White Hot Christmas: A Heart of Fame Christmas Story

by Lexxie Couper

  He’d even jumped up and down in a tantrum worthy of a three-year-old beside his dead 4WD.

  And then, feeling petulant and foolish at the same time, he’d gone in search of his phone.

  It had taken longer than he thought it would. Who knew he had such a good throwing arm? Perhaps he should have pursued a career as a javelin thrower instead of rock star. Maybe, just maybe, if he’d been an Olympic javelin thrower, he wouldn’t be stuck on the side of the freaking motorway, hours away from Lauren and home and everything in his life that he craved to see on Christmas freaking Eve?

  He’d sustained more than one scratch to the legs and arms in his search for his phone. Those scratches stung now, intensified by the inferno in the sky that was the summer sun, a mocking reminder of how ridiculous he’d been.

  He let out a ragged sigh. At least he had a hat. That was something. A hat, and a tree behind which he could relieve himself if he needed without being subjected to public scrutiny from those in the cars speeding past him. Yay.

  A horn blared behind him, making him start and yelp.

  Before he finished climbing down from the bulbar, the sound of a heavy door slamming shut filled the hot air.

  “You look flustered, mate,” a man who had to be at least one-hundred and twenty-five years old in the shade laughed, strolling towards him along the side of his Range Rover. On his head, at a rakish angle, was a red Santa hat, complete with a fat, white pom-pom. Behind his 4WD, a tow truck that looked about the same age, sat idling.

  “Mike?” Nick asked. Nick had grown up an Aussie country boy. He recognized the type walking towards him now: a dyed-in-the-wool good bloke more than happy to help, regardless of the situation. It made sense that Mike would have answered his call for help when no other mechanic in Sydney would.

  “Yep.” Mike flashed a smile at him that showed at least one missing tooth. “Want me to take a look at that fancy go-mobile of yours?”

  Nick liked him instantly. “I do.”

  Mike wandered past Nick to the Range Rover’s bonnet. “Pop it for me?”

  Climbing back into the driver’s seat, Nick pulled the lever, releasing the locking mechanism of the bonnet with a solid clunk.

  By the time he climbed back out of the car and walked to where the ancient mechanic stood, the bonnet was up and Mike was studying the sophisticated engine with a bemused smirk.

  Mike whistled. “There’s a thing.”

  Nick’s stomach dropped. Did the old guy even know what he was looking at? The Range Rover Sport SVR wasn’t exactly the kind of car found in the average Australian mechanic’s garage.

  “Do you think four hundred and five kilowatts is enough?” Mike said, given Nick a sideways grin.

  Nick blinked.

  “Of course,” Mike went on, scratching at the side of his face as his grin turned devilish. “Doesn’t matter how much power you’ve got in the supercharged V8 if there’s water in the petrol.”

  “I didn’t…” Nick stopped. He was about to say he hadn’t put water in the petrol tank but he figured Mike probably knew that already.

  Mike’s grin stretched. “I know. But those bloody big-smoke servo owners are notorious for getting water in their tanks. By your description on the phone, that’s likely what’s goin’ on. This however, doesn’t explain the battery. A new car like this should’n ‘ave battery problems. Gimme a sec to ‘ave a squiz to see what’s goin’ on there.”

  Nick nodded.

  Mike turned to look at him. “By sec, I mean a tick. Probably a while. If you’ve got one of those fancy phones, you may wanna fire up the Angry Birds or whatever it is you kids play on it now.”

  Chuckling, Nick shook his head. “My phone’s dead. Like the car.”

  Mike tsked. “That sucks.”

  “Yep,” Nick agreed.

  The old man dug his hand into the back pocket of his very baggy coveralls (baggy and covered in grease stains, Nick noticed) and then pulled out a mobile phone as ancient as he was. “’Ere,” he said, tossing it to Nick. “There’s no fancy games but you can at least call whoever’s wait’n for you to get home.”

  Nick looked at the communication device now in his hand—a mobile phone old enough to require flipping open to use—and then up at Mike. “I think I love you, mate.”

  Mike snorted. “No offence, but you’re not my type. Now go take a load off in me truck while I see if I can work me magic. I ran the air-con the whole way so it’s cooler in there than it is out ‘ere; bloody sun would suck the spit right outta your mouth, it’s that hot. There’s also an esky on the front passenger seat with a couple of bottles of water and some apples in it if you’re thirsty or hungry. Help yourself.”

  Before Nick could declare his undying love and devotion for the man again, Mike turned back to the exposed Range Rover’s engine.

  Flush with a surreal sense of elated achievement, Nick flipped open the mechanic’s phone and began dialing Lauren’s number, walking to Mike’s tow truck as he did so. He was thirsty. And an apple wouldn’t go astray right now. When was the last time he had something to eat?

  He’d just pulled open the truck’s passenger door when Lauren answered.

  “Hello?”

  Warmth and love and relief rushed through him, powerful enough to make his head swim. “Hey, babe.”

  “Nick?” Worry and an almost frantic confusion filled her voice. “Where are you? What’s going on? I’ve been trying to ring you and text you and nothing. I’ve called Josh and Chloe. Hell, I’ve even called Aslin and what the hell he’s going to do from LA is beyond me. Are you okay?”

  Climbing up into the truck and settling into the passenger seat, Nick laughed. “I’m okay. Honest. The Range Rover’s broken down on the M1, and my phone went flat.”

  A ragged sigh answered his explanation. He smiled at it, his chest tightening. “Don’t do that to me, you bastard,” she scolded, laughter in her voice. “I had you abducted by an insane fan, or run off the road by the paparazzi. I was about to call the cops. Jax even offered to fly up and down the coast in his helicopter, following the M1 looking for you.”

  Grin wide, Nick wriggled his butt on the surprisingly comfortable seat and closed his eyes. The interior of the truck was cool, the lingering artificially chilled air a relief from the baking heat he’d been waiting in. With all the windows down and a playful breeze streaming through them, slumping in the passenger seat was a wholly relaxing experience. “God, don’t let that happen. I’m still not convinced he actually has a license to fly, let alone in a chopper.”

  Lauren chuckled. It was singularly the most exquisite, wonderful sound Nick had heard since touching down in Sydney. “Yeah, well, we’ve been worried.”

  A smile curled Nick’s lips. “Christ, I’ve missed you, woman,” he murmured.

  “Ditto,” she answered. “Where are you? Are you going to be able to drive home, or do you need me to come collect you from somewhere?”

  “Let’s see what Magic Mike can do first.” He didn’t like the thought of Lauren driving all those hours to get him on crazy Christmas Eve roads. Not that he doubted her driving ability, rather that of the other people recklessly racing the clock and the laws of physics to get where they wanted to be.

  “Magic Mike?” Lauren chuckled. “Is a stripper fixing your car, husband?”

  Nick laughed back. He thought about opening his eyes but the thought floated away on a heavy wave of nope. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not his type.” Man, his tongue felt lazy in his mouth, like it didn’t want to form the words in his brain. “He already told me.”

  “Oh well, in that case, I’ll definitely stop worrying.”

  He chuckled, although that too felt fuzzy. A gentle breeze wafted against his face. “Do you remember our first Christmas together as husband and wife, babe?” he asked on a murmur. The need to hug her, hold her and kiss her rolled through him, so profound his heart panged.

  “We had a picnic breakfast by the Murriundah river and spent the
morning swimming,” she answered. “You and Josh had a water fight so epic I’m still surprised neither one of you drowned.”

  Memories of that morning danced through Nick’s head at Lauren’s words. He could see his son—only sixteen at the time—dripping wet, wielding a Nerf water gun, and laughing so much he ended up with the hiccups. Lauren grinned at them both from the riverbank, gorgeous as ever in a simple black swimsuit that showed off just how beautiful and natural her body was, how lush her curves…

  “Christ, I miss you,” he said again.

  “I miss you too. More than you could ever hope to comprehend.”

  “Show me when I get home?” he asked, smiling even as he wriggled deeper into the passenger seat. His eyes stayed closed. Better to see her in his mind that way.

  “I’ve got an early Christmas present waiting for you when you get here,” she answered, and despite the heavy fog falling over him—how could he be tired? He’d slept on the plane—Nick didn’t miss the seductive suggestion and innuendo in her declaration.

  “Love you,” he said. Or maybe he mumbled it? Or murmured it?

  “Love you too. Give me a call when you know what’s going on, okay?”

  He thought he said okay in return. He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was just how comfortable he was, just how calm. Just how…

  A deep thrumming sensation vibrating through his body was the first thing he became aware of. That and the sound of Bill Hailey singing about rocking around the clock. After that came the aroma of coffee, followed by a dappling light and shadow show on his closed eyelids.

  Nick opened his eyes and righted himself in the seat, squinting at the world beyond the windscreen before him.

  Murriundah. The main street of Murriundah.

  He was in Murriundah.

  “Your singin’ is better than your snorin’, mate,” a familiar voice chuckled beside him.

  Twisting on the seat, Nick blinked at Mike—behind the wheel and grinning at him. “You… When did I… What…”

  He stopped, looked back out at Murriundah, back at Mike, and then over his shoulder towards the back of the tow truck.

  “It’s back there,” Mike said with a laugh. “I promised your missus I’d get you and it home safe ‘n’ sound.”

  Nick swung his stare back to the mechanic.

  “Although I’m only dropping you off. The fancy go-mobile I’m taking back to me garage and fixing after Christmas. Your missus said you’ve gotta ‘nother go-mobile fancier than that one that actually works you can get around in until I get ‘er back to you.”

  “You drove me home?” Nick asked, even as a rational part of his sleep-fogged mind told him it was a ridiculous question. “All the way?”

  Mike shrugged. The fat white pom-pom of his Santa hat jiggled on his shoulder. “Couldn’t very well leave you on the side of the M1, could I? And I wasn’t much a fan of your wife drivin’ all the way to get you, not with the crazies on the road at this time of year. ‘Sides, I’ve done everything I needed to do before Christmas.”

  Nick blinked.

  Mike flashed him a smile. “Don’t think I’m not going to charge you for this though. Me hourly rate sits around twenty bucks for celebrity chauffeurin’ work.”

  A grunt-slash-laugh burst from Nick. He grinned at Mike. And then frowned. “How did you know…”

  “Who you are?”

  Nick nodded. Outside, the familiar facades of Murriundah’s shops began to give way to just as familiar fronts of the houses of the main drag. Houses that would soon give way to open stretches of bush before a nondescript side road would appear.

  Home. He was almost home.

  He was almost—

  “I gotta daughter who listened to you non-stop when she was a teenager,” Mike said, changing back a gear as they approached the main street’s only pedestrian crossing. Ambling across it, Nick noticed, was Rhys McDowell’s mum and dad, both carrying bags from the Murriundah Fresh Produce store.

  They looked towards the tow truck, both smiling in that utterly friendly way country folk do no matter who they are interacting with—be it stranger or life-long friend.

  “And a granddaughter who does the same with your son’s band.”

  Nick raised his hand and waved at the McDowells—who waved back, smiles widening—before turning to Mike.

  “You drove me home,” he repeated, although this time it wasn’t stunned disbelief and confusion in his voice, but a gratitude he had no hope of ever describing.

  Mike chortled. “I did. Now, tell me where this turn off for your house is. Your missus says it can be easy to miss if you don’t know what you’re lookin’ for.”

  “I mentioned before how much I love you, right?” Nick asked.

  Mike threw back his head and laughed, a big-belly guffaw that filled the cabin of the truck with a joy Nick found infectious.

  “You did,” Mike confirmed. “And I mentioned you weren’t my type. Is this it?”

  The dirt road hiding between two massive peppercorn trees was, indeed, it. With a skill Nick associated with Formula 1 drivers, Mike navigated his truck—with the dead Range Rover attached behind—into a tight right turn and up the narrow road.

  Ten minutes later, they drew to a halt out in front of Nick and Lauren’s sprawling sanctuary from the public eye: AKA, home.

  Nick stared at it. For a second he wondered if he was actually dreaming. Was he still stuck on the side of the M1, waiting for a mechanic to arrive?

  And then the front door opened and Lauren stepped out onto the sweeping front porch and he knew damn well he wasn’t.

  There wasn’t a hope in hell any dream could ever be as perfect and beautiful as the woman smiling at him from the top step.

  Not a hope in hell.

  Home.

  He was home.

  Unwrapping the Present

  Blackthorne Homestead, Australia

  “Merry Christmas, Nick.”

  Nick jerked his grinning stare from Lauren to Mike.

  The old man smiled at him. “Have a good one.”

  “Come in for a coffee?” Nick offered, even as a part of him—that very male part that had been aching for his wife since the moment he flew out of Australia a week ago—rebelled against the invitation.

  Mike laughed again. “Nah, mate. Got me own missus to get back to. ‘Sides, you don’t want an old codger muscl’n in on your reunion. I’ll see you in a few days with your go-mobile though, so you can caffeinate me up then, okay?”

  Before Nick could stop himself, he flicked Lauren a look. She was descending the stairs, her exquisite legs somehow more exquisite in the short denim shorts she wore, her white tank emphasizing the perfection of her curves and the healthy glow of her skin. Her hair cascaded around her face in a tumble of auburn waves he couldn’t wait to feel slip through his fingers and her lips curled in a smile that spoke of everything that waited for him when they were alone.

  “Are you sure?” he asked Mike, even as his body reacted to his wife. To her smile, her presence…

  A firm hand clapped down on his shoulder, and he swung his stare back to the mechanic.

  Mike chuckled. “Sure. Get your arse outta me truck, mate.”

  Nick grinned. And then stuck out his right hand. “Thank you, Mike. Seriously, thank you.”

  Mike took Nick’s hand and gave it a firm pump. His eyes twinkled. “No worries. It’s what I do.”

  It took Nick exactly five seconds to open the passenger door and scramble out of the truck’s cabin.

  Five seconds for his feet to hit the ground and his gaze to find his wife.

  Five seconds for Lauren to launch herself into his arms and kiss him.

  A part of his brain registered the solid thunk of the passenger door closing behind him, the same part heard Mike wish them both a Merry Christmas before the sound of the truck’s engine revved louder and then the rest of his brain told him Lauren’s tongue was sliding against his, that her warm lush body was pressing to his, that her
breasts were crushed to his chest and nothing else existed except her.

  By the time he pulled his lips from hers, the only sign of Mike was the back of Nick’s Range Rover being towed down the dirt road into the bush around their home.

  “He seems really lovely,” Lauren said, smoothing her palm up Nick’s chest.

  Nick tugged her closer to his body and returned his gaze to her upturned face. “He is.”

  She grinned, and slid her palm down his chest. Lower, lower until her fingers slipped between his shorts’ waistband and his stomach. “It’s not wrong of me to say I’m glad he didn’t come in?”

  A tight rope of tension and heat twisted through Nick’s core and into his groin. “Not at all,” he murmured, before capturing her lips again with his.

  It was only the extreme summer heat and sun that brought the kiss to an end.

  He lifted his head and found her smiling at him. “I want to make love to you so badly I’m in physical pain right now, wife. But I’ve also been without a shower for over twenty-four hours.”

  A devilish glint filled her eyes and she rolled her hips, rubbing the curve of her sex against his groin. His cock, he wasn’t at all surprised to realize, was a rigid pole straining for release…or her touch. “Hmmm…you are a bit stinky.”

  She skipped backward a step, the mischief in her face sending a fresh rope of lust into Nick’s core. “And it is very hot out here,” she commented, flicking the sky a glance.

  “It is,” he agreed. His body thrummed, craving hers with an urgency he couldn’t ignore.

  Lauren continued to walk backwards, holding his gaze as her hands went to the glorious curves of her hips. “Think I’ll take a swim while you take a shower.”

  Before he could respond, she slipped her fingers under the waistband of her shorts and pushed them down over her hips.

  Nick sucked in a swift breath.

  She wore the skimpiest red and green G-string he’d ever seen, the item of lingerie barely more than some thin, green lace straps curving around her hips and a tiny triangle of red covering her pubic area. And on that tiny triangle, printed in glittery green, was a Christmas tree.