invite to my agent.”
He threaded his fingers through Nat’s, gave her a wide grin and then strode from the theatre, tucking her into the side of his body as he did so.
Bruce met them just inside the main door, expressionless, tux immaculately crease-free. “Did you enjoy the movie, Mr. Campbell?”
Jax pulled a melodramatic contemplative expression. “Needed more handy work.”
Nat almost choked, her cheeks flooding with heat.
If Bruce wondered about her reaction, he didn’t show it. Instead, he held his arm out to the side and partly turned away. “The limo is waiting, sir. Be wary. Carl Holston is here.”
Jax snorted. “Fucking Holston.”
Nat frowned. “Why do I know that name?”
“He’s a notorious paparazzo, Ms. Thorton,” Bruce supplied. “Has had an ongoing obsession with Nick Blackthorne and his band for many years.”
Jax began to walk again, his hand on Nat’s back sliding closer to her backside once more. “He took a photo of me taking a leak in the men’s loo at the Sydney Opera House one year. I think it was just after that I hired you, right, Bruce?”
“That’s correct, Mr. Campbell.”
Nat raised her eyebrows. “He took a photo of you peeing?”
“Hey, you’ve seen my dick. It’s pretty bloody impressive. Lots of people around the world want to see what it looks like.”
“This way, sir,” Bruce directed them through the crowd waiting outside the theatre, saving Nat from responding.
“Hey, Campbell! Campbell!” a man holding a state-of-the-art SLR camera shouted, hurrying toward them. “Who’s the babe? You knocked her up yet?”
Bruce stepped between the approaching man and Jax and Nat. She didn’t think it possible for the bodyguard to appear more menacing, but somehow he seemed to puff up with instant bulk and muscle in the blink of an eye.
Jax pulled her firmer to his body, raising a hand to shield their faces from the intrusive flashes firing at them from the paparazzo. “Having fun?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah.”
The paparazzo continued to hurl insults and taunts at Jax. Nat couldn’t deny how impressed she was at the relaxed way he ignored the annoying man.
“It gets easier.” Jax laughed, no doubt seeing her incredulous amazement on her face. “And I’ve had years to build up a resistance.”
“Here we go, sir.” Bruce’s deep rumble swung Nat’s stare from Jax’s face to the bodyguard.
They’d arrived at the limo, which waited—engine running, back door open—at the end of the pavement. Bruce stood at the door, between Jax and the still-snapping paparazzo.
She looked into the dark, luxurious interior, heart fast. If she climbed in, she’d be escaping the photographer’s insidious attention. However, she’d also be putting herself firmly at the mercy of her sexual lust for Jax, and while that wasn’t a problem, she needed to regroup and remind herself this whole agreement she had with him really was only about sex and lust. She couldn’t do that if he was fucking her senseless against the window of his hotel suite.
“Nice tits, love.” The air bleached white as the paparazzo captured another image of her and Jax. “Campbell, want to lick ’em for me?”
God, the last thing she needed was the Con’s board and Jeremy Craig to see images of her breasts being licked by a rock star, and Jax was just the kind of rock star to do such a thing. Hell, she’d seen more than one image of him doing that very thing with starlets and groupies since they’d ended their relationship.
Huh. As if this relationship had ever ended. It’s never been over. It was just on hiatus for a while.
The unnerving thought whispered through her head, just as Jax moved.
Nat let out a tiny yelp and dove into the limo.
A barrage of camera flashes bleached the interior of the limo a second before Jax climbed inside, laughing. The door slammed behind him, muffling Bruce’s, “Back off, buddy, before I break your face”.
Settling into the seat
He threaded his fingers through Nat’s, gave her a wide grin and then strode from the theatre, tucking her into the side of his body as he did so.
Bruce met them just inside the main door, expressionless, tux immaculately crease-free. “Did you enjoy the movie, Mr. Campbell?”
Jax pulled a melodramatic contemplative expression. “Needed more handy work.”
Nat almost choked, her cheeks flooding with heat.
If Bruce wondered about her reaction, he didn’t show it. Instead, he held his arm out to the side and partly turned away. “The limo is waiting, sir. Be wary. Carl Holston is here.”
Jax snorted. “Fucking Holston.”
Nat frowned. “Why do I know that name?”
“He’s a notorious paparazzo, Ms. Thorton,” Bruce supplied. “Has had an ongoing obsession with Nick Blackthorne and his band for many years.”
Jax began to walk again, his hand on Nat’s back sliding closer to her backside once more. “He took a photo of me taking a leak in the men’s loo at the Sydney Opera House one year. I think it was just after that I hired you, right, Bruce?”
“That’s correct, Mr. Campbell.”
Nat raised her eyebrows. “He took a photo of you peeing?”
“Hey, you’ve seen my dick. It’s pretty bloody impressive. Lots of people around the world want to see what it looks like.”
“This way, sir,” Bruce directed them through the crowd waiting outside the theatre, saving Nat from responding.
“Hey, Campbell! Campbell!” a man holding a state-of-the-art SLR camera shouted, hurrying toward them. “Who’s the babe? You knocked her up yet?”
Bruce stepped between the approaching man and Jax and Nat. She didn’t think it possible for the bodyguard to appear more menacing, but somehow he seemed to puff up with instant bulk and muscle in the blink of an eye.
Jax pulled her firmer to his body, raising a hand to shield their faces from the intrusive flashes firing at them from the paparazzo. “Having fun?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yeah.”
The paparazzo continued to hurl insults and taunts at Jax. Nat couldn’t deny how impressed she was at the relaxed way he ignored the annoying man.
“It gets easier.” Jax laughed, no doubt seeing her incredulous amazement on her face. “And I’ve had years to build up a resistance.”
“Here we go, sir.” Bruce’s deep rumble swung Nat’s stare from Jax’s face to the bodyguard.
They’d arrived at the limo, which waited—engine running, back door open—at the end of the pavement. Bruce stood at the door, between Jax and the still-snapping paparazzo.
She looked into the dark, luxurious interior, heart fast. If she climbed in, she’d be escaping the photographer’s insidious attention. However, she’d also be putting herself firmly at the mercy of her sexual lust for Jax, and while that wasn’t a problem, she needed to regroup and remind herself this whole agreement she had with him really was only about sex and lust. She couldn’t do that if he was fucking her senseless against the window of his hotel suite.
“Nice tits, love.” The air bleached white as the paparazzo captured another image of her and Jax. “Campbell, want to lick ’em for me?”
God, the last thing she needed was the Con’s board and Jeremy Craig to see images of her breasts being licked by a rock star, and Jax was just the kind of rock star to do such a thing. Hell, she’d seen more than one image of him doing that very thing with starlets and groupies since they’d ended their relationship.
Huh. As if this relationship had ever ended. It’s never been over. It was just on hiatus for a while.
The unnerving thought whispered through her head, just as Jax moved.
Nat let out a tiny yelp and dove into the limo.
A barrage of camera flashes bleached the interior of the limo a second before Jax climbed inside, laughing. The door slammed behind him, muffling Bruce’s, “Back off, buddy, before I break your face”.
Settling into the seat
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