Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7)

by Lexxie Couper

  She’d fled his hotel. Ignored the paparazzi. Refused to look at any of the morning papers in case she found herself in them. Attempted to wash Jax’s scent from her body in a long shower. Dressed herself in shapeless workout gear. Made herself breakfast and coffee despite her stomach being a churning mess. Found the perfect song on her iPod for her mood.

  She’d done all that without thinking about the rock star she’d run away from.

  With Pink singing about wild nights and possible regret, she’d deposited herself on a stool at the kitchen counter, opened her laptop and begun making a list of all the singers she knew—students and ex-students alike—who might have a chance at impressing Jax and the band.

  However, that was fifteen minutes ago, and here she was still cold, still aching to be back in Jax’s bed. Still trying not to think about him.

  Still trying to convince herself she’d been successful in her original goal—incredible sex with the bastard without her heart getting caught up in it all.

  Yeah, right. Successful.

  Not.

  With a disgusted sigh, she let her elbow slide across the counter until she slumped sideways in her seat, her cheek pressed to the cool granite surface. She stared at nothing, stomach knotting over itself.

  This state she was in now, moony and woeful, was why she’d intended not to be with Jax last night. And yet, when she’d discovered him being assaulted by fans and the public near the café where she’d had coffee with Jeremy, she’d swooped in and rescued him.

  “I should have left him to the frenzied fans,” she muttered, her cheek smooshed against the counter top. “That would have taught him not to stalk me.”

  But she hadn’t. Because the second she’d seen him there in the crowd making a ridiculous effort to hide his identity with a baseball cap and sunglasses her heart had leapt into a wild beat, a searing heat had flowed through her veins and her sex had throbbed with hungry awareness.

  Two hours spent in Jeremy Craig’s not unpleasant company talking about music and culture and politics and movies—all things she enjoyed talking about—and she’d been nothing but restless and detached and almost bored.

  One sight of Jax however, one sight, and bam, her whole body and soul had reacted. Responded to him and demanded she go to him.

  One sight and her dogged determination to stay away from him for twenty-four hours had vanished.

  She was totally screwed.

  Letting out another sigh, and without raising her head from the counter, she forced herself to focus on her laptop’s screen once again.

  A pitiful four names were typed there.

  Three ex-students now trying to make it in the music biz while waiting tables to pay the bills, and one final-year singing student who’d made it as far as the finals on the most recent series of Australia’s Got Talent.

  Four.

  How many orgasms had Jax given her since he waltzed back into her life less than twenty-four hours ago?

  “One in my office,” she murmured, her pussy throbbing with eager memory of his tongue’s talent. “No, three. My first multiple orgasm in years. There was the one in the limo…the ones against the window in his suite. How many…three, no, four. God, four. The one in his bed…” Her heart tripped into a prestissimo beat in her chest. Her lips tingled as a hot blush crept over her face.

  Oh God, he’d made her orgasm nine times since yesterday morning. Nine times.

  Her throat grew tight with a thick lump. “Christ, he’s turned me into a sex-crazed coming machine,” she croaked, staring at her laptop’s screen from the counter. “And I’m five names short already.”

  Five names.

  She caught her bottom lip with her teeth. Five names short of nine and, if she was honest, the four she had weren’t going to cut it.

  There were only two names that came to her mind when she thought of the magic that was Nick Blackthorne, and one of those names was Nick’s.

  The other—

  Someone knocked on her front door.

  Snapping upright, she twisted on the kitchen stool and stared in the direction of the front door.

  Who would be knocking at her door on a Saturday morning? A member of the board? Come to fire her as dean for spending the night with an infamous rock star? Were the images of her leaving the Hyatt out there already?

  Jax. You want it to be Jax, admit it.

  Whoever it was knocked again.

  She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

  And then she flinched as her mobile phone chirped beside the coffee machine, its high-pitched alert tone amplified by its charging dock’s speaker.

  Throat tight, she stretched across the counter, snatched it up and read the message on the screen.

  I know you’re in there, Boxhead

  The knock on the door came again. Not a simple triple rap, but a complicated, two-handed rhythm she recognized as AC/DC’s “Back in Black”.

  Swiping at her lips, her mouth dry, she stared in the direction of her entry foyer. Did she have it in her to face him? Did she have the strength?

  The knocking stopped. A second later, her phone chirped in her hand.

  Oi!

  And again.

  Oi!

  And a third time.

  Oi!

  And finally. If you don’t open the door, I’ll strip off and start singing a Wiggles medley on your footpath. I know all the words to “Hot Potato”.

  Letting out an exasperated snort, tummy fluttering with what she hoped was frazzled nerves and not sexual anticipation, she slid off the stool and hurried to her front door.

  Her phone chirped at her just as she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob.

  There goes my shirt.

  She yanked opened the door and glared at Jax grinning at her on the other side of the threshold, black long-sleeve shirt well and truly still on his torso.

  “‘Hot Potato’?”

  With a smirk, he stepped through the door and past her. “It’s one of the classics.”

  Pivoting on her heel, she watched him wander deeper into the foyer.

  “What are you doing here, Jaxon?”

  He spun to face her, hands shoved into his back pockets. “You weren’t in my bed this morning when I woke.”

  Crossing her arms beneath her breasts to hide the fact her nipples had puckered into hard points, she gave him a level look. “Did you think I would be?”

  He laughed, a wry sound Nat had never heard him make before. “Yeah. I kinda did.”

  Stomach a fluttering mess, she walked through the foyer and back to her kitchen. “I’m compiling you a list,” she said over her shoulder. “As per our agreement.”

  Stopping at the kitchen counter, she woke up her laptop with a quick tap on the track pad, adjusted the screen’s angle to account for Jax’s standing height and then turned to face him. “Four names so far. Rosco was one of the best singing majors the Con has seen in the last five years. He performed as a backing singer for both Robbie Williams and Coldplay during their last Australian tours. Pete is a final-year student. He’s not your typical rock singer, but with the right group he could shake up the world. Reminiscent of a young Bruno Mars. Dyan sang lead with a local pub band called—”

  Jax leant forward and closed the lid on Nat’s laptop. “Nope.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean, nope?”

  Leaning his hip against the counter’s edge, he pulled a contemplative face. “You know what I want to do?”

  Nat’s pussy contracted. Her pulse hammered in her neck. If he said fuck you silly, she wouldn’t be able to say no. “What?”

  “See the monkeys.”

  The answer threw her completely off balance. “The monkeys?”

  “The monkeys. At the zoo. C’mon. It’s the weekend. Let’s do that.”

  She stared at him. No, gaped at him was more correct.

  He grinned. “It’ll be fun. Promise. I haven’t been to a zoo since we went—God, how many years ago was it? Twenty-two? And y
ou got us kicked out before we got to the chimpanzees.”

  Nat raised her eyebrows. “I got us kicked out? You were the one feeling me up every time we stopped to look at an enclosure.”

  “You were the one wearing those fucking sexy-as-hell short denim shorts. The ones so short I could see your butt cheeks. And that tight white T-shirt with a keyboard printed across your boobs. What was I meant to do? Not feel you up? Do you still have them, by the way?”

  Nat rolled her eyes. “Of course not.”

  He pouted. “Bum. Still, I promise I won’t feel you up this time. Not until after we’ve seen the monkeys.”

  “I’m not going to the zoo with you, Jax.”

  “Why not? Scared to spend time with me when we’re not fucking?”

  The question hit Nat like a solid fist. Unsettled heat razed over her. She licked her lips. “No,” she said, but even to her ears, she didn’t sound convincing.

  Jax chuckled. “Liar.”

  She glared at him. “Besides, isn’t there a ticking watch hanging over your head? You told me the band needs this new singer in two weeks. Aren’t you going to get in trouble with the rest of the band if you spend the day at the zoo instead of checking out the talent?”

  He shrugged. “I spoke to Samuel last night. Told him I’m on top of things here.”

  She couldn’t stop her laugh. “That’s one way of describing the last twenty-four hours, I guess.”

  He grinned. “And besides, it’s been a long time since we’ve been together—”

  “I was in your bed over six hours ago.”

  “—to talk,” he continued, fixing her with a pointed look. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. And tonight, if you want and we’re not doing anything else, you could introduce me to one of your candidates. How’s that sound?”

  Nat caught her bottom lip with her teeth. Catching up? Talking? It was all very unlike Jax. And tempting. And dangerous. She really should say no. Should really bring the situation back to the matter at hand—the replacement for Nick.

  For some reason, Jax made it way too easy to forget that’s why they were together again. If the word together could really be used for what they were doing.

  And yet Jax wanted to go to the zoo. Not screw. Which wasn’t what she’d expected or planned when she’d laid down her challenge.

  Orgasms for names. Orgasms for names.

  He’d given her plenty of orgasms already. She didn’t think she could survive anymore, especially if he was bringing conversation and catching up to the table with them.

  Could she?

  Constricting pressure strapped her chest. She studied him. Remembered this feeling from before. Wanting him, all of him, and knowing she didn’t have it. Would never have it. No one ever had all of Jax. He didn’t work that way. She’d known it then, and she knew it now.

  “C’mon, Boxhead.” Laughing mirth laced his plea. “I tell you what, you can tell me about your list of candidates while we’re checking out the monkeys. Deal?”

  Pulse rapid, she let out a sigh of surrender. “Deal. But you’re paying for lunch.”

  The muscle in his jaw clenched again. His nostrils flared. For a moment, he didn’t say a word. And then a wide smile stretched his lip—a patented Jaxon Campbell smirk, the kind that made grown women the world over squee like teenagers—and he nodded. “Deal. If you’re really lucky, I’ll even buy you an ice cream.”

  An hour later, with Bruce wandering a few feet behind, they walked through the main entryway of Taronga Zoo.

  At the first stall, Jax stopped and bought them both a chocolate ice cream. “Your favourite,” he said, handing hers over.

  She took it with a smile. “It is.”

  Casting a quick glance around, she noted very few people looked at them.

  “It’s the cap and sunglasses,” Jax murmured, leaning closer to her, lips curling. “Most people don’t expect a celebrity to be right in their midst, and let’s be honest, I am just the keyboard player. It’s only the rabid fans who tend to recognize me.”

  She snorted. “And the Jaxonfires?”

  He grinned. “Them too. Thankfully, they don’t tend to hang out at zoos. Only at concerts, and it’s been a while since I performed. Well, performed in a formal capacity.”

  Nat frowned. “Do I even want to know what you mean by that?”

  He laughed. “It’s not as debauched as you think. The guys and I have been doing some small bar-sized gigs under different names with potential replacements. It’s not until the first song starts that those in the bar realize who they’re watching.”

  “Wow, that actually sounds really cool. A cloak-and-dagger approach.”

  He nodded, smoothing his arms around her waist with casual ease. She didn’t stop him. Should have, but didn’t. “That was Pepper’s idea. See how the audience reacts without the baggage of our name. Mind you, we’re not performing under Nick’s name any more either.”

  “What are you calling yourselves?”

  “Officially, Synergy. For the cloak-and-dagger gigs, we’ve had a variety. My favourite was Channing Tatum’s Left Nipple.”

  Nat choked on the chocolate ice cream in her mouth. “Channing Tatum’s Left Nipple?”

  Jax puffed up his chest. “I came up with that one.”

  She laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

  They continued walking, pausing often at the different enclosures. At every one, Nat expected Jax to reposition himself behind her and press his body to hers, to snake his hands over her hips and cop a feel of her breasts. He didn’t.

  Instead, he stood beside her as they took in the animals in their small environments, either holding her hand or hugging her to his side. Casual, almost platonic contact.

  “Y’know,” he said, watching a lone zodiac bear regarding them both across a man-made mote, “being a celebrity is a lot like being a zoo animal.”

  She twisted in his arms, studying the hawkish line of his profile. “Always on display? I thought you liked that kind of attention? It’s the impression you give in all the interviews I’ve seen of you, all the awards ceremonies and public appearances.”

  The corners of his lips curled in a wan smile. “Perhaps I’ve just convinced myself that’s the way I have to be. It’s easier that way.”

  “Easier than what?” she asked.

  His Adam’s apple slid up and down his throat. “Easier than admitting I’ve been a tosser for most of my adult life. Easier than admitting I made a mistake a long time ago when I shrugged off the best thing in my life.”

  The words, uttered with calm acceptance, stroked at Nat’s sanity. She stared up at him, her heart fast in her throat. “Jax…” she murmured, a dull ache in her chest. “Don’t—”

  “Or perhaps,” he cut her off, “it’s because I get to hurl poo at the audience like the chimps do.”

  Nat raised her eyebrows at his unexpected proclamation. “You do not throw poo into the crowd at your concerts, Jaxon Campbell.”

  A devilish smirk stretching his mouth, he turned his head to face her. “You’re right. But wouldn’t that be fun?”

  He kissed her before she could respond, a quick, playful and noisy smacking of his lips on hers. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s check out the monkeys. Ten bucks says one of them is going to throw poo at us.”

  The chimps did indeed throw poo at them. Jax and Nat ewwed and laughed along with the rest of those gathered to watch the primates do their thing, Bruce hovering a few metres to the side like a grumpy chaperone. No one looked twice at Jax. Nat didn’t know if it was due to his sunglasses and cap, the lack of black leather pants and visible tattoos or the fact those around them were having too much fun with their own company to be bothered to pay closer attention to a guy who maybe looked a little like someone famous. Whatever the reason, Nat loved it. And she could tell Jax did as well. He laughed and hugged her and they existed together in a way they never had before.

  It was wonderful.

  After the chimps had
finished their feces flinging, Jax took Nat’s hand in his and they wandered through the African section of the zoo.

  “So tell me.” He bumped his hip to hers in a playful nudge. “Where’s the stunningly handsome husband and horde of gorgeous children?”

  Nat snorted. “At home. Waiting for me to stop fooling around with a famous rock star. Why do you think I didn’t want you coming back to my house last night?”

  He stumbled, the colour bleaching from his face as he stared at her with blank horror. “Ahhh…”

  She laughed, nudging his hip with hers in retaliation. “Kidding. Jesus, Campbell, as if I’d be bonking you if I was married with kids.”

  A shaky chuckle bubbled from him and he started walking again. “Sorry. I’ve just got a thing about married women sleeping with me.”

  “You like it?” Shock cut through Nat’s voice.

  “Hate it. Won’t stand for it. I may be a horn dog but I still have morals. Married is married and I’m not going to be the one to fuck up a union that should be considered sacred.”

  A warm tickle of happiness made its way through Nat at his statement. “Damn, Jax. I didn’t know this side of you existed.”

  He shrugged. Nat didn’t miss the bitter twist that pulled at his lips. Nor the tension that claimed his shoulders. “I’ve come to realize a few things in my advancing years.”

  They walked in silence for a while. Nat digested what he’d said. Wondered if it had anything to do with the way their own relationship had ended all those years ago. She’d accepted her reaction to the footage of Jax having sex with other women on the tops of hotels around the world was a tad knee-jerkish a week after Jax moved out. He’d insisted the incidents had all occurred before she and him had become…pseudo serious. But despite her heart telling her it was the truth, she’d used it as the reason for ending their relationship. When, truth be known, it had been fear.

  Fear she’d wake up one day and realize she loved him. And at twenty-two—the age she’d been when she and Jax had rented their apartment—Nat didn’t want to love anyone. Especially not a guy who was a draw card to sex-crazed groupies the world over.

  Now, walking beside him, his palm warm against hers, his familiar scent in every breath she took, she wondered how much of her spinster existence was due to the fact no one had ever completely filled Jax’s shoes?