Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7) (3 page)

Nat frowned. “I know a lot of men, Dory. What’s so special about this one?”

Dory Boone, Nat’s assistant and the spryest person Nat knew, grinned. “Think Jensen Ackles meets Henry Cavill meets Vin Diesel, and you’re not even close to how yummy he is.”

Nat’s frown deepened. Did she know anyone that delicious? Surely not. If she did, she’d never let him out of her bedroom. “I think you might be exaggerating a tad.”

Dory shook her head. “No way. This guy…” She fanned herself, eyes twinkling. “But if you don’t want me to send him in, I’ll gladly deal with him myself. I may have to take the rest of the day off to do so, mind you. Given that I plan to strip him naked and tie him to my—”

With an exasperated sigh, Nat waved her hand in the air. “That’s enough. I get the picture. Show him in. But come and save me in five minutes. Nick Blackthorne is due any—”

“I always knew you had a thing for Nick,” a tall, lean man with dark-brown eyes and messy brown hair strode past Dory, oozing devilish charm. “Shame it’s too late for a threesome, eh? What with him being married and respectable now.”

Nat gaped up at her old boyfriend as he crossed to her desk, her heart slamming up into her throat. “Jax? What the hell are you doing here?”

Jaxon Campbell dropped into the chair directly in front of her desk, legs spread, grin wide. “I’m here to see you, Boxhead.”

Tummy knotting, pulse pounding, pussy fluttering—damn it—Nat scowled. “How many times have I told you not to call me Boxhead?”

Jax shrugged, threading his fingers behind his head. “Five?”

Her scowl deepened. “Try five hundred.” Damn it, why the hell was her body behaving like he was the second-goddamn-sexual coming?

His dark eyes found hers, the twinkle in them as dangerously sexy as the smirk dancing on his lips. “So you
have
missed me,” he stated. “I figured as much.”

“Sure,” Nat shot back. “I miss the drunken groping behind the stage between sets, the vomit on my shoes after you’ve partied too hard. I miss the empty promises of being home for dinner, your birthday,
my
birthday. And I
definitely
miss the women trying to climb into our bedroom window hoping to become a…what did your groupies call themselves? The
Jaxontops
?”

“The
Jaxonfires
. Man, they were a wild bunch, weren’t they? Do you remember when three of them tried to strip you during our first concert in Perth?”

Nat stared at him, gobsmacked. Behind him, lingering at the door to Nat’s office, Dory gaped at them both, mouth open, excited disbelief on her face. Disbelief and impatience.

The knot in Nat’s stomach tightened. Dory was the biggest gossip at the Con. This situation would be around the staff and students before Nat had a chance to kick Jax off the premises, no doubt sprinkled with creative embellishment.

Her tummy twisted some more and, deciding it was better to get the inevitable over and done with sooner rather than later, she waved her assistant away. “Have at it, Dory,” she said. “I know you’re going to burst if you don’t.”

Dory quivered on the spot, grin wide, for less than a heartbeat and then—with a little squeak of delight—spun on her heel and hurried away.

Hands still behind his head, Jax shifted in his seat, craning a look at the fleeing woman as she pulled the door close behind her.

“She’s cute,” he said when he turned back to Nat.

“She’s nine,” Nat stated, making her voice as flat and threatening as possible. “And dating a cellist.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I just said she was cute.”

“And I know what
she’s cute
translates as in Jaxon Campbell speak.”

He studied her, lips curled, eyes…ambiguous. “You know I never said
you
were cute, don’t you, Boxhead?”

Nat closed her eyes. “Please don’t call me Boxhead.”

He didn’t respond. Silence stretched between them, long enough for Nat to open her eyes and cast him a cautious look. Jax rarely passed up a chance to shoot off his famous mouth.

“Want to know what I said you were, Nat?” he asked when her gaze found his, not a hint of flippant jest in his voice. Ah, his voice. She could come over and over again just listening to his voice.

She pulled a breath, the knot in her stomach now a full-blown granny knot. “Gullible?”

“Mine,” he answered.

Goddamn it, where did all the air go in the room? Where did all the ants crawling all over her body come from? And more to the point, where the hell did Jaxon Campbell—the guy who stole not only her heart but also her rare, mint-condition, fully-signed AC/DC
Back in Black
vinyl LP—come off pretending what they’d had was anything more than sex to him? Huh? Huh?

Shoving aside the sudden and all-too-vivid memory of sex with Jax—hot, wild sex, explosive, exhibitionistic sex, slow, soul-melting sex, playful, let’s-include-toys sex—she rolled her eyes. “I think I prefer Boxhead.”

He grinned at her. “Of course you do.”

Another surreal stretch of silence claimed them. Nat couldn’t help but study him. It had been twenty-one years since she’d seen him. Not just on the TV or in a magazine, but actually
seen
him, in the flesh. He hadn’t lost his boyish sexiness, but the passing of time had left its mark on him. The laugh lines on either side of his eyes were distractingly wonderful, as was the faint crease between his eyebrows and the hint of silver in the stubble dusting his jaw and chin. He wasn’t as sinewy and lean as he’d been when they were together, which only transformed him, in Nat’s begrudging opinion, into a delicious mix of sculpted muscle and natural early forties strength.

Damn, she’d love to feel those muscles sliding under her palms again. Would dine out on his newness even as she indulged in the familiarity of his body, a body she’d never ever forgotten.

As frustratingly annoying as he’d been—and still was, if this brief encounter was anything to go by—he was still the most amazing, talented, no-holds-barred lover she’d ever had. And she was so missing amazing, talented, no-holds-barred sex. Nothing had come close to Jax in all the years since they’d parted.

Nothing.

He’s still the utterly sexy rock star though, Nat. That hasn’t changed.

Letting out a slow breath, and killing the very naughty notion of a for-old-time’s-sake tumble forming in her head, she leant forward and rested her elbows on her desk. Time to be the professional, aloft woman she was known to be. She was the Dean of the Sydney Conservatorium of Music, not a
Jaxonfire
. “What do you want, Jax?” she asked, holding his gaze. “I’ve got another appointment in a few moments and I’d like to be done with this reunion ASAP. Are you here to return my AC/DC record?”

Jax wriggled deeper into his chair, his eyes glinting. “Your next appointment is outside with his son. I’ve already said g’day.”

Nat blinked. “Nick Blackthorne is here already?”

Jax nodded. “I left him in the waiting room—nice ficus in the corner, by the way—chewing Josh a new one. That’s an angry father out there. And a disgruntled son.”

Before she could stop herself, Nat half-rose to her feet. Goddamn it, she was in here thinking about sex with Jax and the Con’s biggest financial benefactor was on the other side of the door?

Jax burst out laughing. “Geez, Nat, you really
do
have a thing for Nick. How did I miss this all those years ago?”

Dropping back into her seat, cheeks hot, she picked up a pen and glared at Jax. “I don’t have a thing for Blackthorne. It was only ever you, dickwad.”

So much for being professional.

The smile Jax gave her at her unplanned confession sent a flutter of traitorous suggestions through her body. Suggestions involving things like rope and whipped cream and handcuffs and open windows…

Nat squeezed her thighs together and ground her teeth. She had to get rid of him now. Before she did something stupid.

Just one for-old-time’s-sake bonk, Nat. Just one? Right here on your desk would be good.

“What are you doing here, Jaxon?” she asked, ignoring the increasing throb between her thighs. If she touched her clit now, she’d probably come right there and then. “And please, just a simple, straight-to-the-point, honest answer would be appreciated.”

He regarded her, an uncharacteristic seriousness falling over his face. Her heart pounded. Jax rarely was serious, but when he was…damn, he used to rock her world.

She fidgeted on her seat, mouth going dry, pussy growing damp. “Jax?”

His Adam’s apple slid up and down his throat and then, like a burst of charged energy, he leant forward in his seat and pinned her with a wide grin. “I want you to find me someone better than Nick Blackthorne.”

Nat blinked. She hadn’t expected that.

But when she’d arrived at work this morning, she hadn’t expected to find herself sitting in her office having entirely dangerous thoughts about entirely unwise sex with Jaxon Campbell either, had she?

She frowned at her ex. “Excuse me?”

Jax’s grin grew wider. “We’re looking for a new lead singer. And by we, I mean me, Strings, Levi and Noah. You remember us, right? The band behind the man that is Blackthorne? Anyways, Levi got us a gig writing and recording the end-credit track to the next Chris Huntley movie,
Dead Even 2
, and we’ve spent the last few months trying to find someone to replace Nick with fuck-all success. The guys are about to give up and I said you’d be able to find us someone because you are incredible at recognising talent. Oh, the guys say hi, by the way. Shit, I’ve just realized something. I owe Noah ten grand.”

Nat stared at Jax, not sure what to say. “Why?” she croaked out, head spinning.

Jax flashed his teeth at her in one of those boyish grins that always led to them bonking like rabbits when they were together, no matter where they were. “Because he reckoned you’d deck me within five seconds of being in my presence.” He paused, cocking an eyebrow at her. “And you didn’t.”

She didn’t say a word. Once again, she really didn’t know what word she
should
say.

Say yes.

Jax’s grin grew more devilish. A debauched promise she remembered all too well danced in his eyes. “C’mon, Boxhead,” he murmured. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Sex.”

The word blurted from her before her brain registered it had formed on her lips.

Jax’s eyebrows shot up his head. “What?”

“I’ll find you a replacement for Nick Blackthorne,” Nat said, her voice a raspy, rapid breath. It was as if she was having some surreal, out-of-body experience, except she suspected it
was
actually her body in charge of her brain and mouth and tongue and voice box. Her body, after all, had never forgotten what sex with Jax was like. And never forgave her for denying it more. “On the condition you give me—”

“Sex?” he cut her off, lips twitching.

Nat’s pussy pulsed. Her nipples pinched tight. Her belly fluttered. Damn, there was no backing out of this lunacy now. Now, all she could do was take the upper hand, take charge of the situation and make him suffer. And by suffer, she meant make him make her come more times than she could ever hope to count.

The way he used to.

“Not just sex, Jaxon,” she corrected, her brain slowly catching up with her body’s licentious intent. If she was doing this—and it appeared she was—she was doing it big. The bastard had stolen her AC/DC album, after all. It was high time she got something back. “Mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex. Let’s call them a series of sexual challenges, shall we? For each challenge you achieve, I’ll introduce you to a possible candidate to replace Blackthorne.”

Jax studied her, his expression ambiguous. But there, in his eyes, was that promise. It made her sex constrict and her breath quicken.

Nat sucked in a slow breath. Damn, this was a risky move. But if she played it right, kept her heart protected, the payoff would be amazing. The best sex of her life with the only man who had ever truly satisfied her. She’d come dangerously close to falling in love with him all those years ago. It had only been a stubborn sense of self-preservation that had saved her, but she was older now, wiser, more jaded about romance. She didn’t want romance from Jax. She wanted sex. And he’d just presented her with the perfect way to get it.

Unattached, no-strings, make-him-suffer sex.

She bit back a soft whimper at the unnerving, enticing thought and cocked an eyebrow at Jax. Who she noticed hadn’t uttered a word since
sex
. “Well?” she said, leaning closer to him, heart fast, lips curling. “You said you’d make it worth my while.”

“Deal.”

The second the word past his lips, Nat’s stomach granny-knotted again. A lump the size of the Opera House formed in her throat. Her clit ached, so damn swollen with lust she didn’t risk moving.

He slowly ran his gaze over her face, down to the scooped neckline of her conservative but stylish dress, the kind she only wore at work, and back up to her face. “What’s the first one?”

Forcing herself back into her seat, she leveled a coolly confident gaze at him. What she really wanted to do was bury her hands in his hair and kiss him senseless, but she couldn’t. Sure, she’d just thrown herself into the deep end of impulsive sexual lunacy, but she was at work. When she was at work, she was all professionalism.
And
she was going to maintain control.