Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7)

by Lexxie Couper

  Tight heat coiled in Jax’s gut. He grunted. “I’m not rudderless. I’m living the life, the dream. I’m—”

  “Lost,” Nick cut him off. “And one of these days, you’re going to realize it. Just don’t let it be too late or you’ll miss out on the best thing in your life.”

  A surreal tension gripped Jax’s temples. A heavy weight wrapped his chest.

  Nick laughed. “I love you, Campbell. You’re the younger brother I was denied. So I’m allowed to tell you when you’re being a dick. And right now, denying what you and Nat had—and still have, based on the electricity I saw arcing between you back in her office—that’s you being a dick.” He rose to his feet, his eyes dancing with a perceptive mirth. “Take it from someone who knows.”

  Before Jax could find any kind of response, like a denial he and Nat had anything more than combustible sexual chemistry, Nick gave a nod. “Now I gotta go. Lauren doesn’t know why I came to Sydney today. She thinks I’m searching for the perfect first birthday present for Chloe. Which means I’ve gotta find that present before I head back home.” He grinned. “And before you tell me you’re living the life because you don’t have to deal with stuff like this, let me tell you I love stuff like this. It’s what makes every day worth waking to. Knowing the people you love are living their lives with you, that you are a part of something more than just your own existence…”

  Jax stared at him, the pressure on his temples and chest tighter.

  A surreal memory slipped through his mind, catching his breath. His parents lecturing him the day after he and Nat separated. Telling him she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, how much they loved her. That he was an idiot for throwing what he had with her away. “She made you more, Jaxon,” his mother had proclaimed, disapproving disappointment in her eyes. “I know the band is on the verge of becoming very successful, and I know you’re not my baby anymore, but I’m allowed to tell you these things. Natalie made you more. When you started dating her, the young man I always knew you were came out. A man not focused only on his own selfish life and whims, but on the world around him and where he fit into it. I like that man a lot. And so did Natalie.”

  He’d laughed away her soft rebuke, telling her he was fine. Telling her that he and Nat were never anything but fuck-buddies.

  “Fuck-buddies my arse,” his dad had growled. “She loved you. And you loved her, even if you were too self-absorbed to realize it. And now you’ve gone and thrown it away. Because that’s how you deal with difficult things, son. Hard things. By shrugging them off and pretending they never mattered in the first place. You may be a gifted musician, Jaxon, but sometimes you’re a shit human.”

  The long-repressed memory taunted Jax now. Mocked him.

  He swallowed, gut clenching. He’d told his dad to mind his own business back then. Had hugged his parents and told them he was going to be okay, and so was Nat. Had spent the next twenty-one years showing them and the world just how okay he was.

  But was he? Really? If he was okay, why was he suddenly feeling…whatever it was he was feeling for Nat after only a few moments in her company?

  On the other side of the table, Nick chuckled. “This is the first time I’ve ever seen you lost for words, Campbell. I like it.” He scooped his leather jacket from the back of his chair and shucked it on. “Thanks for lunch. Next time I expect to see Natalie with you.”

  And with that, Nick left, strolling through the restaurant, waving and nodding to those who recognized him as he did so. The world’s biggest rock star, now just a normal guy missing his wife. Albeit, a normal guy with a great big bodyguard hired just for the day waiting for him at the restaurant door.

  Jax frowned, his gut a churning mess of conflicted confusion? Was Nick correct about him? Was he lost? Was that why the second he’d seen Nat in her office he’d instantly felt wonderful? Not just horny at how beautiful she was, but happy?

  Surely not. That would mean he’d spent the last twenty-one years of his life fucking around, in more than the physical sense, and he hadn’t done that. Had he? Was there any sin in being horny? In partying?

  True, he wasn’t as young as he used to be. Shit, forty-two was only eleven months away, but that didn’t mean he had to put himself out to pasture, did it?

  An image filled his head, one of him and Nat curled up together—fully dressed—on a sofa, the faint-blue flicker cast by a television set illuminating their contented faces.

  “Jesus,” he muttered, dragging his fingers through his hair as he pushed himself to his feet. “That’s just fucking scary.”

  And fully dressed? Him and Nat on a sofa fully dressed? No way. No fucking way, in fact. The only way he and Nat would be on a sofa together was naked as the day they were born, slicked with sweat, her straddling his hips as he pounded up into her, her nipple in his mouth, her nails scoring his flesh, her dirty sex talk he loved hearing so much turning the air blue.

  Liquid heat flowed into Jax’s groin at that thought. That one, not the domestic-bliss thought. No way was that what he wanted with Nat. What he wanted with Nat was wild, uninhibited fucking. Raw, no-holds-barred fucking.

  Now. Right now.

  Shooting his watch a glance, he smirked. Screw waiting for tomorrow. He was heading back to the Con and getting Nat’s challenge started. Sex on the desk. He’d walk into her office, sweep everything from the top of her desk, yank her out of her chair and pin her flat on her back atop the mahogany surface. He’d spread her glorious thighs and make her come with his tongue before wrapping her legs around his hips and burying himself to hilt in her sweet, tight, hot, wet—

  His cock twitched in his jeans, beyond semi-erect.

  Letting out a low chuckle, he adjusted the rigid pole and crossed the restaurant.

  His bodyguard met him at the door, intimidating and serious and silent.

  “Bruce,” Jax said, sliding his Ray-Bans onto his face against the beaming afternoon sun. “I’m giving you the afternoon off.”

  “Sir?”

  “Go be free for the afternoon. See a movie. Hit the art galleries. Shit, go scare teenagers at the train station. Do whatever it is you do when you’re not guarding my body. My body is going to be otherwise engaged for the rest of the day.”

  Bruce studied him.

  Jax grinned.

  Bruce continued to study him, expression unchanging. “I don’t think that’s wise, Mr. Campbell.”

  Jax grinned some more. “Fucking oath it’s not wise. But I’m doing it. Many times, if I can convince her to lock the door.”

  A tick flickered beneath Bruce’s right eye.

  “C’mon, Bruce. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

  “Stalker. Crazy fan. Furious father. Paternity suit. Court summons. Kidnap. Abduction.”

  Jax laughed and slapped his bodyguard on the granite boulder disguised as a shoulder. “Alien invasion. Apocalypse. Yeah, yeah. You worry too much. No one’s been after me for years.”

  “Says the man who spent yesterday morning running from an irate father.”

  Jax preened. “You say the nicest things. Now fuck off. I’m heading back to the Con. I’ll see you later tonight. That thing…” He clicked his fingers, trying to remember the appearance his agent had arranged upon learning he was going to be in Sydney.

  “The red-carpet opening of the new George Clooney movie?” Bruce suggested.

  Jax slapped him again. “That’s it. See you back at the hotel before that.”

  And before his bodyguard could offer any more rational protests to his departure, he turned and headed for the bright-orange Aston Martin he’d hired for his stay in Sydney.

  “Mr. Potter?” Bruce called, employing the name Jax used in public when trying to keep his identity unknown.

  Jax pivoted on his heel, raising a questioning eyebrow at the man. “Yeah?”

  “Use protection.”

  Jax burst out laughing.

  Somewhat ignoring the speed limit, he arrived at the Sy
dney Conservatorium of Music almost half an hour later. His arousal hadn’t abated. In fact, all he could think about for the entire drive was Nat, her hot, lush body and the way she gave herself over, 150 percent, to pleasure.

  Bringing the Aston Martin to a halt in the visitor’s parking lot, he killed the engine, raked his fingers through his hair and checked his teeth in the rearview mirror for any leftover lunch.

  Nope. He was good. Ready to roll.

  Ready to take Nat by surprise and rock her world.

  His heart thumped faster in his chest, sending fresh, eager blood to his groin.

  With another quick adjustment of his package, he climbed from the rental and made his way to Nat’s office.

  More than one student recognized him as he passed. Thankfully, none tried to slow him down, kidnap him, abduct him or present him with a paternity suit. He wasn’t surprised. He knew for a fact there were students enrolled here with a parental unit or two more famous than he. Josh Blackthorne, for one. It didn’t worry his ego in the slightest. In fact, it was a nice change.

  By the time he made it to Nat’s office, the grin on his face was as wide as the wood in his pants was long.

  Dropping a wink at Nat’s cute secretary, he crossed to the closed door leading to Nat’s inner work sanctum. “Just going to wait for Boxhead,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  The cutie half-rose to her feet. “Ms. Thorton isn’t in there at the moment, sir.”

  He faltered. For half a heartbeat. “That’s okay. I don’t mind waiting.”

  “But—”

  He gave her another wink, body thrumming. “It’s all good, trust me. Nat and I go way back.”

  He closed the door on her incredulous expression. His heart kicked up a notch.

  Pressing his back to the door, he ran a slow gaze over the interior of Nat’s office.

  It said a lot about her, things he remembered with warm fondness. Despite her position of authority and success, the room was modest and minimalistic and at the same time timeless and tasteful. There was a massive framed photo of the music conservatory on the far wall. On another wall were two pieces of abstract art he recognized as being created by her brother, Brogan, one of Australia’s most revered artists. The other two walls contained all of Nat’s various degrees, framed in the same rich, deep-red as her desk.

  She had a lot of them. Seemed she’d spent most of her life studying since they’d parted.

  Pride swelled through him. She’d always been the smart one of the two of them. The achiever. When they were both students at Sydney University—she studying music and education, him studying just music—she’d always earned distinctions on every test and assignment, while he’d barely scraped in with pass marks. He’d been too busy thinking about her most of the time to concentrate on his work. As an excuse for not living up to his true potential, it was a good one.

  Letting out a soft chuckle at the memories, he moved his gaze to the piece of furniture dominating the room.

  A smile pulled at his lips.

  Perfect. The mahogany desk was wide, sturdy and uncluttered. On its surface sat a laptop, opened, a few pens and an iPod dock, complete with iPod. The laptop and pens would be easy to move. The iPod and dock would, no doubt, provide the perfect soundtrack to his plans.

  Body thrumming with anticipation, he pushed himself from the door and, releasing his belt buckle as he went, made his way to her desk.

  Slipping his belt free of the loops on his jeans with one hand, he tapped on the track pad of her laptop, waking the computer.

  An image of the Con taken at dusk filled the screen.

  Jax screwed up his mouth. Damn, that was boring. Hmmm, not at all what the Nat he knew would have had on her laptop. That Nat would have had—and did have, all those years ago—an image of some hot guy. In fact, when they’d gone their separate ways, he was pretty sure she had an image of a half-naked Hugh Jackman on her laptop. Where had that Nat gone?

  Yanking his shirt free of his waistband, he moved his attention to the iPod in its dock. With a quick jab of his finger, he turned the dock on.

  A low hum filled the room as the Bang and Olufsen speakers activated.

  Jax nodded his approval, removed his shirt, tossed it over his shoulder, and then, while toeing his boots off his feet, scrolled through her recently played playlist.

  “Ahh, there’s the Nat I know,” he murmured, a warm flutter of delight dancing deep in his gut.

  The top ten songs were all Nick Blackthorne songs, followed by five AC/DC songs, a few Bon Jovi and four Guns N’ Roses tracks.

  Pressing his thumb to the first song on the list—Nick’s “Glass Houses”—he smiled as the music he knew with every fibre in his body flooded the room.

  He smiled, closed his eyes and shucked his jeans down his legs.

  The cool, environmentally controlled air of Nat’s office licked over his naked body. His cock, hard and mightily erect, reacted a little to the temperature change before recovering with impressive steel.

  Jax scratched at his belly, positioned Nat’s plush, leather seat exactly where he wanted it and plonked his naked arse squarely onto it.

  His balls rose up at the sudden impact and then settled back where they belonged. With a satisfied grunt, he leant back in the chair, threaded his fingers behind his head and crossed his ankles on the edge of Nat’s desk.

  Ready.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  A few moments later, Nat walked through the door.

  “Hey, Boxhead,” he murmured, wrapping his hand around his still mightily erect dick.

  Nat snapped to a halt. She stared at him, at his cock, back at him again, her mouth wide. And then let out a squeaking yelp as a tall man in an impeccable suit and hipster horn-rimmed glasses walked straight into her back.

  Jax blinked. Well fuck, he hadn’t expected this.

  “What are you doing, Natalie?” the hipster muttered, crouching down to collect the papers he’d dropped when he’d collided with her back.

  Nat didn’t answer him. Her stare didn’t leave Jax. He stared back, grin wide, and wriggled his toes.

  “Ummm…” she croaked, remaining motionless.

  From the level of her knees, Mr. Horn-rims clucked with disapproval. “You knew I was right behind you. And do you always leave your office with this…music playing so loud?”

  “Sorry, Minister,” Nat rasped, her gaze still fixed on Jax.

  He winked at her.

  There wasn’t really any other option, was there?

  Exasperation twisting her lips, she waved her hand at him in a furious gesture he wasn’t entirely sure he understood, and then she pivoted on her sensible heel and crouched down level with Mr. Horn-rims, artfully placing herself between the man and her desk.

  Jax smirked. Clever minx was trying to hide him.

  “Let me help you with those,” he heard her say as she started snatching up loose sheets of paper.

  Mr. Horn-rims started to raise his head.

  Jax didn’t move, waiting instead for the man’s gaze to fall on him. Well, actually he did move. He settled deeper into Nat’s comfy chair and adjusted his fingers behind his head.

  “Minister,” Nat burst out, slapping her palms either side of Mr. Horn-rims’ face and jerking his attention to her. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…”

  Jax chuckled silently. This was fun.

  He watched the man gape at Nat, confusion mixed with disbelief swimming in the eyes behind the lenses of those glasses. Minister? Religious or political? He didn’t look religious. At least not in Jax’s opinion.

  “Are you okay, Natalie?” the minister asked.

  Nat jolted to her feet, still positioning herself between Jax and the guy now staring up at her like she’d sprouted an extra head. “I’m fine, Minister,” she gushed, pointing at the ground behind her back with furious jabs. “I think maybe something at lunch has made me feel…maybe the wine…”

  Mr. Horn-rims frowned as he scooped up
the last sheet. “You didn’t have any wine, Natalie.”

  “I didn’t?” Nat continued to jab her index finger at the floor, fidgeting on her sensible heels in an attempt to keep Jax from the minister’s sight. Jax decided, as soon as he could, he was going to remove those boring, un-Nat-like shoes from her feet and toss them out the window.

  “You didn’t,” Mr. Horn-rims said, confusion mixing with wary uncertainty. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Truly, I’m fine,” Nat replied. Jax couldn’t help but admire the tight curve of her arse in her boring, un-Nat-like dress. He’d strip that from her ASAP as well. “I’m just a tad flustered. It’s not every day I have the Minister for the Arts and Culture in my office.”

  Jax let out a silent ah-ha. So that’s who the hipster was. Jeremy Craig. Federal Minister for the Arts and Culture.

  “I was here last week,” Minister Craig said.

  Nat’s answering laugh was flustered. “You were?” Hand behind her back, she gestured wildly at the floor again with her finger. Again, Jax grinned. God, her arse really was sexy.

  “You see how flustered I am?” she went on. She shot a harried glance over her shoulder, no doubt desperate enough to see if Jax had done what she wanted him to do.

  He smirked at her. Dropped her a wink. Wriggled his toes. His cock also contributed to the jaunty greeting by doing its own jerky move.

  “I think we need,” Minister Craig said, consternation in his voice, “to get on with what we’re here for, don’t you?”

  Nat glowered at Jax for a microsecond, mouthed something at him—he had no idea what—and spun back to the Minister for the Arts and Culture. “Sure, can I just show you this photo of the—”

  “Are you trying to hide something from me?”

  Suspicion cut the minister’s voice now.

  Jax watched Nat tense. Saw the minister try to peer around her.

  The thought of staying exactly where he was crossed Jax’s mind…a devilish, enticing notion…before, with all the speed and agility he used to escape frenzied fans and furious fathers/brothers/boyfriends, he flung himself under Nat’s desk.