Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7) (22 page)

He stopped. Pricked his ears. Listened.

Damn, whoever was playing the guitar knew his stuff. It could have been Nick playing, it was that good.

Hurrying along the hallway, Jax sought out the room in which the guitarist was playing.

He let out a laugh when he found it.

“Ahh, I should have guessed,” he said, leaning against the doorframe of what looked like a small rehearsal room to grin at Josh Blackthorne.

Josh snapped his head up from the guitar, guilty dismay and shock registering on his face for a moment—a face so like Nick’s it was a little freaky. “Oh, hey, Jax,” he said, resting his forearms on the guitar and giving Jax a wide smile. “Busted, eh?”

Jax pushed himself off the doorjamb and ambled into the room, past the chairs and empty music stands scattered about the floor space until he reached Josh. “Busted?” he asked, dropping into the seat closest to where Josh sat perched on a stool.

Nick’s son let out a wry chuckle. “I don’t tend to let people hear me play Dad’s music here. Hard to live up to the legacy, I guess.”

Jax studied the young man, unable to miss the belittling tone in Josh’s voice. “I don’t think you’ve got anything to be ashamed of, Josh. What I just heard was incredible.”

Josh shrugged. “It was all right, I guess.”

“Fuck all right,” Jax burst out. “You could leave your old man for dead.”

With another shrug, Josh scratched at the side of his nose with his thumb. “Yeah, he says the same.”

There it was again. A disparaging note in Josh’s voice.

Jax narrowed his eyes. He’d never really thought about Nick and Josh’s situation before. What it must have been like to discover his father was the biggest rock star on the planet? What must it be like now, to be his son, following a musical path after his true love was taken from him?

How much would that suck? Being compared constantly to an incomparable man?

Casting a look around the rehearsal room, he spied the grand piano tucked away in the far corner. He rose from his chair, crossed to it and opened the fall to reveal the keys beneath.

It was an old Bosendorfer, the keys made from traditional elephant-tusk ivory. He skimmed his fingertips across their surface, a little shiver of anticipation flowing through him at the contact. “Wanna play something with me?” he asked, giving Josh a very casual glance over his shoulder.

Josh frowned. “Really?”

Jax shrugged. “Sure. Why not? I’m waiting for Ms. Thorton to finish with a meeting and it’s been a while since I fooled around on a piano.”

Okay, so he’d fooled around on a piano only two nights ago, in more ways than one, but Josh didn’t need to know that.

“And it’s been way too long since I jammed with someone who knew how to play ‘Whispers in the Night’ like you just did.” He returned his focus to the piano’s keys, keeping his voice casual. “Strings keeps fucking up in the chorus riff, Levistan can only play the bass parts—you know what bass players are like—and Noah…well, the drummer boy plays a great backbone, but damn, it’d be good to really play the song, get to the guts of it.” Tossing another glance over his shoulder at Josh, he grinned. “Know what I mean?”

“Hell, yeah.” Josh nodded, shifting on the edge of his stool.

Jax pivoted on his heel and dumped himself onto the piano stool. “Let’s rock out with our cocks out, shall we?” He smirked. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

Josh shifted again on the stool, a cautious expression Jax recognized on his face. Nick had worn that same face often in the months after he’d left Lauren, like he was uncertain what he was meant to do. Like he was…rudderless.

Rudderless and lost.

“Are you sure?” Josh asked, his fingers stroking the strings of the acoustic guitar. Jax wondered if he was aware he was doing it. “I mean, I know I’m good, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not—”

“If you say you’re not your dad,” Jax interrupted him with a melodramatic point of the finger. “I’ll take that guitar of yours and brain you with it.”

Josh laughed. “Bloody rock stars.” He rolled his eyes. “Think they can do whatever they want to a guitar and get away with it.”

Jax smirked again. “You should see what I used to do to my keyboards when I was out of it. Now stop fucking about so we can let it rip. Just you and me. ‘Whispers in the Night’ okay? Or do you want to try something else?”

Without hesitation, Josh adjusted the guitar on his lap, fixed the strap around his shoulders and perched closer to the edge of the stool, planting one foot on the ground. “‘Whispers’ is great. It’s my favourite Blackthorne song.”

For a second, Jax was overcome by just how much Josh looked like his dad, the way he sat on the stool, the unkempt hair, the fire burning inside him at the thought of making music.

His head swum. A tickling idea itched at the back of his mind. A prickling sensation washed over him.

And then Josh began to play, plucking out the notes of the song Nick had written about Lauren, Josh’s mother, about how much Nick regretted walking away from her, losing her, how much he ached for her every minute of every day. Suddenly nothing else mattered for Jax anymore but the music.

They played together, moving from one Nick Blackthorne song to another. Neither sang. Neither gave voice to the lyrics of the songs. It was just music. Just the power of the guitar and the piano. It filled the small room, a living pulse of evocative sound.

Jax gave himself over to it completely. Lost himself to it and the familiar fantasy that Nat was here. Listening.

Guiding him so he wasn’t lost anymore.

As the last note of “A Woman Called Heartbreak” faded from Josh’s guitar, Jax lifted his head and drew a slow breath.

Christ, he got it now. He understood. Nick was right all along. He was—

The sound of someone clapping in the room snapped open his eyes.

He jerked his head around, his heart slamming hard and fast into his throat. “Boxhead,” he murmured, staring at Nat where she sat in one of the scattered seats halfway back in the room.

She smiled at him and crossed her leg over her knee.

Jax dropped his gaze to her feet, his heart skipping over itself again at the sight of a very sexy, very un-deanish pair of cherry-red six-inch stilettos.

His cock throbbed in his jeans. His breath caught in his throat.

Fuck. Yeah.

“Ms. Thorton,” Josh said, all the confidence of his playing, the surety, gone. He flicked a look at Jax before rising to his feet and ducking his head. “I…we were…”

“Shouldn’t you be in Compositional Elements with Professor Davis?” Nat asked, her tone warm but reproachful.

Josh nodded. “Yeah.”

He turned to Jax again, a small smile curling at his lips. “That was fucking incredible, dude. Thanks.”

Jax shook his head. “It’s me thanking you, Josh. Don’t ever think you’re not as talented as your dad playing the guitar. ’Cause, I’m telling you, I’ve been playing with your old man for over twenty years now and he isn’t half as good as you are.”

Josh stared at him.

“No bullshit,” Jax said.

“Josh?” Nat’s soft voice sounded in the silence. “Compositional Elements?”

Josh frowned at Jax, a frown that turned into a smile Jax could only describe as relieved. He nodded and then, with a quick, “Sorry, Ms. Thorton,” to Nat, hurried from the room, his limp more obvious with his speed.

Jax watched him go, chest tight. “Jesus,” he muttered when Josh left the rehearsal room.

Nat rose to her feet, crossed to the door and closed it. “Told you he was incredible,” she said, her hand moving over the doorknob.

“You’re right,” Jax shifted on the seat, watching her.

She looked amazing. But then she always did. It wasn’t just the heels. It was everything. The way her tailored skirt hugged her exquisite posterior and hips. The way her hair hung in a tousled curtain of dark waves down her back. The way she turned to face him, lips parted, chest heaving.

“He’s wasted here,” she said, leaning back against the door. “I know it. His lecturers know it. Most of the other students know it. Even the ones not remotely interested in popular music.” She pushed herself from the door and walked toward him, hips swaying, gaze holding his. “Maybe now…”

Jax pulled in a slow breath, watching her weave through the chairs and music stands. Every nerve ending in his body, every fibre of his existence was tuned in to her. Aware of her.

Aching for her.

She stopped directly in front of him, so close the inside of his knees brushed the outside of her thighs.

“Maybe now he’ll know it as well,” she finished, her voice a husky rasp.

He stared into her eyes, searching for the desire for him he knew he’d find.

They’d never lacked desire. Never lacked carnal wants. Together, they never lacked anything. Not even direction.

When he was with her, truly with her in every sense, he’d never ever been lost.

Ever.

His heart thumped hard. His breath caught.

His cock pulsed.

Fuck, he got it now. Understood it completely. Without her, he’d been lost. And he never wanted to be lost or rudderless again.

He smoothed his hands up the back of her thighs, pulling her closer to him even as he moved forward on the end of the piano stool. Drawing her into the V of his legs. Needing her. Wanting to feel the heat of her body seep into his. Wanting to breathe in her scent. Wanting to taste her lips, her pleasure…

Wanting her.

He gazed up at her, his palms skimming over her butt. “Nat…”

She lowered her head to his, the silken strands of her hair tumbling over her shoulder to frame their faces, her fingers touching his cheeks with gentle reverence. “Make love to me, Jax,” she whispered. “Right here. The acoustics are amazing, the room is soundproof, the door is locked and there’s not a single class or group scheduled to be in here for the rest of the day.” She traced his bottom lip with her thumb. “Make love to me now. Because be fucked if I can wait any longer. The last twenty-four hours without you have been—”

He fisted a hand in her hair and crushed her lips with his.

She moaned into the savage kiss, her nails scraping at his face before moving to the neckline of his shirt and tearing it open.

Buttons struck the piano. The soft sound reverberated around the room, amplified by the custom-built acoustics of the rehearsal space. He groaned, squeezing her arse as she yanked his shirt open farther and dragged her nails over his nipples.

She broke their kiss, arching a little before returning her mouth to his.

He met her hungry intensity, nipping at her lips with increasing frenzy, working his hands underneath the snug torso of her tailored jacket.

With a shaky chuckle, she pulled away, gazing down at him as she released the row of buttons until her jacket hung open.

He slipped his hands between the satin-lined material and her ribcage, the soft silk of her shirt a frustrating caress against his palm. “I want you naked,” he complained, exploring her ribs, her breasts with his right hand even as he kneaded her butt with his left.

Raw desire flared in her grey eyes. “Then make me naked,” she instructed.

He released the top button of her shirt. The next. The next.

The silk—a deep-emerald green—parted, revealing the heavy swell of her glorious breasts encased in a black lace bra.

He flattened a hand to the small of her back and yanked her forward, back between his legs, capturing a puckered nipple between his teeth.

She hissed. Scored her nails over his scalp. Threw back her head and rolled her hips forward.

He sucked deeper on her breast, the lace of her bra rough against his lips and tongue, an erotic friction he both loved and despised.

Moving his mouth to her other breast, he did the same to its willing tip, biting first on her nipple before suckling it past his lips and onto his tongue.

“How do you do that?” Nat exclaimed on a hitching cry, her legs shaking against his thighs. “How do you suck my tits like that? It’s so good.” She rubbed the curve of her sex to his belly, scraping her nails through his hair. “So good I could almost come.”

Her confession, uttered with delighted exasperation, sent fresh licks of tight heat into Jax’s groin. He pulled away from her breast, sucking on her flesh as he did so until her nipple popped from his mouth.

She groaned, the sound guttural and throaty. “Fuck, you bastard. You stopped.”

He laughed, skimming a palm up her belly to the chasm of her cleavage. “Not stopping. Just doing this.” He hooked his fingers under the edge of her lacy bra cup and yanked it sideways, releasing her breast.

She cried out her approval. And again when he claimed the newly exposed nipple with his lips and teeth and tongue.

He worshipped her breast, its lush softness against his lips and chin sublime in its perfection. When he removed the lace covering her other breasts and pushed both the mounds of flesh together, licking one nipple and then the other with quick, fierce strokes of his tongue, she raked at the back of his neck, her pleas for more hoarse.