Blackthorne: Heart of Fame, Book 8 (2 page)

Caitlin arched a brow. “Seriously?” she repeated. She didn’t understand fawning over celebrities. It made you look like an idiot as far as she was concerned.

“Want me to call ’em over?” her bouncer asked, a humored chuckle in his voice.

Shaking her head, she tapped Strop’s bulging biceps with her hand. “It’s okay. Let me check it out.”

With another quick glance at the gawking, unsettled queue, she began to walk to the two supposed celebrities waiting by the street. She highly doubted they were who they purported to be. She’d only read yesterday the feds in the States had just arrested a crazy stalker who’d been dangerously obsessed with Blackthorne for months. What were the chances the guy would be prancing around Sydney, kissing fans on the street if something like that had happened? And if it
was
Blackthorne, where was his bodyguard. All celebrities of his fame had one. As did someone like Rhys McDowell. The striker for Manchester United and the Australian soccer team—along with the new face of Hugo Boss—was just as famous as the rock star. Word had it the guy was a major womanizer who had to beat off fans and lust-crazed admirers whenever he ventured off the soccer field. And sometimes
on
the soccer field too. Caitlin was sure she’d seen footage on the news last week of a naked female fan crash tackling McDowell during a match in London.

All those facts led to the two guys standing with their backs to her
not
being who they said they were. There was no other way for it.

Still, professional courtesy—an itch she never ignored—dictated she be one hundred percent certain before telling them to get to the back of the line and wait their turn like everyone else. It wouldn’t be good for business for the Chaos Room to be labeled by a vindictive PR rep or snippy gossip site as the nightclub that turned Josh Blackthorne and Rhys McDowell away.

“Oi,” she called at their backs as she drew closer to them. “I hear you two think you don’t have to wait in line like…”

The rest of Caitlin’s challenge faded on her lips. Not because she’d lost her courage, but because both guys turned to face her at once and she forgot for a moment how to breathe.

Holy crap.

They were both sexy as sin.

“Everyone else?” the guy with the plaited ponytail finished for her. He grinned, his blue eyes dancing with mirth. “That’s about it. Probably because we’re not like everyone else.”

Caitlin swallowed. Jesus, he was yummy. And cocky. She could see the devilish conceit dripping off him already.

“That’s enough, Rhys.” A low drawl with its deep timbre sent a shiver up Caitlin’s spine and she swung her stare to his companion, her throat tightening as her eyes connected with an intense grey gaze. “Put your ego in check, dude.”

Her pussy contracted. Her pulse quickened. Christ, the guy was hot. Hot with a capital oh-my-fucking-God-I-want-to-have-your-babies H. And he did
look
like Josh Blackthorne. He had those famous storm-cloud eyes, that famous hawkish nose and dark eyebrows. He had that killer smirk that made women everywhere want to strip naked and declare themselves his to do with what he chose, and that sinewy, corded body she’d seen undulating in more than one wickedly sexy video clip on MTV.

He had all those things. But he didn’t have a bodyguard. And Josh Blackthorne would not be out in public without one of those. Caitlin didn’t
think
that was the case, she
knew
it for a fact. She’d spent enough time with celebrities, thanks to her uncle’s famous husband, to know that. If you were famous like Blackthorne was, it was vital you have one.

No bodyguard, no Blackthorne.

Sucking in a swift breath, she caught hold of the sexual libido taking her completely by surprise and crossed her arms over her breasts. Not because she was trying to hide the way her nipples puckered into hard points at the guy’s grey gaze, but because she wanted them both to know she wasn’t going to let them waste her time.

“I don’t care about the egos,” she said, arching an eyebrow at them both—damn, it was hard to look away from the Blackthorne lookalike. “I care about my club. And right now, you guys are just causing a fracas with my patrons.”

The guy pretending to be Rhys McDowell affected a melodramatic pout. “We don’t mean to. We just wanted to do some dancing. Let off some steam.” He gyrated his hips in a slow rotation. “Get a little low and dirty, if you know what I mean.”

Behind Caitlin, what sounded like a hundred women all let out a delighted squeal at once.

On his left, the Blackthorne lookalike snorted. “Smooth moves, Rhys. Smooth moves.” He turned his kilowatt gaze on her again, a dimple flashing at her from his right cheek. “Sorry. We were told this is the best club in town and figured we’d come check it out.”

Beside him, his companion let out a filthy laugh. “Hell, yeah. I’m all about checking it out.”

The women in the line behind Caitlin squealed again.

Caitlin fixed both men with a steady stare before returning her focus to the Blackthorne doppelganger. Inside, her tummy fluttered. Lower in her body, her sex did the same. A girl could orgasm under the power of that silver-grey gaze. Easily.

Well, not
her
per se, but a girl who was partial to his kind of smoldering, simmering, raw sexual potency. A girl who hadn’t had sex with anyone for over eight months and ached to feel hands on her body again. A girl who needed…something she hadn’t had in a long time. Something like…

Contact. Connection.

With a grunt, Caitlin killed the traitorous thought and frowned at the two troublemakers. Enough was enough. They really were wasting her time now, and she hated wasting time. It was a pet peeve. “Okay,” she said, shoving
her
hands on her hips. “Clearly, you’ve had too much to drink, so even if you are who you say you are, which clearly you are not, I’m not letting you into my club. So perhaps you need to find a taxi and head home.”

Blackthorne’s doppelganger raised his eyebrows. “Okay, first thing. We’re
not
drunk. Rhys here is admittedly a bit of a douche, but he’s not drunk in any way. He may be jet-lagged, given he just flew in from the UK not less than an hour ago, but neither of us have had a drop to drink. And secondly, why are you so adamant we’re not who we say we are?” He held out his arms, showing Caitlin a black-clad body very much the kind of most women’s fantasies. “Don’t we
look
like Rhys McDowell and Josh Blackthorne?”

“
Looking
like them isn’t going to get you into my club ahead of all the other people who’ve been doing the right thing and—”

A white flash on Caitlin’s right made her flinch. She spun around, glaring at the woman wearing a mini skirt, boob tube and not much else standing there, iPhone held up in the I’ve-just-taken-a-photo position. “Excuse me?”

The woman giggled, took another snap and hurried back to the line to wait to get into the Chaos Room.

Caitlin gaped at her insolence.

“First time you’ve had your photo taken?”

Blackthorne’s doppelganger’s question—uttered with a dry laugh—jerked her back to him. He was smirking at her, that smile so like the real Josh Blackthorne’s for a moment Caitlin forgot her time was being wasted by a lookalike wanker trying to cash in on his stunningly sexy similarity to a rock star. “Listen,” she said, trying to ignore the niggling doubt in her tummy. “I’m sure you’ll get in lots of other clubs tonight based on the way you both look, but my club isn’t one of them. So stop riling up those waiting in line, seriously stop impersonating Blackthorne and McDowell and go get your kicks somewhere else, okay?”

The McDowell wannabe burst out laughing. His companion—he of the simmering Blackthorne good looks—chuckled as he pulled an iPhone from his back pocket.

Around them, white flashes fired. More people from the Chaos Room’s waiting line had broken ranks it seemed, to come witness and capture the show on their smartphones. Caitlin wanted to flinch. She wasn’t a fan of having her photo taken without her permission. Instead, she kept her focus zeroed in on the two guys. If this was a Mexican standoff, she sure as hell wasn’t going to back down. They weren’t who they said they were, and they weren’t jumping the queue. No way. Not on her—

“There’s someone who wants to talk to you,” Blackthorne’s doppelganger said to her, holding out his phone.

Caitlin blinked. Looked at him. At the offered phone. At him again. “What?”

More smartphone flashes detonated around them. She heard both the names Josh Blackthorne and Rhys McDowell uttered more than once.

“Everything okay, boss?” Strop called from his place at the Chaos Room’s main door.

Blackthorne’s lookalike took a step toward her, his stormy-grey eyes holding her captive. Damn, they were stunning. He extended the hand holding his phone closer to her, his smirk turning to a playful grin. “There’s someone who wants to talk to you on the other end. Take it. Say hello.”

Stomach twisting, pulse fast—why did she feel like something beyond her control was taking place?—Caitlin closed the distance between her and the frustrating and far-too-sexy guy and plucked his phone from his fingers. Refusing to break eye-contact with him, she took a step back and pressed his phone to her ear. “Hello? Who’s this?”

“Caitlin?”

At the sound of her uncle’s voice on the other end of the connection, Caitlin almost dropped the phone. “Uncle L? What the hell are you…why are you…”

“Wait a second,” her uncle, once a political bodyguard and now the husband and personal trainer to Hollywood hunk, Chris Huntley, interrupted. “Why am I talking to you on Josh Blackthorne’s mobile phone?”

Chapter Two

She looked better in person than she did in photos. And she looked fucking amazing in the photos he’d seen.

Watching Caitlin Reynolds talk to her uncle on his phone, Josh couldn’t help but grin. He’d blown her out of the water with the move. Honestly, if he’d planned it this way, he couldn’t be happier with how it was turning out. But he hadn’t.

Thirty-six hours ago, he’d been in New York, the feds standing in his Upper Westside apartment’s living room informing him his stalker had made bail and that he needed to be wary.

Thirty-five hours ago, he’d been on the phone with Chris Huntley, who’d become a very close friend since Synergy had recorded the end track
to Dead Even 2
. He’d told Chris the stalker was on the streets again and jokingly wondered if Liev would teach him some self-defense moves. Maybe how to render a guy immobile with his pinkie, or some such ninja technique. Chris had suggested Josh hop a flight to Sydney. “Get out of the country for a while, dude. At least until the weirdo is behind bars again.” Josh had agreed with the idea. Liev also agreed with the plan and suggested Josh give his niece a call. “She’s a workaholic, Josh, but man she knows how to cook a mean lasagna. Tell her I said she had to cook you dinner at least once. She’s too bloody alone, that one. Don’t tell her I said that, however, or she’d have my balls.”

Before Josh had ended the call, Liev had given him Caitlin’s number. And the name of the nightclub she owned. Josh had written it all down, picturing the young woman he’d seen in more than one photo at Chris and Liev’s LA home. Calling Caitlin Reynolds seemed like a
very
good idea.

Thirty-four hours ago, as he was packing for his trip to Oz, he’d been surprised by a call from his best friend, Rhys. Rhys was bored with preparing for the Soccer World Cup and wanted to run amuck for a while. Rhys was the quintessential wild boy of the sporting world. Josh hadn’t seen him in ages. With a laugh, he’d told Rhys to catch a flight to Sydney ASAP. “Let’s go a little crazy back home. What do you think?” He hadn’t told Rhys about his on-the-loose stalker.

They’d met each other at the Sydney airport, caught a taxi to Josh’s Kirribilli apartment overlooking Sydney Harbour, dumped their luggage in the middle of the living room and hightailed it here, to Caitlin’s bar.

And then they’d been stopped at the door by the bouncer from hell.

Which was perfect. Because the second Josh got a look at Caitlin Reynolds in the flesh, he wanted her. Fuck, did he want her. He wanted to do things to her he’d never done to any other woman. He wanted to lose himself in the lush curves of her body, the liquid blue of her eyes. He wanted to shake her to the core, rock her world—no pun intended—shatter the tightly wound poise she wore and make her scream his name. And the best way to start the ball rolling was to unsettle her by having her uncle confirm he was, in fact, the guy she so adamantly denied he was.

He studied her, doing his best to keep his expression relaxed. God, she was sexy.

She was no more than five foot five but projected a confidence taller than that. Her long sable hair was scraped back from her face, accentuating high cheekbones, a smooth, curved forehead and expressively straight eyebrows. Her blue eyes flashed with challenge, the thick dark lashes framing them only serving to emphasize how direct and blue they were. She had a tiny overbite Josh found utterly sensual, and her pink-glossed lips were full. Man, what would those lips feel like moving against his.

The Iron Man shirt, jeans and flat-heeled boots did nothing to hide the lush curves of her body, a body his body was already eagerly responding to. And no matter how many times she pushed her hands to her hips or jutted out her chin in challenging aggression, he couldn’t help but notice how full her breasts were, how round her hips, how narrow her waist.

A little bundle of feisty ferocity and indignant conceit all wrapped up in an exquisite vision of feminine beauty. It was incredible to behold. Powerful and almost mesmerizing. Alluring was another word that came to Josh’s mind.

Vixen was another.

As was seductress.

And imposing.

Liev had told him she was a tad full of herself. Establishing the hottest, most successful nightclub in Sydney at the age of twenty-four would do that to a person, let alone a slip of a girl. As would maintaining that club’s popularity for three straight years running without fail. Liev was proud of his niece and rightly so. Josh was already in lust with her.

Now to get her into his bed.

Naked.

“Okay, Uncle L,” he heard her say into his phone with an unreadable expression as she studied him back. “If you say so.” She snorted. “Of course I don’t want to. I do have a—” She closed her eyes and shook her head, exasperated frustration flickering over her beautiful face. “Yeah, I know. Okay. Yeah. Sure. Love you. Give Chris my best.”

She ended the call with a jab of her thumb and, with a curious—or was that cautious—frown, held his phone out to him.

He grinned at her. “Told you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re awesome,” she said, her tone somewhere between sarcasm and humour. Josh couldn’t tell if she was trying to regroup or genuinely felt het up at who he and Rhys were. “Welcome to the Chaos Room. We’re honoured to have you here.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Rhys crowed at Josh’s side. For a second, Josh wanted to kick him.

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. Maybe 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.