Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7)

BOOK: Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7)
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Dedication

For Slick. Because she is beyond incredible. And Bianca Sable. For reviving the un-revivable.

Chapter One

Jaxon Campbell wasn’t sure whose naked thigh lay across his bare chest, or whose hand cupped his morning wood with gentle possession. Come to think of it, he wasn’t really sure whose bed he was in either. Could be Sarah’s. Could be Samantha’s. Whoever’s bed it was, he had to get out of it.

For one thing, he had to take a leak.

For another, from somewhere in the drawn-curtain dimness of the room, the sound of the minions from “Despicable Me”
was emanating from his mobile phone, which meant his manager was calling.

For a third, he had a vague recollection he was meant to be somewhere that wasn’t Sarah’s or Samantha’s bed.

And finally, there was someone knocking on the door.

“Honey?” a muffled male voice punctuated the sharp raps. “Are you still asleep? Is your sister in there with you?”

At Jax’s side, the owner of the thigh draped across his chest grumbled something that sounded alarmingly like Dad.

At Jax’s hip, the owner of the hand cupping his groin mumbled something like go away, followed by another Dad.

Jax struggled to sit up. It wasn’t easy, what with the thigh across his body and the hand on his dick, but he did it. On either side of him, two stunningly identical young women pushed themselves into slumped upright positions, their pouts both disgruntled and sleepy.

Jax looked at the one on his right. Sarah? Samantha? Fuck, he had no idea. “Did you say
Dad
?” he asked, his voice a croaked whisper.

The blonde attempted to brush the strands of hair from her face, nodding without opening her eyes.

Jax spun his stare to the blonde on his left. “Dad?”

“Who else would it be?” Samantha or Sarah mumbled, equally as dozy.

Jax returned his attention to the door. The door on which the identical twins’ father was once again knocking. Actually, more like bashing now.

“Sarah!” the man’s shout wasn’t quite so muffled this time. “Who’s in there with you and your sister?”

“Dad!” the blonde on Jax’s right—Sarah, it seemed—yelled, eyes still closed, petulance twisting her gorgeous, make-up-smeared face. “We’re twenty-one now. Stop being so overprotective.”

“Twenty-one?” Jax’s heart smashed into his throat. “I thought you were—”

A deafening crash filled the room as the door smashed open. Light flooded the shadows, turning the hulking man on the threshold into a menacing silhouette. “Who the hell are you?”

Jax scrambled for the tousled sheets. Shit, he still had a hard-on.

“Go away, Daddy,” the blonde on his left—Samantha—grumbled, dropping back to the mattress.

“Daddy,” Sarah wriggled up the bed until she was pressing her naked—holy fuck,
naked
—body against Jax’s side. “This is Jaxon. Jaxon, this is—”

“Detective Simon Seers,” the menacing silhouette snarled, stepping into the room. “Homicide.”

Jax straightened as much as he could, went to slap Samantha’s hand on his dick away and then paused. What was better? A father seeing the morning glory of the man in bed with his daughter, or seeing one of said daughters holding it?

Probably neither.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing with my daughters?” the menacing silhouette/enraged father continued to snarl, approaching the bed. Close enough now Jax could make out the murderous rage in his eyes.

When all else fails, charm ’em.

Jax’s own father’s words of advice whispered through his head. He held out his hand in the universally recognized greeting and smiled. “Please to meet you, sir. I’m—”

Homicide detective, Simon Seer leapt at him.

Jax scrambled out of the way and off the bed just in time. It helped Jax had plenty of practice avoiding such an attack. Also helped Simon Seer had to be at least two hundred and fifty pounds.

With a yelp and a laugh, Jax scooped up his jeans—discarded only a few hours ago when he and Sarah and Samantha had kissed their way to the bed—and mobile phone from the floor and bolted for the door.

Seer’s roar, coupled with the wailing protests of either Sarah or Samantha and the pleas for Jax to call from whichever sister wasn’t doing the wailing, followed him through the house.

House. With its obvious Pottery Barn décor and suburban domesticity.

House. How the fuck had he missed all this last night?

Too drunk on the idea of living out every red-blooded man’s fantasy of having sex with identical twins. And scotch. Way too much scotch.

“Going—” Seers bellowed close behind Jax. Closer than Jax liked.

He ran for what he vaguely remembered was the front door, dodging—just in time—the startled woman who looked like an older version of Samantha and Sarah as she stepped from an open door.

“Morning.” He tossed her a grin over his shoulder, dropped her a wink and burst into a sprint at the sight of Seers thundering down the hallway after him.

“—to kill—” the detective roared.

Jax charged through the living room, weaved around the comfy-looking sofa—
hmmm, did we make out on that last night?
—and slammed into the closed front door.

“You!” Seers screamed, his footfalls a pounding tattoo of doom behind Jax. “Going to fucking kill—”

Shoving his mobile phone between his teeth, Jax grabbed the knob and turned it to the right.

The door opened.

Yes.

With a quick look over his shoulder, he gave the man running at him with two protesting twenty-one-year-olds clinging to his sizeable frame a nod. Snatching his mobile free of his mouth, he smiled. “Sir.”

Seers charged.

Sarah and Samantha wailed.

Mrs. Seers let out a yelp.

And Jax launched himself through the door, half-running, half-stumbling down the stairs, all too aware he was stark naked and still—surprise, surprise—sporting wood.

He let out a laugh of sheer joy, propelled himself into a sprint and woke up his phone. “Siri, dial Pepper.”

Seers yelled behind him, a distant shout.

Vaulting a low front gate, Jax let out a jubilant woop followed by a grunt as his feet hit the ground. He scrambled for balance, checked behind him for Seers and then cut across the front yard of the corner house, pressing his phone to his ear as he did so.

“You’re not here, Jax,” Pepper Kerrigan, band-manager extraordinaire admonished on the other end of the connection.

Jax jumped a low hedge, his bare feet landing on the sidewalk with a sharp slap. Damn, he’d left his favourite boots behind. “I’m not. But I’m on my way.”

“Why are you panting?”

“I’ve taken up jogging.” Man, he needed to start working out again. Risking a look over his shoulder, he let out a relieved chuckle. Not a sign of Homicide Detective Simon Seers.

Pepper groaned. “Who’s bed were you busted in this time, Jax?”

He laughed. “No idea. They were identical twin sis—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Pepper cut him off, steely disapproval in her voice. “Just get your ass here ASAP.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jax flipped off a jaunty salute. “ASAP.”

“You just saluted me, didn’t you?”

“Yes ma’am,” he repeated, taking another glance behind him for irate pursuing fathers with the legal right to carry a gun.

None in evidence. Phew.

“And you’re fleeing from certain death, aren’t you?”

Jax chuckled. “Yes ma’am.”

“And let me guess.” Resigned exasperation threaded through Pepper’s New York accent. “You’re naked?”

He grinned, glancing at his cock—thankfully now only
semi
-hard—slapping against his thighs and stomach as he ran. “You betcha.”

Pepper groaned in his ear. “Oh, Jax. What are we going to do with you?”

A siren burst into jarring life behind him, shattering the early morning suburban silence. Adrenaline surged through Jax’s veins. He tightened his grip on his jeans. “Organising a rescue party comes to mind,” he puffed, willing more speed back into his legs. Yep, definitely needed to start working out again. “Any chance Bruce and Brutal can come save me? I think this may be a two-bodyguard rescue job.”

“I think I should teach you a lesson and let you get your own way out of whatever mess you’re in,” Pepper answered. “Without the aid of even one bodyguard.”

The siren wailed again, louder this time. Heart thumping way too fast for his hangover, he sprinted down the driveway of the house on his immediate left, across its backyard, sidestepped a pile of dog shit and—with a quick, “Hang on for a sec,” to Pepper—clenched his teeth on his phone, tossed his jeans over the back fence and then scrambled over it, landing in another backyard with a thud.

“You can ground me for a month, Mum,” he said, after snatching up his jeans and ramming the phone back to his ear. “I promise. But for now, can Bruce and Brutal come save me? Please?”

Pepper’s sigh told him his manager had more than a symbolic grounding in mind. He heard her say something to someone else, most likely Samuel Gibson,
Synergy
’s lead guitarist and owner of the walking mountain of muscle that was Brutal the bodyguard, before she sighed again. “They’re on their way. Where are you?”

Hurrying down the driveway toward the quiet street before him, Jax shrugged. “No idea. Let me see if I can find a sign.”

He pivoted on his heel. And blinked when he came face-to-face with Detective Simon Seers.

The cop stared at him. He stared at the cop. A gentle breeze chose that moment to dance down the street, ruffling Jax’s hair and flowing over his sweat-slicked skin, sweat-slicked cock and sweat-damp pubic hair.

“Jax?” Pepper prompted in his ear. “Any idea where you are yet?”

Jax looked at the snarling cop with murderous rage in his eyes and grinned. “Detective Seers. Any chance you can tell me what street I’m on?”

Seers’s nostrils flared.

Jax raised his eyebrows. “No?”

“Detective Seers?” Pepper’s exasperated voice sounded in his ear. “Jax, what have you done?”

Still holding the cop’s gaze, Jax aligned his phone’s mic closer to his mouth. “Nothing illegal, Pep, I promise.” He nodded at Seers. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

Seers’s nostrils flared some more. “Think you should put your pants on.”

“Good idea,” Jax agreed. “Here, hold this for me.”

He tossed his phone to the glowering man.

Seers caught it. If the shocked look on his face was any indication, it was by sheer reflexes alone.

Jax knew he was a few seconds away from a world of pain. But then, when wasn’t he? With the way he lived, the beds he woke in and scrambled from?

He dropped a wink at Sarah and Samantha’s father as he shook out his jeans. “Say g’day to Pepper for me. Tell her you’re not going to kill me.”

Surprisingly, Detective Seers raised Jax’s phone to his ear. “Whoever this is, I’m about to teach the man in front of me a sizeable lesson.”

Pepper said something. Jax had no idea what. All he could make out was the faintest whisper of his band manager’s voice emanating from his phone’s tiny speaker.

Shoving his right leg into his jeans, he watched the detective’s face.

A rollercoaster of reactions crossed the man’s craggy visage as Pepper spoke. Surly rage, contempt, suspicion, disbelief and finally excitement.

Jax shoved his other leg into his jeans, did that peculiar jiggle-jump everyone on the planet did when pulling on jeans and then tucked his cock into the crotch. By the time he yanked up the zipper of his fly, Detective Seers was grinning and nodding like a little boy.

“Yes, ma’am,” the cop said, not a trace of murderous intent evident in his voice. “Surely will. Thank you. We’ll be there in thirty minutes. No, we’re not that far away.”

Jax raised his eyebrows. What the hell had Pepper said to the guy?

With a wide, goofy smile, Seers nodded once again. “Thank you, ma’am. See you soon.”

He offered Jax’s phone back to him.

Jax took it, like a man taking a loaded mousetrap ready to snap.

BOOK: Getting Played (Heart of Fame #7)
12.4Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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