Lust's Rhythm (Heart of Fame Book 10)
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T
he sound of tires screeching to a halt on the street beside them cut him short.
“Get in, get in,” their earlier taxi driver shouted at them from behind the steering wheel, beckoning with a frenzied hand waving through the open window.
Jed laughed. “Bloody perfect timing.”
Chloe sprinted for the back passenger door.
They threw themselves into the backseat, the pap chasing after them.
It wasn’t until they were speeding down the street, almost a block away, that she remembered to breathe again. “Whoa.”
“Mate,” Jed leant forward and clapped the driver on his shoulder through the security partition. “You’re a lifesaver.”
The man flashed a toothy smile at him. “You’re welcome. Where can I take you?”
Dropping back beside her, Jed gave Chloe a curious look.
She wriggled deeper into his side, rested her head on his shoulder, and gave the driver her own smile. “The Beverly Wilshire.”
“The Beverly Wilshire,” the cabbie confirmed, a second before the taxi’s speed increased.
Silence stretched between them. There was nothing awkward or uncomfortable about it. Chloe closed her eyes, loving how perfect it felt to relax cuddled into Jed, how easy she fit to his angles.
With one arm hugging her to him, he drew lazy circles on the side of her thigh with his fingers, his lips occasionally pressing against the top of her head.
She listened to his heart, counting its beats, losing herself to the rhythm.
There was music in its soft beat, a music she felt all the way to her soul.
He is better than playing the cello
.
Heart of Fame, Book 10
Lexxie Couper
Published 2016 by Book Boutiques.
ISBN: 978-1-944003-57-9
Copyright © 2016, Lexxie Couper.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Book Boutiques.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is wholly coincidental. The names, characters, dialogue, and events in this book are from the author’s imagination and should not to be construed as real.
Manufactured in the USA.
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She's the daughter of rock royalty.
He's been warned off her by her famous father.
But Jed Brody has lusted after Chloe Blackthorne for four years, and when Chloe lets him know the lust is entirely mutual, nothing will stop the bad boy of rock claiming her as his.
Career be damned!
Dear Readers,
Lust’s Rhythm
is part of the Heart of Fame world, a series of stand-alone stories that all started with a mega rock star named Nick Blackthorne.
Nick made an appearance in an M/F/M erotic romance called
Tropical Sin
and hasn’t stopped whispering in my head since. He really took over my muse and has constantly poked his head up in so many of my books, not just the Heart of Fame stories.
I hope meeting him and his daughter Chloe whets your appetite to discover more of the Heart of Fame world. Trust me, if bad boy rock stars, scorching hot firefighters, sinfully sexy movie stars, and brooding bodyguards are your thing, you’ll love the stories of the Heart of Fame series.
For my husband, who is supportive and loves me for exactly who I am…no matter how much I frustrate the hell out of him.
Cover Artist: Valerie Tibbs, Tibbs Design
S
he was death on two long, sublime, sexy legs.
She was shattered dreams and sinful desires.
She was a career destroyer.
She was unobtainable.
Untouchable.
Fuck, he wanted her.
Had for a long time. Years. Since the first time they’d come face to face, at a gala event honouring her father, Jed had wanted her.
She’d been twenty-one at the time. Already making a name for herself in the music world, although not the world
he
existed in. She’d looked incredible, her hair a mass of copper-red curls that hung to the middle of her back, her creamy skin flawless, her lips luscious and glossed with a candy-pink he immediately wanted to taste. Lick. Bite.
Chloe Blackthorne. The only daughter of Nick Blackthorne, a man who had once been the world’s hottest rock star. A man with more influence and clout in the music world than anyone else, even now.
A living phenomenon.
Her older brother, Josh—also rock royalty—had walked beside her along the red carpet leading into the Sydney Opera House, earning just as many squeals of adoration and delight as Nick, who’d flanked her other side, but Jed had only had eyes for Chloe.
Her smile for the cameras and the screaming fans of her father and brother had been sincere and warm.
Her body had been the stuff of sexual fantasies—nubile and encased in a shimmering, silvery slip of curve-hugging fabric that trailed behind her on the carpet and exposed her right thigh in a slit that stopped just below her hipbone.
Nick had jokingly tried to close that slit often when she posed for the cameras at various stages. Her mother had rolled her eyes every time.
Jed hadn’t been able to move.
He’d watched the slow progression up the steps, a distant part of him aware
his
name was being shouted by fans and photographers, that more than one of the camera flashes lighting up the dusk sky were illuminating
his
face.
He was, after all, if
Rolling Stone
magazine was to be believed, one of the “Hottest New Rockers of the Decade”.
He should have been acknowledging the fans, the cameras.
Instead, he’d watched Chloe mount the steps leading up to the Sydney Opera House with her family.
Their eyes had clashed when she’d reached the top.
Barely a few feet from where he’d stood, she’d looked his way. It was as if an invisible jolt of liquid electricity had sunk into his very existence.
He’d smiled.
She’d smiled back.
He’d stepped forward to introduce himself, to say hello to Nick—a man he’d spoken to a few times at various events…when he’d managed to pluck up the courage to do so, that was.
Nick had steered Chloe away. Had given Jed a quick glance as if to say,
not a hope in fucking hell, dude
.
He and Chloe had never been within speaking distance at the same time since. They’d been in the same city, the same hotel. He’d even gone to one of her performances, the one where she’d played his first single as her encore. She’d looked up from her cello during the performance and found him sitting in the second row. Their eyes had connected, and she’d gone back to playing.
They’d been on each other’s horizons for a long time, but never close enough to speak.
Until now.
Four years later.
Four years of lusting after her from afar as their respective careers took off. Went stellar. In Chloe’s case, stratospheric.
She was not only recognized as the world’s best cellist, her music had been piped into outer space by the crew on the International Space Station.
The darling of the classical music world. The
Untouchable
.
If he spoke to her now, at the post-Grammys party hosted by her brother, would he wake up tomorrow to discover his career in tatters? That’s what her father had threatened last year. When Jed had asked of her at the Billboard Awards, Nick had looked him straight in the eyes, his smile relaxed, and said “Jed Brody, if you even think of coming near my daughter, I will make sure you never sign another record contract again.”
Protective-father vibes had radiated from him. A tsunami’s worth of them.
Jed understood. His reputation wasn’t exactly the kind fathers approved of; especially fathers who had lived the life Jed currently lived. Nick Blackthorne had existed in the world Jed existed in now. He knew exactly what that world was like, and Jed was known to live it large. Wild.
Sex, drugs, rock and roll.
Save for the drugs, that was Jed’s life. The drugs didn’t enter the equation, thanks to a mother who’d raised him to know what shit was good for him and what wasn’t. Drugs, all kinds, fell into the latter category. Fuck, he didn’t even drink coffee.
But that didn’t stop his reputation getting wilder and wilder. He was the epitome of a rock star. His agent made sure of it. With every Number One hit Jed released, the stories of his excesses and extravagances grew.
Some of them were true.
Most of them.
Some of them haunted him…
Through the writhing throng of partygoers, Jed watched Chloe kiss her brother on the cheek, her smile warm.
He saw her lips—just as luscious as the first time he’d seen them—form the words
I’m heading off
.
Jed’s gut knotted.
They’d circled each other all night, never speaking, but finding each other’s gazes often.
Enough for Jed to now find himself in a permanent state of semi-arousal. Enough for his date—some rom-com starlet his agent had suggested he take—to ask if he and Chloe wanted to get a room. “I’ll go down on her, if you like,” she’d offered.
Going. Chloe was going. Leaving.
And he hadn’t—
She turned away from her brother and looked at him.
Straight at him.
Eyes the colour of the ocean during a storm regarded him, an undeniable question in their grey depths:
Well
?
The knot in his gut twisted. His balls throbbed. His cock did the same.
Jesus fucking Christ, was Chloe Blackthorne giving him the—
A throaty laugh fell from Chloe’s curled lips, making its way to where Jed stood. She arched an eyebrow, raked a slow inspection over him, from head to toe and back to head again, and then turned to her right and began weaving her way through the party.
She didn’t look back at him. Not once.
Jed swallowed.
A prickling sensation razed his face; an unerring sensation someone stared at him.
Dragging his gaze from Chloe, he looked back to where her brother stood.
Josh Blackthorne, lead singer of Synergy, four-time Grammy winner, studied him for a long moment and then, face as close to calm menace as Jed had ever seen, slowly shook his head.
Jed sucked in a sharp breath.
Like his father, Josh had a lot of pull in the industry. He was well respected, had contacts everywhere, and knew everyone.
Including Jed’s agent
and
manager.
Josh wasn’t someone you wanted to piss off.
Drawing in another breath, Jed tapped the brim of an invisible hat on his head, flashed Josh a grin, and made his way through the party. In the opposite direction Chloe had headed.
Fuck, what was he doing?
He wanted her so much his balls ached. So why was he not going after her?
Because she is the Untouchable.
He bit back a growl and kept weaving through the crowd, his cock—now fully engorged—straining against his jeans at an uncomfortable angle.
The Untouchable.
Named as such by the media due to her unparalleled, incomparable talent on the cello. Named so in Jed’s mind due to Nick’s threat to destroy his career if he even looked at her.
The Untouchable.
He wanted to do more than touch her.
He wanted to bury himself between her—
Warm, slim fingers curled around his wrist, tugging him to a halt.
Fuck. The starlet. I forgot. What’s her name again?
Jed thought as he turned, fake smile in place.
“I think we’ve waited long enough,” Chloe Blackthorne said, closing the small distance between them in a single graceful step. “Don’t you?”
Hot lust flooded Jed, a heartbeat before she threaded her fingers into the hair at his nape and pulled his lips down to hers.
The kiss didn’t last long, barely a few seconds, but it was long enough to completely steal Jed’s sanity. And sense of decorum.
With a savage, hungry growl—fueled not just by his long-suppressed desire for Chloe, but shock at her unexpected action—he grabbed her arse and yanked her hard to his hips, taking full possession of her mouth.
He felt her laugh against his lips, felt her roll the curve of her sex against his trapped erection, and then she was pulling away from him.
Putting space between them.
Breath far choppier than it had been for quite some time, Jed studied her. “That’s it? After all this time?”
Her lips curled at his goading question. “I think we can firmly say no.”