Blackthorne: Heart of Fame, Book 8 (12 page)

Drawing in a ragged breath, she dug about in her handbag for her keys. Had she taken them to Canberra? She couldn’t remember.

Something cold and metal struck her searching fingers and a surreal sense of joy shot through her grief. There and choked immediately by the fog.

Withdrawing the keys to the club, she made her way to the front doors. Perhaps her subconscious knew this was where she needed to be. There was whisky inside. A whole bar full of it. Three bars, in fact. Perhaps the liquor would burn away the fog.

Perhaps, if she got drunk enough, the grief would go away.

Perhaps, if she finished off every bottle of whisky in the place, she could erase every memory of Matt, every moment aching for him to be alive, every second hating him for being missing and for asking her to not say anything about them breaking up…

She shoved the key in the lock and then twisted it to the right.

“Fuck,” she muttered, pulling her hand away from the lock. “Forgot the alarm.”

Scowling at the security panel above the lock, she flipped open the cover.

And stopped.

The little green light indicating the alarm wasn’t activated flashed at her.

Why was the alarm not on?

Apprehension rippled over the greyness enveloping her. For a moment, the fog dissipated. She frowned, returning her attention to the key still in the lock and, heart fast, opened the door.

The first thing she heard was singing, unaccompanied by music of any sort.

A male voice, smooth and yet with a faint scratch on the high notes, a dirtiness she’d recognize anywhere.

Josh Blackthorne was in her club. Singing.

She stopped three steps into the entry foyer, hidden by the shadows. Whoever had let Josh into the Chaos Room hadn’t bothered with the rest of the club’s lights. From where she stood, all she could see was Josh bathed in a single spotlight, perched on a lone stool in the middle of the small, low stage, a guitar on his thighs.

He sang with his eyes closed, the messy waves of his dark hair tumbling around his face, his jaw dark with a five o’clock shadow that looked well and truly on its way to being reclassified as a beard.

Black denim encased his long, lean legs, a retro Blackthorne T-shirt wrapping his torso. His feet were bare, his discarded boots lying at the foot of the stool.

Caitlin stood motionless, the incredible beauty of his voice caressing her grief.

It was “Lily’s Song” he sang, the breakout hit that had launched him onto the rock ’n’ roll world, the closing credit track to
Dead Even 2
.

She remembered attending the red-carpet opening of the movie with her uncle and Chris Huntley, the film’s star, five years ago. Remembered even then, as a naïve twenty-one-year-old, being moved by not only the lyrics of the song, but Josh’s voice.

At that moment, she’d become a fan. From that point onward, she’d listened to Synergy as often as she could.

And then she’d met Matt and life changed. And when Matt went missing, she’d turned to classical music to find him in her lonely soul.

It wasn’t classical music moving her soul now.

It wasn’t Bach, or Mozart or Chopin.

It was Josh Blackthorne’s amazing voice, singing the story of a man who would do anything thing he could, change anything he could, so the woman he desired, the woman he ached for, would see him for what he truly was—the man that loved her beyond everything else.

She stood in the darkness and watched him sing, listened to his voice fill her club like no other sound ever had.

And the fog finally cleared, finally evaporated, replaced by tears, silent and hot.

Moving to the column just inside the entryway, she pressed her back to the cool steel surface and slowly sank to the floor.

She didn’t wipe at her tears. She just sat, knees curled to her chest, arms wrapped about her legs, and let the tears fall as she listened to Josh sing.

When the song ended, the last word an elegant note of heartache, silence descended over the Chaos Room.

It played with Caitlin, eased her, let her live in a moment of quiet beauty, her thoughts sliding and shifting, never lingering on one thing for long.

She thought of Matt, of the time they went skiing and built a snowman, of her parents, of her uncle who she loved so much and how her father refused to acknowledge his existence. She thought of the photos of Uncle Liev and her dad her mother still kept in a box in the attic. She thought of the time she and Matt stayed awake all night, caring for a tiny kitten they’d found in their letter box, a kitten that grew to a rangy cat that would bring them home live cockroaches and meow with gusto until they gave her a pat. She thought of the night Matt asked her to marry him as they watched the full moon rise over Bondi Beach’s famous waves.

She thought of the morning he told her he wanted a break to see if they were still in love or not. She thought of the day he left for Somalia, she remembered her tears, hidden in the shower an hour later.

She thought of his lips on hers.

And then those lips weren’t his. Those lips belonged to the man on the stage. A man who seemed as lost as she as he sat beneath the spotlight alone.

“That was fucking incredible!”

Caitlin let out a yelp at the sound of her second-in-charge’s voice reverberating through the club.

She slapped her hand to her mouth, her pulse a wild rhythm in her throat.

On stage, Josh smiled, his fingers moving to the strings of his guitar. “Thanks. I gotta say, the place has incredible acoustics.”

“Yeah, the boss knows her stuff.” Zach walked onto the dance floor dressed in the most outlandish boardshorts and tank top Caitlin had ever seen. “I was here the day she ripped into the builders who fucked up the construction of the ceiling. When she was finished, one of them was actually in tears.”

Josh’s soft chuckle reached Caitlin’s ears. “She’s pretty awesome.”

“And fierce,” Zach added.

“And incredible,” Josh continued. “I’m in awe of her strength and courage.”

Caitlin’s tummy tightened. She closed her eyes. Should she be listening to this? Josh might believe her courageous, but was she? Sitting here in the darkness, silently crying? Was that strong?

Wanting to step into the light and rest her cheek on his chest, to soak in his warmth so soon after hearing Matt was dead? Was that courageous? Or cowardly?

“You known her long?” her second-in-charge asked, curiosity in his voice. “I thought you only meet her the other night, but the way you talk about her…”

Josh’s gentle snort teased Caitlin’s senses. “I saw a picture of her in her uncle’s house years ago. It was just a snap-shot taken by Chris Huntley as Liev and Caitlin were fooling around pretending to out-Bruce Lee each other. She was laughing even as she was doing her best to look menacing. I was eighteen, in L.A. with my parents for Liev and Chris’s wedding. The moment I saw that picture, the moment I looked at it, at her…suffice to say, I’ve seen her eyes so many times in my dreams since.”

“Fuck, dude.” Zach let out a shaky laugh. “Didn’t expect you to say that.”

Neither had Caitlin. She sat motionless, staring at Josh on the stage bathed in the single spotlight, her heart wild.

Oh God.

Josh chuckled and gave a lop-sided shrug. “It’s the poet inside me. It escapes every now and again and I say something wanky like that. That kind of stuff belongs in song lyrics, not conversation.”

“Have you written a song about the boss?”

Caitlin didn’t wait to hear Josh’s answer.

She scrambled to her feet and ran for the main door. She didn’t care if they heard her leave, she couldn’t be here now.

The humid early evening air wrapped around her with greedy haste as she threw herself against the door and out onto the footpath.

Oh God, she had to…she had to…

“Caitlin?”

Her heart smashed into her throat at the sound of Josh’s voice behind her.

“Are you okay? How long—”

She spun around, allowed herself a split second to look at him, to take him in, to burn him into her brain, and then she stepped forward, buried her fingers in his hair and dragged his head down to hers. She captured his lips. Kissed him. Surrendered herself to the raw intoxication of his lips against hers, opened herself up to the fire of his passion, his life. She willed it to burn away her grief. Needed it to clarify her confusion.

She kissed him, fisting her hands in his hair, pressing her hips to his, grinding her sex to his groin.

She kissed him, gave herself to him, like she’d wanted to from the moment she saw him on the footpath—
this
footpath.

She let out a sob of disbelief and dismay when he pulled away from her.

“Hey,” he murmured, cupping the side of her face as he stared into her eyes. “What’s—”

She tried to kiss him again.

He pulled back, an unreadable expression flickering over his face. “Caitlin, what’s going on? Talk to me. I know about…about your fiancé.” He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. “I know you’re hurting now. But trust me, babe,
this
isn’t going to take away your pain.”

Grief ripped at her, raw and total. She gazed up at him. Hot tears stung her eyes. Her chest ached. Emptiness and elemental need churned in her stomach. “I…I just need…to feel.”

Why couldn’t she be numb?

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, make me feel. I want you…I want you to make me
feel
.”

That same unreadable expression flared in Josh’s eyes again, a turbulent emotion that raged like a thunderstorm, and then it was gone, replaced with compassion so intense Caitlin lost her breath. “Then feel, babe,” he whispered, “and hear my heart as it feels with you.”

He pulled her to his body, wrapped his arms around her back with tender pressure, tucked her head beneath his chin and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on the top of her head.

“Hear my heart, Caitlin,” he murmured against her hair. “And let yourself grieve.”

With the steady sound of his heart beating in her ear, she stood in his embrace, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, her cheek resting against his chest.

She stood there on the street in the evening sunset and began to cry.

Mourned the man she knew in her own heart she’d said goodbye to almost a year ago.

Chapter Ten

He took her back inside.

Led her back into her club, his arms around her, his lips still pressed to the top of her head. With each silent shudder of grief that claimed her, his heart broke for her. With every step they took, he held her closer.

When Zach approached, consternation swimming in his eyes, Josh shook his head. Josh’s gut told him that Caitlin would be mortified to know her employee, even one she considered a friend, had seen her in such a state.

With a silent nod, Zach left.

Josh heard the Chaos Room’s main door open and swing shut.

He didn’t release Caitlin. Instead, he walked her to the centre of the dance floor and tucked her completely into his body.

Her tears rent the silence. He could tell, even now, she tried to contain them. It was part of her nature to control herself, to hold on tightly to every facet of her life. She’d held on to Matt for this long, and now she was holding on to the tears to say goodbye to him.

A wave of helplessness washed over him.

He smoothed his hands up and down her back, murmuring words of comfort that he doubted eased her grief at all. What were words but sounds? How could sounds help anything when your life was torn asunder?

But with each whisper, with each stroke of his palm over her back, her shoulders, her sobs grew louder. With each murmur of her name, her hands—fisted in his shirt beside her face—balled tighter. Until she and Josh both crumpled to the floor and Caitlin buried her wet face into his neck and clung to him.

He didn’t move. Even though his knee screamed in pain at its bent position, he didn’t move. His physical pain was nothing next to the pain in Caitlin’s heart. He would no more ask her to move so he could be more comfortable than he would deny her her grief.

A lifetime passed.

Caitlin wept and Josh held her. And eventually the tears subsided. Eventually, the quaking sobs claiming her body ceased.

And still, he didn’t move.

He didn’t tuck his finger under her chin and raise her face to his so he could kiss away those tears wetting her cheeks. He wanted to. He wanted to take away her pain and give her new warmth. But he didn’t. Because this wasn’t his time. It was hers.

The minutes passed.

If they turned into hours, he didn’t know or care. He turned his mind away from the screaming pain in his knee and focused instead on the warmth of Caitlin’s body, on the steady beat of her heart thumping against the side of his chest.

When she raised her head a little, eyes shuttered, cheeks wet, nose red, he waited for her to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not looking at him.

“Don’t be,” he whispered back.

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth and nodded, the action hesitant, uncertain.

“Want me to take you home?”

She opened her eyes and glanced at him. “Okay.”

He lowered his head and dropped a soft kiss on the top of her head again. “Okay, let’s go.”

They rose from the floor together. Josh’s knee screamed at him in violent protest, punishing him for his protracted position by sending shards of slicing pain deep into his knee joint and up and down his leg. He ground his teeth and denied it.

“Do you know if Zach went out the back?” Caitlin asked, the words a husky rasp. “Do I need to go out there and turn anything off?”

He shook his head. “As far as I know, it was just the main spot light.”

She licked her lips, her gaze shifting about. “Okay.”

She moved then, walking toward the stage. Each step grew stronger, more purposeful, until she climbed the small flight of stairs leading up to the raised platform without any hint of uncertainty.

Josh watched her move to the side of the stage and flick a switch high on the wall.

The stage was plunged into darkness, the only light in the club the dull green glow of the exit signs above the main door, another on the far side of the dance floor and one upstairs.

When Caitlin didn’t immediately return, he squinted into the blackness. “Caitlin?” he called, his concern reverberating around the silence.

“I’m okay,” she called back, disgruntled exasperation tingeing her answer. “Just forgot where the damn steps were for a second. Almost fell off the stage.”

He chuckled, the wry sound amplified by the acoustics of the club.

“You can laugh,” she muttered, suddenly directly in front of him in the darkness. “You already have a limp. I’d rather keep my natural-born gracefulness, thank you.”

Josh chuckled again, sliding an arm around her to pull her to his side. “All the cool kids limp. Didn’t you know that?”

She grunted a response, a grunt that turned to a sob.

Before he could move, she pressed her face to his chest, her shoulders shaking with fresh, silent tears.

He stood there, lips on the top of her head, eyes closed.

A few minutes later, she pushed away from him. “Okay, I’m better. Let’s go.”

He couldn’t see her face clearly in the dark, but suspected
better
wasn’t an accurate word to describe her state of mind.

He didn’t raise the issue though. Instead, he nodded, curled his arm around her back and walked her across the dance floor.

“You’re limping badly.”

He shrugged. “It’s all good.”

Silence stretched between them. They left the club, Caitlin locking the door and activating the alarm system while Josh waited at her side. He walked her to where he’d parked the Jag earlier that afternoon, not holding her even though he wanted to.

He knew what the life of a celebrity was like. He didn’t want someone photographing them and the image appearing all over the social networks along with conjecture and gossip so close to Caitlin’s loss.

It wouldn’t take the media long to learn of the discovery of Matt’s body. When they did, he didn’t want them to sink their fingers into her grief and twist it into something insidious and tainted by posting vicious rumours about her relationship with him so close to the announcement of her fiancé’s death.

If anyone recognized him as they walked the block and a half to the Jag, they didn’t react to it. That was good. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with his fame tonight.

When they reached the rental and he opened the passenger door for her, Caitlin raised her face to his. “Thank you, Josh.” The words left her on a shaky whisper.

He could see fresh tears glistening in her eyes. He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Just doing my job.”

Puzzled confusion tugged at her eyebrows. “Your job?”

He gave her a soft smile. “Don’t you know it comes with the whole rock-star thing—singing songs, offering shoulders?”

Her responding
ahhh
was a soul-tearing mix of sorrow and mirth. “Good you were here then. For your expertise.”

He touched her cheek again, aching to press his lips to it. “Any time.”

Before he removed his hand, she covered it with her own and turned her face into his palm.

He didn’t know how long they stood that way. He didn’t know if anyone photographed them. He only knew he would do anything he could to see her smile, to hear her laugh, again.

The drive to her apartment was silent. Caitlin sat in the passenger seat, her forehead resting against the window, her eyes sometimes closed, other times open as she watched Sydney pass by.

Four blocks later, he drew to a halt outside her place.

“I want to ask you to come up,” Caitlin’s husky murmur stroked Josh’s control. “But I’m scared you’ll say no because you think I will try and kiss you again.”

He stared at her. His gut churned.

“But I won’t,” she went on, still looking out the window. “I promise. I just…I just want you to be with me. In my home. In all honesty, I will probably fall asleep, but I don’t want to do that without you there.” Turning away from the view of her apartment, she gave him an uncertain frown. “Is that okay?”

Josh nodded. “It is.”

They moved inside. Caitlin walked to her bedroom. A few seconds later, Josh heard the shower running.

It took him a few moments to find her kettle and tea caddy. In that time, Fluffy wandered out from under the fridge, flicked his blue tongue in the air a few times and looked up at Josh.

“She’s in the bedroom, mate,” he said, dropping a tea bag into the biggest mug he’d found in the cupboard.

Fluffy poked his tongue out again, three times, and then slowly wandered away, the soft rasping of his belly scales on the kitchen floor strangely comforting to Josh.

Turning back to his tea-making efforts, he popped another tea bag in a smaller mug, spooned three sugars into it, flicked on the kettle and then leant his butt against the counter, watching Fluffy as the lizard made his lopsided slither-limp toward Caitlin’s bedroom.

“Go help her find her happy, mate,” he murmured.

Fifteen minutes later, with Caitlin’s mug still waiting to be filled, his own tea sitting cold and forgotten on the coffee table in front of him and the sound of the shower long silenced, Josh pushed himself from the sofa.

He had to check on her. He was sure she was asleep, but he had to check.

Endeavoring to make as little sound as possible, he walked to her bedroom and tapped twice on the doorframe with the back of his knuckles. “Caitlin?”

No answer came.

His chest constricted. With a deep breath, he stepped up to the open door and looked into her room. He let out a sigh when he found her asleep, curled on her side on top of her bed, her damp hair tangling around her face, her long limbs bare.

She wore a pair of shorts covered in Elmo’s perpetually laughing face and a bright red tank. At her feet, Fluffy stretched flat, his tail draped over her ankle. In the background, playing so softly Josh could only just make it out, was the sound of Bach.

A slow smile curled Josh’s lips. Warmth, tight and undeniable, threaded through his chest, down into his very core. He studied her, watched her body move ever so slightly with her deep breaths, and then he left.

Back to the living room and his cold tea.

Dropping onto the sofa, he dug his mobile from his back pocket, woke it up and tapped out a text message:

Rhys, don’t think I’m coming home tonight. Maybe not for a while. Let me know when you’re heading back to the UK. I’m sure by now you’re in that much shit with your coach he’s likely to skin you alive. Which would make for an interesting match to watch, I must admit—a skinless McDowell, running around the field, leaving bloody puddles everywhere.

JB

He hit send, waited until the phone told him the message had been delivered and then turned it off and shoved it back into his pocket. He didn’t need it on. He didn’t need to talk to anyone.

Nothing mattered except being here when Caitlin woke.

Closing his eyes, he laid his head on the back of the sofa and crossed his ankles on the coffee table.

He had no idea what was going to happen when Caitlin woke. No idea at all. Maybe he should plan something…

The aromatic smell of fresh coffee brewing woke him hours later. So much for planning something. The last thing he’d expected to do was fall asleep.

Pushing himself upright from the sofa, he squinted against the early morning sun flooding the apartment. “Caitlin?”

“Coffee’s coming,” Her voice floated from the direction of the kitchen.

He frowned. There was no sorrow in her answer. In fact, she sounded…chirpy. “Okay.”

A shot of pain lanced up from his knee and, biting back a wince, he gave it a rub.

“You good with toast for breakfast?” Caitlin called.

Rising to his feet, he limped into the kitchen, his breath catching at the sight of her whizzing around the small area in her Elmo PJs. On the counter beside her, Fluffy sat munching on what looked like a tiny bowl of raw minced beef. “Hey.”

She tossed him a look over her shoulder before snatching the freshly popped toast from the toaster. “Morning. Thank you for staying last night. I’m sorry I was…well…you know.”

He narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t expected this.

Actually, he didn’t know what he’d expected. He’d fallen asleep before he could make any kind of plan or consider what was going to happen when she woke.

Moving deeper into the kitchen, he dragged his hands through his hair and scratched at the scruff on his jaw. Yep, it definitely seemed like he’d grown a beard over the last few days. “How you feeling?”

“Better. A little foolish.” She yanked open the fridge and studied its contents. “I don’t have Vegemite, but I do have peanut butter. Are you okay with that?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Sure. What do you mean foolish?”

Closing the fridge with a nudge of her hip, she opened the jar of peanut butter she’d withdrawn from it and scooped out a dollop with a knife. “The way I carried on. The crying and the…the kissing. I won’t do it again.”

None of it?

The unworthy, far-from-chivalrous thought whispered through Josh’s head.

She turned and handed him a plate with two slices of toast smeared in peanut butter. “Here you go.”

He took it, his head buzzing. “Caitlin, do you want to talk about—”

“Why were you at the club last night?”

He blinked at her abrupt question.

She looked at him, her eyes bright, her shoulders square. There was a charged tension about her. An almost feverish energy. “When I got back from Canberra, you and my second-in-command were at the club. You were singing on the stage. Why?”

“I was…” He paused. What would she do when he told her?

She raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“I was testing the acoustics.”

“Why?”

“For an unplugged performance I’m going to do there in three weeks.”

Confusion rippled over her unnatural vibrancy. “A what?”

He swallowed. “An unplugged performance, to raise awareness of Doctors Without Borders and Matt’s work with them. I started organizing it with Zach three days ago. Mackenzie Rogers, the journalist, is writing a story about it for both the
Sydney Morning Herald
and
The New York Times
.”

She stared at him. “W-why…why would you…”