he wasn't any calmer than he'd been when he went in. He also didn't have a clue how to explain the whole mess to his manager.
The detective superintendent hadn't mentioned a speeding fine when he'd asked for Matisse's cooperation. That didn't mean he wouldn't pull one out of his arse if Matisse didn't jump to.
Marissa was negotiating with the BBC for a contract Matisse wanted as he'd wanted few other things. Bad press would scare them right off, so he had little choice but to keep his head down, his mouth shut, and do as he was told.
And he had been told to meet up with Detective Inspector Ingram to... what? Drool?
Matisse's mind replayed broad shoulders and a defined chest, decorated by a rumpled blue-grey Henley. And jeans so snug Matisse imagined peeling them off with his teeth. Josh Ingram had probably been commando, too. No way could he fit briefs under denim so tight.
"And that really shouldn't be your fucking problem," he admonished himself loudly. "You shouldn't even be thinking about him. He isn't for you. Got that? Right. Then stop the crap and get to work."
He grabbed a coffee and headed into his studio, where the piano and his latest film score awaited his attention, only to spend the next two hours dreaming the time away while his fingers coaxed maudlin tunes from the keys.
It was all most annoying.
––––––––
DETECTIVE INSPECTORJosh Ingram had hidden himself away in a corner booth of the old-fashioned coffee shop, leaving Matisse to traipse through the whole place checking nooks and crannies, while being seen by everyone present. It was obvious Josh Ingram had no idea what could happen if Matisse was recognised.
"Morning," he grunted, disturbing Josh Ingram's perusal of the sports pages inThe Independent.
"Oh, hey, Rock Star."
Matisse breathed through his nose. "I told you yesterday, I don't do rock."
"You do sometimes."
