Drawing a slow, steadying breath, she threaded her fingers together on her desk and schooled her expression to one of patient calm. “I’ve other plans tonight, Jax.”
His eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Fuck off.”
A lump grew hot and fat in Nat’s throat. “Yes. I’m going to the Prime Minister’s Ball this evening with Jeremy.”
The loose ease in Jax’s body vanished. “The Minister for Pictionary?”
Nat rearranged the papers on her desk. “If you recall, he extended the invitation while you were here in my office two weeks ago. As Dean, I would be remiss in not attending it with him.”
“While I was making you come from under the desk you mean?” A dark glint flashed in his eyes. “You know the mags are calling us a love triangle? You, me and the Minister. Apparently, he’s been telling people you two are serious. One coffee date and you’re serious. How’s that for deluded? Always knew politicians spun bullshit every time they opened their mouths. Add that to the pap images of you and I together shot over the last couple of weeks and the media is going crazy. My agent has been contacted more this last week for comments on the situation than she ever has for any band or book-related nonsense.”
Swallowing the lump threatening to choke her and cursing the nauseous churning in her stomach, Nat straightened the sheets of paper in front of her again. “I’m aware of the articles, Jax. And when I spoke to Jeremy today, I explained to him you’re just an old acquaintance I’ve been entertaining as a favour to Nick Blackthorne while you’re in the country.”
Jax’s eyes narrowed. A knot in his jaw bunched. “As a favour to Nick?”
Nat nodded. Oh Christ, she felt ill. “Speaking of Nick, I have my final suggestion for you for his replacement.” Plucking the top sheet of paper from her desk, she handed it to him. “These are his results and class progress so far. His voice and talent are beyond words,” she said as he took the sheet and regarded her with a confused frown. “He has the musical lineage and the rock-god attitude already, and as you know, he can play a guitar better than any student I’ve ever met, both currently studying and graduated.”
Jax lowered his attention to the paper in his hand and then looked at her again, his stare unreadable.
“With the right guidance,” she said, forcing her voice to remain professional, almost aloof, “and a few choice words from his father I think he will be perfect for Synergy.”
Jax studied her. “You’re really going out with the Minister this evening?”
Nat’s stomach twisted at the bewildered disbelief in his voice. “I am.” She shifted on her seat, perching herself on its edge, her pulse far too fast in her neck. She dropped a glance at the sheet in Jax’s hand. “Would you like his contact details?” she asked, refusing to acknowledge the guilt and ache in her chest. Leaning forward, she pressed the intercom button connecting her to the outer office. “Dory, can you bring me in a copy of Josh Blackthorne’s contact details, please?”
Body still, gaze level, Jax regarded her from across her desk. “I wasn’t hanging around for a name, Nat. I knew it was going to be Josh. I knew it had to be him the Monday we played together.”
She stared at him, the air around her a compressing heat. “So why were you hanging around? Why the fortnight of—”
“I was hanging around for you.”
Pain lanced at Nat’s heart.
He watched her, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down his throat. “You’re really going out with Craig tonight?”
She forced a tired sigh past her lips, refusing to surrender to the deluded fantasy of being with him. “Yes.”
His nostrils flared. “So after all this?” He swiped his finger back and forth between them. “What you and I have been doing for the last two weeks? What we’ve shared? It really was just sex?”
Her chest ached. Her breath scraped at her dry throat. “Did you think it was anything else?”
He didn’t reply. He just stared at her, his jaw bunched, the paper with Josh Blackthorne’s performance results and comments from lecturers sitting on the desk in front of him.
She pressed her palms to the tops of her thighs and swallowed. Waited for an answer she didn’t want to hear.
“No,” he finally said, his voice flat. Emotionless. He straightened to his feet. “Of course I didn’t. The notion of spending the rest of my life with you, of being in love with you, of hearing those five notes tattooed on your body played as you entered a church on our wedding day never crossed my mind. I never once thought how incredible and perfect it would be to grow old and grey and wrinkly with you. Never found myself daydreaming of having children with you and watching them grow up to be musical geniuses. Not at all. Not once.”
Nat stared at him, her heart a world of compressing agony.
Oh God, had he really been thinking all those things?
Did it matter?
He stood at her desk, hurt betrayal etched in his face.
“Jax…” she whispered, his name rough sandpaper in her throat. “Why…I can’t…” She paused.
Can’t what? Believe it?
“Josh Blackthorne’s contact details,” Dory’s chirpy voice cut the heavy silence. She damn near skipped into the room, flashing a coy sideways smile at Jax. “I was in bed with you last night.”
Nat’s stomach dropped.
“I mean I fell asleep listening to a Nick Blackthorne album.” Dory giggled. If Nat didn’t know Dory so well she’d hate her. “You’re an incredible musician. I’ve read articles comparing you to Ray Charles and Jordan Rudess. You’re sexier than both of them, though.”
Without breaking eye contact with Nat, Jax raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? I’ve heard I’m incredible as well. Especially to fall asleep with.”
Dory giggled again.
Tight pain shot through Nat’s chest.
“So that’s it?” Jax asked, unreadable gaze still holding hers. “We’re done here? Finished? You’ve given me what I want and I’ve given you what you want?”
Nat balled her fists on the tops of her thighs. She wanted to say no. Wanted to say she’d messed up. But he was Jax, and it seemed she was a chicken. “We’re finished,” she said, voice steady. “I know Josh will be a perfect fit for the Synergy.”
Jax’s nostrils flared. He studied her, nothing in his expression revealing what he was thinking. Nothing. Nat hated seeing him that way. It wasn’t Jax.
Say something. Tell him he can call you if he wants. Tell him you don’t mean it. Tell him you’re sorry. Tell him you love him. Tell him!
“Jax…” she began, every fibre and nerve ending in her body shearing apart with confused grief. “I…I can’t…”
With a barely audible growl, Jax nodded. “Fine. We’re finished. You won’t mind then if I take your assistant here—” he snaked his arm around Dory’s tiny waist and yanked her to his side, “—away? Show her just how…incredible I can be?”
Dory gaped at him with wide eyes, open excitement and undeniable desire on her face. “Me? Are you serious?”
Nat ground her teeth. Inside, she was dying. “Sure.” She waved a limp hand. A ball of sour grief burned in her throat. “She’s all yours.”
Dory swung to Nat, eyebrows high. “I can go early? Really?”
Nat’s smile for her assistant was brittle. “Of course, Dory. It is almost five after all.”
Jax laughed, the sound ribald devilry. “You’re giving her an early mark?” He buried his face in the side of Dory’s neck and she let out a surprised gasp, wriggling and giggling against his side. “How’s that for an early mark?”
Nat didn’t need to see the red mark on the side of Dory’s neck to know he’d given her a love bite.
“Let’s go, cutie,” Jax said, squeezing Dory’s backside.
Nat’s stomach rolled.
“Are you okay with this, Ms. Thorton?”
She drew a swift breath at her assistant’s laughing question. Smiled. More brittle than before. “Absolutely, Dory. Jax
and I are just old friends.”
A heavy prickling sensation told her Jax was looking at her.
“Absolutely,” he echoed. “Nothing more.”
The words flayed at Nat’s sanity. As did Dory’s delighted squeal when Jax hooked his arm behind her knees and swung her feet up off the ground, his laugh low and thoroughly filthy. “Let’s go. There’s nothing else I need here.”
His stare connected with Nat’s for a brief moment, long enough for her to see the contempt in his eyes, and then he turned, carrying her assistant from her office.
He didn’t look back.
Nat sat at her desk, numb. Empty. Motionless.
It was only when she heard the outer office door open and close that she squeezed her eyes shut. Hot tears burned at the back of them. She blinked, refusing to let them fall.
Refusing to…to…what? Blame Jax for his actions? She’d caused this. All this. She couldn’t blame him. She was the one who had demanded sex for names. She was the one who had goaded him into pleasuring her.
She was the one who had let him back into her life, when she’d known damn well she didn’t have the strength or will power to survive him.
She was the one to blame for it all. What had she expected? For Jax to beg to be with her? Refuse to accept her dismissal?
“The least he could do,” she muttered, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hands, “was give me my AC/DC record back.”
It was meant to be a joke, a way to break the misery in her soul.
It was only when Nat heard the first raw sob tear from her throat that she realized it was something else entirely.
The final nail.
Jax was gone from her life. For good this time.
The darkening evening beyond her office window fifteen minutes later, told her she had to move. As did the shrill chirp of a text message on her phone.
Nose blocked from her unchecked, shameful tears, she scooped her bag from the floor and dug out her mobile.
Shall pick you up in thirty minutes, Natalie. May I say I am so very happy you are attending the PM’s ball with me. I hope—no, I know it will be the first of many events and moments we share.
xox
J.
Nat read the Minister for the Arts and Culture’s far from subtle message, the words blurred by her stupid tears.
“Okay.” A heavy sphere of pain sat where her heart used to be. “Okay. We’re done here. Time to get moving, Nat. Time to put the last two weeks behind you and move on. You’ve had your fun and look where it got you. It’s time to be the Dean of the Con again. Time to get back to reality.”
Refusing to sniff or sob again, she rose from her desk, collected her bag and walked from her office.
She had a ball to get to. With a lovely man who was funny and good looking and smart and didn’t sleep with groupies and whose job worked perfectly with hers and…and…who was nice…and…publically aware and…and…
“And who isn’t Jax,” she finished aloud, her voice cracking. “Goddamn it, who isn’t Jax.”
Chapter Fourteen
An hour into the Prime Minister’s Ball’s proceedings, Nat knew coming had been a mistake.
Pulling in a slow breath, she ran her palms down over her belly, looking about herself. There were more dignitaries—local and foreign—and influential people here in the Sydney Town Hall than she’d ever encountered in one location. Every one she’d met had been friendly and interesting to talk to. She’d had a lengthy conversation with the prime minister’s wife about the Australian opera scene and how the Con was integral to furthering its international acclaim. She’d discussed Chopin and hip-hop with the Ambassador for the U.S. and the role of Eminem in Australia’s popular culture with the CEO of Qantas. It was, for someone in her position, a dream.
And yet she knew it was all a farce. Not because she wasn’t capable of holding her own in such company, but because the man beside her for all those conversations and discussions was not the man she wanted beside her.
Pressing both hands to her belly again, the snug black satin of her evening gown like cool liquid against her palms, she flicked Jeremy a quick sideways glance.
When he’d collected her from her home, just under ninety minutes ago, she’d been struck by how handsome he looked in his tux. When he’d run his gaze over her, she hadn’t been able to miss his admiration and desire.
She’d offered him her cheek. He’d placed a chaste kiss on it, his lips lingering long enough to indicate to her chaste was not at all how he wanted to kiss her. He’d told her how beautiful she looked and presented her his elbow.
Proper and chivalrous and gentlemanly.
She should have melted into a puddle of blissful desire. What woman wouldn’t?
Should have. But didn’t.
Since he’d collected her from her place, she’d told herself to give it time. Time. He truly was good looking. And quick witted and knowledgeable and easy to talk to.
The perfect date.
Standing beside him now, she told herself the same thing. Despite her expectation he would leave her to talk politics with his peers, he’d stayed with her from the moment they entered the ball. Had seldom removed his palm from the small of her back. Had included her in every conversation he had, no matter who it was with.
The perfect date.
She’d heard more than one murmur of the potential of his political future as they moved around the hall, most including the words future prime minister. He was humble and sweet and attentive and she knew they looked good together. They’d been complimented on that very thing often, including from the PM himself, his wink to Jeremy encouraging.
Jeremy had ducked his head with a boyish smile and slid his hand a little farther up Nat’s back. Up. Not down. Not closer to her butt to give it a taunting squeeze.
She’d held her breath, waiting for something inside her to react. To tell her this wonderful, perfect man was the right man for her.
Even if only the right man for her right now.
An hour in, and she’d accepted the fact that something was never going to happen.
It was a mistake to be here with Jeremy. It was a mistake to let him believe there was any hope of there ever being anything between them. There wasn’t. There never would be.
Not when she was irrevocably in love with Jax.
Jax. Who she’d spurned only a few hours ago. Who’d left her office with another woman in his arms.
Nat caught her bottom lip with her teeth and drove her nails into her palm.
“Are you well, Natalie?” Jeremy’s low voice tickled her ear, his breath warm on the side of her neck. “You seem…distracted.”
She started, jerking her head around to give him a guilty stare. “I’m…”
She stopped, the word fine dying on her lips before she could utter it.
“It’s the rock star, isn’t it?” Jeremy said, his eyes direct behind the spotless lenses of his glasses. “Jaxon Campbell.”
At the sound of Jax’s name, Nat’s stomach twisted. Her chest clenched. Her throat grew thick. “I…I’m sorry, Jeremy.” The apology left her on a soft whisper.
He drew in a slow breath. Released it and then let out a wry chuckle. “I suspected I had no chance when you rescued him from that melee after we’d had coffee. When you saw him, even at a distance, you came alive.”
Nat’s breath caught in her throat. “Jeremy…”
The Minister for the Arts and Culture shook his head, his smile warm. “I’m not mad. Disappointed, yes, but not mad. I had hoped we would…” He chuckled again, the sound self-deprecating. “Well, you are aware of what I hoped for. And it wasn’t just a political move, Natalie, me wanting to be with you. It was because you are incredible.”
Heart racing, Nat raised her hand and placed it to Jeremy’s jaw. “I’m sorry,” she said again.
He leant forward and brushed his lips against hers. “I am too,” he whispered before stepping away from her.
She looked at
him, guilt and grief and dejection wrapping her like a shroud. “I have to go.”
He nodded, his smile both kind and sad. “You do.”
Nat caught her bottom lip with her teeth again. She studied him and, hands resting on his shoulders, placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Minister,” she said as a goodbye.
“Dean Thorton,” he said in return.
She turned and weaved her way through the ball to the main exit, head roaring, heart a crashing tattoo in her chest.
Flagging a taxi, she climbed into the back and settled into her seat.
When she didn’t immediately provide an address, the driver twisted in his seat and cast her an impatient look. “Where to?”
The thought of going back to her place, to her empty house, chilled her. Made her belly roll. She needed to get her mind off her misery, off the woeful situation she’d brought upon herself.
“The Sydney Conservatorium of Music,” she answered. “Main building, please.”
With a grunt and a nod, the driver turned back to the wheel and swung out into the steady flow of Friday evening traffic.
Fifteen minutes later, Nat unlocked her office door and crossed to her desk.
She sat in her chair. Opened her laptop. Opened the most recent budget report and stared at it.
Beneath her desk, her feet encountered…nothing.
Nat closed her eyes. Unable to stop herself, she thought of Jax hiding under there, smoothing his palms up the inside of her thighs…making her come…grinning up at her when they were alone, the devilish delight in his eyes filling her with a wanton, happy thrill she’d missed more than she ever wanted to admit.
“Damn it,” she growled, slamming her laptop shut and jolting to her feet. First thing Monday she was getting a new desk. Hell, a new office. She couldn’t be in here anymore.
Not Monday. Not now.
She hurried from the room. She needed to clear her head. Go for a walk.
Reconnect with who she was—the dean. Not a lovesick teenager.
The Con’s silent hallways stretched around her, dark and serene. She wandered, not paying attention to where she was, just listening to her footfalls, her heartbeat, her breathing as she walked.
Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7) Page 18
