Caitlin arched an eyebrow that spoke volumes at Rhys. What those volumes were, Josh wasn’t sure, but he suspected it had something to do with smug soccer players thinking they were all that and then some. “Please,” she went on, her voice a modulated calm, “tell Mandy or Zach at the bar all your drinks are on the house tonight.”
And with that, she turned and hurried back to the Chaos Room, hips swaying in such a natural, confident way Josh had a hard time not staring at them.
“Let them in,” he heard her say to the mountain of muscle disguised as a bouncer as she entered her club. “And watch out for paparazzi. The word’s bound to get out they’re here soon.”
“Whoa, dude.” Rhys slung an arm around Josh’s shoulder. “She didn’t really warm to your charms, did she?”
Josh chuckled. “Maybe she doesn’t like rock stars?”
Rhys patted him on the chest. “How could she not like you?”
Twisting to face his best friend, Josh gave Rhys a smirk. “You’re right. Maybe she doesn’t like soccer players? Especially ones with plaited ponytails.”
Rhys drew his head closer to Josh and licked a path straight up the side of Josh’s face. “Fucker.”
Laughing, Josh shoved him away. “God, I forgot how gross you are. C’mon, let’s get inside. I’m aiming to shake Little Miss Uptight’s world tonight, and I can’t do it from out here.”
Rhys threw a curious frown at him. “You do remember the size of her uncle, right?”
Josh smirked. “I said shake her up, not break her heart. And Liev did say she was too alone. Reckon I might fix that situation while I’m in town.”
For a moment, tension fell over Rhys’s face. There and gone just as quickly. He gave Josh a wide grin. “Breaking hearts isn’t your style, is it, Blackthorne.”
“Not at all,” Josh answered. What was up with his best friend? He’d have to investigate that. They saw so little of each other since Josh’s soccer career had ended and his rock-star status had hit the stratosphere. They really were overdue for a catch-up. Not just a wild-night-of-debauchery catch-up like tonight was going to be, but a sit-down-and-talk catch-up. God, Josh didn’t even know if Rhys was in any kind of semi-serious relationship.
Determined to spend the next day—hang-overs permitting—filling in the blanks, he whacked the back of his hand to his best mate’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get inside before Little Miss Uptight changes her mind. I’ll race you to see who gets lucky first.”
That same tension pulled at Rhys’s eyes again and then, with a raucous laugh, he started for the Chaos Room, turning to face Josh as he did so, each backward jog a thing of graceful beauty. “Deal. Whoever loses has to blow the other.”
Josh rolled his eyes. “Fuck, you’re a glutton for punishment.”
A moment later, under the intense scrutiny of the bouncer from hell, and with the screams of the women waiting in line in their ears, they crossed the threshold into the Chaos Room.
Rhys dropped a hand on Josh’s shoulder and drew his lips close to Josh’s ear. “Divide and conquer?”
Josh chuckled. “Hell yeah. I’ve got to find Little Miss Uptight.”
With his own chuckle, Rhys slapped him on the back. “Good luck, mate. I fear you may have taken on a challenge even more than the great Josh Blackthorne can handle with that one.”
Josh smirked. “No such thing, dude. No such thing.”
Rhys laughed, his gaze fixed on a painfully gorgeous couple a few feet away. “Fuck, your ego’s grown since you hit it big. Hate to be the one that crushes it tonight by irrevocably answering the age-old question.”
Josh cocked an eyebrow, even as he scanned the frenetic crowd pumping and grinding and moving about inside the nightclub. Where had Caitlin Reynolds got to? “And that age-old question is?”
“Who’s hotter—the sports star or the rock star?” Rhys slapped him on the back again. “And to the victor goes the spoils. Just remember, after you crash out with the little honey and I’ve scored numerous times tonight, I’m not a fan of teeth on my cock, right?”
Before Josh could smack his best friend in the gut, Rhys ambled away, making a beeline for the gorgeous couple on the dance-floor.
Josh watched him for a few moments, a smile playing with his lips. When he and Rhys got together it was easy to forget they were twenty-seven-year-old men with ridiculous amounts of money, fame and infamy. When they were in the same space, regardless of where it was, be it a nightclub, awards presentation, opening ceremony or family Christmas dinner back in their home town of Murriundah, they were regular teenage boys full of spit and come.
When Rhys slid his hand over the back of the painfully beautiful woman dancing with her equally painfully beautiful male companion, Josh turned his attention back to his own hunt. Rhys would not crash out. Rhys never crashed out. When it came to scoring, Rhys was a master. No one said no to him.
No one said no to Josh either. Not since his first single with Synergy had gone platinum. Not even before that, to be honest. He’d always scored both on and off the soccer field back in his pro days. Something told him, however, that Caitlin Reynolds was going to give saying no a damn good try.
He let out a chuckle. If he didn’t want Rhys giving him a hard time about losing, he was going to need all his charm. He was born with charm. Inherited it from his father. Nick Blackthorne had seduced the world over thirty years ago with his charm and sex appeal and Josh was following in his old man’s footsteps.
Running a slow inspection over the nightclub’s writhing patrons, he drew a deep breath. It was time to find Caitlin, strip away her defenses and rock her world.
Because that’s what he did. Rock people’s world.
He weaved his way through the crowd, his old soccer injury niggling in his knee enough to make him limp, the thumping bass of the music pumping through him, the epileptic-inducing strobe lighting making it tricky to identify anyone. Where would the owner of a nightclub be on a packed Thursday night? On the floor, interacting with her patrons? Or in an office out back, out of reach but still purveying all she ruled via CCTV?
Josh narrowed his eyes, remembering the tightly wound bundle of sexiness he’d met on the footpath. Something told him Caitlin would be off the floor. Somewhere untouchable. She definitely gave off a touch-me-and-lose-your-balls attitude.
A few more steps into the crowd, and the first butt-grab occurred.
He dodged the amorous woman with a laugh. “Not tonight, hon,” he said, giving her and her friends—giggling at him with open lust in their eyes—a wink.
“Are you really Josh Blackthorne?” one of them shouted over the pounding music, damn near quivering. “We saw you outside. I said you were. Izzy said you couldn’t be.”
Josh slid his gaze to the blonde beside her, unable to miss the awed hunger in her stare. “You Izzy?” he shouted, maneuvering out of the way of more groping hands. It had been a while since he’d ventured out in public without his bodyguard in tow. He’d forgotten how quickly people ditched the concept of personal space and boundaries when a celebrity was concerned.
The blonde nodded with such gusto and enthusiasm, Josh’s neck ached on her behalf. “Yes!” she squealed, jiggling about with excitement. If she weren’t careful, she’d fall out of the plunging neckline of her skin-tight top.
Inching back a step, he flashed her a broad smile. “You were right. I’m not. Just look like him.”
As one, the women all let out disappointed groans, loud enough he could hear them over the thumping hip-hop the DJ was playing. Speaking of DJs, Josh wondered when the guy was going to cue up something decent.
He dropped another wink at the devastated women. “Have fun.”
Returning to his search for Caitlin, he noted all the predatory inspections directed his way. He wouldn’t be able to use the I-just-look-like-Blackthorne ruse for much longer. Hopefully, he would find his prey and have her out the back in some quiet room before the Chaos Room’s patrons realized who he was. Mayb
e with his hips pinning her to the wall, his lips traveling over her neck as he held her wrists above her head with one hand and slowly inched the hemline of that Iron Man shirt of hers up her ribcage with the other, seeking breasts he knew would be full and round and glorious in his hands.
His cock throbbed, thoroughly okay with that scenario.
A few more interruptions of his search, a few more gropey fans and a few more denials of who he was later, he saw her. She was standing by the DJ’s station, arms crossed over her amazing breasts, jaw set, gaze taking in everything around her.
“Booyah,” he murmured, echoing his bass player’s exclamation for when things were going exactly as they should.
He weaved his way through the crowd, doing his best not to limp, coming at her from the side. He didn’t want to risk scaring her off before he had a chance to make his first move. If he didn’t count showing her up outside with the phone call to her uncle as his first move. It hadn’t exactly been a move, but it had been lots of fun.
Drawing to a halt on her right, he lowered his head to hers and brushed his lips against her ears. “Hey.”
She let out a yelp, spun to face him and punched something hard up into his solar plexus.
“Fuck!” he choked out, staggering back a step. Pain lanced through his body. His breath squeezed from him in a wheezy gasp. Whoa, she’d hit him.
“What the hell are you doing?” Incredulous anger shone in her eyes. Visible tension claimed her shoulders.
Josh pressed his palm to his chest and gave the point of unexpectedly violent contact a rub. “Trying to get your attention?” Damn, he could hardly breathe. “What did you hit me with? A sledgehammer?”
She narrowed her stare at him. “Yeah, I keep a sledgehammer on me at all times in case arrogant rock stars try to hit on me.”
He let out a wheezy chuckle, rubbing at his solar plexus again. “Damn, you’re a prickly one, aren’t you? And who says I’m trying to hit on you? Can’t a guy just say hello? Given that he knows your uncle?”
Uncertainty flickered over her face. Cautious doubt swam in her eyes. Her eyebrows, straight and dark and oh, so serious, dipped. The tension in her body remained. A tickle of intrigue stirred in Josh’s gut. In all the photos he’d seen of her in her uncle’s LA home, she’d been laughing and smiling. There’d been a cheeky mischief about her. A relaxed playfulness. Where was that Caitlin?
She caught her bottom lip with her teeth for a second before frowning deeper. “You weren’t trying to hit on me?”
“Actually, I was,” he answered with a smirk, determined to make her laugh. He’d spent more than one extended length of time in the shower thinking of her laughing image in those photos, his hand taking care of the steel in his groin as he did so. “But I was going to do it with charm and subtle grace.”
Flinty anger fell over her face again and she turned away from him, showing him her profile. Not her laughing profile or her smiling profile. Her disdainful profile. Crossing her arms over her chest, she studied the writhing, dancing, drinking people crammed on the dance floor. “I’m not interested. So you can stop right now.”
“Can’t I just buy you a drink?” he asked, risking physical injury again by leaning a little closer to her.
She shook her head, her gaze fixed on the crowded dance floor. “No.”
Josh narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t used to a woman saying no to him. They rarely did nowadays, not counting his mother and his kid sister that was. Chloe said no to him often, usually when he told her on the phone he had to end their conversations. Telling a five-and-a-half-year-old who loved him beyond measure he had to hang up always resulted with a stubborn, adamant no before she continued their conversation as if he hadn’t dared try to bring it to an end. Chloe was allowed to say no to him, however. Josh loved her for doing so.
Caitlin Reynolds saying no to him now, even though she knew who he was, was…an interesting experience. And a stimulating one. He’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he was even more turned on.
Or maybe his arousal was due to the absolutely gorgeous line of her upturned nose? Or the full curve of her bottom lip? Or the swan-like beauty of her neck? Or the heavy swell of her breasts beneath her folded arms, their round shape straining against the cotton of her Iron Man T-shirt—
“I’d say take a photo, it lasts longer.” Caitlin’s shout sounded over the club’s pumping music, making Josh blink. He jerked his stare up from his contemplation of her breasts and found her profile once again. This time, however, it wasn’t disdainful but contemptuous. “But I don’t want you to get the idea I want you looking at me at all.”
He frowned. “Are you always like this? So frosty and snappish?”
She nodded, still without looking at him. “Yes.”
Resting his elbow on the wall beside his head, he fixed her with a level gaze. “Don’t believe you.”
With a drawn-out sigh, she turned to face him, leaning her shoulder on the wall, arms still crossed beneath her breasts. “Why? Because you’re the Josh Blackthorne? The hottest rock star on the planet? Sex on legs with a voice to match? Because no one ever tells you they’re not interested?”
At the word sex passing her lips—lips Josh completely wanted to nip with his own—a heavy tension filled his groin. He shifted his stance, all too aware he was sporting a semi.
“No,” he answered, leaning once again a little closer to her. Close enough to detect the delicate perfume she wore. It slipped into his lungs and threaded its way to the growing thickness of his cock, helping the organ progress from a semi to a…whatever the hell an almost fully erect cock was called. A three-quarter? “Because I’ve seen photos of you in your uncle’s house and you’re laughing and smiling in all of them. There’s not a hope in hell a woman could ever look so naughty and cheeky and relaxed if she’s as frosty and prickly as you claim to be.”
She blinked.
“That’s the woman I want to buy a drink for,” he went on, lowering his head closer still to hers. “That laughing, cheeky, relaxed woman. And I think that woman’s uncle wants me to buy her a drink as well.”
Her gaze met his, an unreadable light in their azure depths. “Why do you think that?” The question left her on a low breath, low enough it was almost drowned out by the hip-hop rubbish spewing from the club’s speakers.
Josh let his lips curl in a slow smirk. “Because he told me to look you up. Because he told me to tell you to cook lasagna for me one night.”
“And that’s it? My uncle tells you to look me up in Sydney. My uncle who still thinks of me as the teenage girl who used to cook him lasagna on his birthday? That’s the reason you believe the woman you’re meeting now isn’t the real me?”
He shook his head, his heart fast. Christ, he wanted to see if that bottom lip of hers was as soft and plump as it looked.
Caitlin’s gaze locked on his, as if she was searching for something in his eyes. “So what is the reason, Mr. Knows All the Answers? Why do you think Uncle L so desperately wants me to get to know you? Huh?”
Josh lowered his head to hers until he could see the tiny flecks of sapphire in her eyes. “Because he also told me you were too alone.”
Those eyes widened. She sucked in a swift breath. Stiffened. Straightened from the wall. And then, without a word, spun on her heel and hurried away.
It didn’t take long for the crowd to swallow her up. In a few steps, she was gone from Josh’s view.
“Fuck.” He raked his hands through his hair. Damn it, he hadn’t meant to say that. He’d done so to get his own way, to prove he knew her on a level she obviously didn’t want him to. It was a low, manipulative act, one that he could only blame on his ego.
As his fame and success reached surreal levels, he’d sworn to himself he’d never become the stereotype rock-star prick. The rest of Synergy—his father’s old band—made sure that didn’t happen either. All of them had existed in that deluded state at various points in their stellar careers, as had his fath
er. None of them held back on the stories of the shit and heartache that kind of conceited, self-absorbed ego and attitude caused. The moment he’d become the new front man for Synergy, the moment his dad had wished him success with his old band, the guys had decided they weren’t going to let fame go to his head. They’d taken on the over-protective-uncle role and kept him grounded.
But it was hard not to become enthralled with the power his fame delivered, especially when there was no Samuel, Jax, Levi or Noah around to tell him he was being a cocky wanker. Perhaps they all needed to tour again? Or spend some time in a recording studio. Perhaps he’d run loose for too long with nothing but his money, fame and ego to drive him.
Perhaps he should have headed to Murriundah instead of Sydney. Laying low with his mum and dad would have definitely grounded him. Partying in Sydney with Rhys? Yeah, not so much.
“Fuck,” he muttered again, doing that totally useless shuffle people did when they knew they had to do something to fix a situation but had no idea what that something was. His looked even more ridiculous, thanks to the fact his limp made him shuffle in a lopsided way.
He’d upset Caitlin with that smug declaration. That much was obvious. The way she’d fled him, the stunned disbelief in her eyes. Not his finest hour. Fuck, what was her uncle going to do to him if he found out?
And if her uncle was pissed—and rightly so—would he mention it to his friend, Aslin Rhodes? Aslin, who’d been Nick Blackthorne’s bodyguard for over fifteen years. Before Josh could fix his fuck-up, his father would be chewing him out for being the very conceited, arrogant arsehole Nick had never wanted Josh to be.
Tugging on his hair, Josh shuffled with increasing exasperation. Jesus, in the space of a few seconds he’d gone from feeling like an untouchable rock god to a little boy scared of his dad’s wrath and the censure of his dad’s friends.
All because he was horny over a woman whose laughing, smiling image had fed more than one sexual fantasy. A woman who so obviously didn’t like him.
Blackthorne: Heart of Fame, Book 8 Page 3
