Their manager snapped his beady eyes towards Xane. “It’s a possibility, and she’ll be cheap and amenable. It might solve a few things, like your ruddy insistence on recording in Sweden. I’m not seeing much interest among the top tier producers and mixers for roughing it in the wild. I mean the middle of a bloody lake, what’s that about?”
Oh God, the pair of them were going to completely fuck him up if they brought her in to work with the band. A couple of hours in a room with her and he’d need a one way ticket to a padded cell. Spook looked over his shoulder, trying to spot her again and realized she wasn’t sitting. Head bowed low, Allegra Hutton was scurrying towards the exit.
“Fuck,” he hissed beneath his breath. It didn’t take a genius to work out he was responsible for that.
Spook dragged his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts until he found her number. Having a conscience really fucking sucked sometimes, but he wasn’t going to be responsible for making a woman cry.
Not ever again if he could help it.
Chapter Three
Alle left the stage trembling. Somehow it had all been far worse than she’d imagined. When his soft lips had hit hers — fire! Like whoa-fucking-instantaneous-burn-the-house-down, panty-melting fire. Then he’d doused her in ice with his blank stare. Dammit, she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to say anything and then she’d gone and blurted it out, unable to stop herself, because with heat like that between them, there had to be a reason — a flippin’ amazing reason — why he hadn’t called.
Why the fuck hadn’t he called?
And where did he get off on just blanking her?
Anger briefly ate up her humiliation, but couldn’t obliterate the hurt. It stung in her nose and made her lungs feel tight. It took every bit of dexterity she possessed to walk off the stage without toppling out of her stupid heels.
Neither man acknowledged her once they were off the stage either. It was as if she were too insignificant, too far beneath them. Well, she virtually expected it of Xane. She’d realised the last time they’d met that he could be a narcissistic wanker, but Spook… This was not the man who’d taken the troll cross from around his neck and placed it around hers as protection, or the one who’d been prepared to give her a chance to prove herself when his friends were set on writing her off before she’d even had a chance to work with their track.
What had changed?
What had she done?
Had she done anything?
Arms crossed defensively, Alle watched the two men perform for the press. They seemed so at ease, so comfortable with their environment, larking about and back-chatting the showbiz photographers. Perhaps the truth was that she wasn’t part of their world. Rock stars dated models, or actresses, or other rock stars. Sure, they banged their support staff, but they didn’t date them or have meaningful relationships with them. That was assuming they had meaningful relationships at all, aside from within the band. Working in a recording studio, she got all the gossip on which members of various bands were shagging one another. In the case of Black Halo, Xane was allegedly doing everyone. Not that she believed it. It sounded more like wishful thinking on the part of the tellers than fact. That said; she reckoned Xane had seen a fair bit of action. Perhaps that was why Spook maintained he was celibate, to keep Mr. ‘Sex on a Stick’ Geist from trying anything on.
Still, the point of all this speculation remained. She was a fool; a fool with too high an opinion of herself. She and Spook weren’t even in the same league.
However, that didn’t excuse him for being shitty.
Oh, Spook. She’d genuinely believed there was something there between them.
Alle stumbled back to her seat in time to watch another award being presented, but her excitement over the evening and her enthusiasm for the coming after-ceremony drinks had evaporated; dissipated into nothingness along with her hopes and dreams. She jacked out of her seat again. She couldn’t stay motionless with her mind so jumbled and her heart cracking down the centre. She needed to move, get up and do. That’s what her brothers had taught her. No wallowing if you wanted something. You had to get active and fight for it.
Their strategy worked nine times out of ten. It had worked for getting her a job making music in a male dominated industry. But how did you fight to win a man who wouldn’t even acknowledge you? And did she really want to?
Of course she did. Which perhaps said some things about her that weren’t too flattering, but… Well, the man she’d met had not behaved in the same way as he had tonight, and he’d given her something no one else ever had. He’d satisfied her craving for a little physical pain mixed in with the sexy.
Alle shivered as excitement rolled through her body at the memory of being upended over his lap. His thighs had been warm and solid beneath her, and his voice had instructed her in a soft, yet firm tone. Admittedly, she’d only managed to cope with a few smacks that first time, but she’d craved a repeat ever since — craved that and so much more. Moreover, she was certain Spook Mortensen was the man to give it to her.
Outside the auditorium, only the low rumble of a vending machine disturbed the silence. Alle ventured over to it. Chocolate might not be the ideal fix, but it was something. Sure, it’d end up straight on her hips, but what was wrong with a few curves? Besides, she not only needed a pick me up, she had to get the taste of him off her lips or she’d never be able to think straight.
Her gaze failed to focus on the rows of brightly coloured confectionary. Fighting for a chance with him would involve, sticking around, doing the whole after party, and likely enough having her heart trampled again. On the other hand, phoning a taxi and scurrying off with her tail between her legs wasn’t going to get her what she wanted.
She made two purchases. Took a huge bite out of one and stuffed the spare into her purse, just in case she needed it later.
Just then, her phone began to vibrate. Irritably, she picked it up, intending to silence it. It was probably a message from her boss asking her where the hell she’d got to. Only the message wasn’t from Max, it was from Spook.
Now he chose to communicate?
At least it nixed the possibility that he’d lost her number.
She swiped the screen and blinked to chase away the blurry film that seemed to have covered her eyes.
I’m sorry.
Short. Succinct. But then, he had a reputation as a man of few words.
Chocolate bar forgotten, she chewed her lip, finger poised over the screen as she attempted to write a reply. Only, another message arrived and overlaid the unsent composition.
Meet me outside the party suite in five minutes and we’ll talk.
She was still digesting the message when Spook emerged from the auditorium and made a beeline towards her.
Fuck — he looked good as he strode across the gaudy, patterned carpet. His long hair brushed against the sleeves and shoulders of his leather jacket, and between the edges of his shirt, she spied the curve of a replacement troll cross pendant resting against his skin. Stupid that it gave her such a thrill, but it did. It used to be pictures of him that made her smile. The flesh and blood version was far more intoxicating. What she’d never quite appreciated, was how much of a mask he hid behind, until he looked at her and pain lanced through his eyes.
“Let’s go into the party suite.”
It was only a few short steps across the hall. Spook tried the door handle, then ushered her inside. The huge room was all decked out for when the auditorium emptied. Tables and chairs set out around the edges, canapés on the bar, and row upon row of filled crystal glasses waiting to be served.
Spook grabbed a glass off the nearest tray and downed it in one long gulp before reaching for another.
“In need of Dutch courage?” she asked.
“Guess so.” Second drained, he went for a third. “Course it’d help if it was something stronger than pissing sherry.” He slammed the glass back down against the tablecloth, then looked a little
sheepish, possibly over how much force he’d used, though equally it could have been over his treatment of her. Perhaps indicative of its quality, the glass remained intact.
“OK!” He paused to drag both hands through the front of his hair, which left the blond strands sticking up. “Yeah. I’m sorry, I —”
“I’ve driven you to drink,” she remarked, casting a glance at the row of empties.
“Demented,” he corrected her. “You’ve driven me demented, as if the band didn’t do that already.”
“Pretty impressive of me, given we haven’t spoken for months.”
He took a deep breath and sighed, but faced her straight on. “I thought about you. A lot. Maybe too much. Definitely too much.”
“Nice things?” she asked. Yes, she was fishing for compliments, but hey, five minutes ago she didn’t think they’d ever be having this conversation.
“Depends on your definition of nice.”
“Naughty,” she replied. “As in things that turned you on, and maybe got you sweating a little, and hard.” She flicked her gaze down to his loins and back.
Spook gave a groan. “I’d be lying if I said otherwise.”
“So, why didn’t you call?”
His hand shot out to seize another drink. Alle curled her fingers around his outstretched arm, making him pause. Slowly, he released the stem of the glass and steadied his gaze upon her face again. “Because this can’t be.”
“Why not? Is there someone else?”
“No — hell, no!” His brow furrowed. “There’s nobody.”
“Then you’re making no sense. What’s wrong with us enjoying some adult fun?” She sought his hand to link their fingers together.
Spook’s frown only deepened at the sight of their palms pressed together so tightly, but, she noticed, he didn’t pull away. “Alle, I can’t be who you want me to be.”
The ludicrousness of the remark surprised a smile out of her. “You are who I want you to be.”
“No.” He freed his fingers from her grip and used them to cover her mouth. ‘I’m not. I know you think you’ve found the person who’ll give you what you’re craving, but I’m not that man. I can’t… I’m sorry.’
‘Did I imagine you tanning my arse?’
‘No.’
‘Am I supposed to believe you’re not interested in doing it again?’
‘Of course not.
“Then what? Why? If you want it and I want it… Spook, we want the same thing, don’t we? Why are you so dead against exploring that?”
He clammed up, lips pursed, deep, ocean-blue eyes downcast as he turned his hand to cup her cheek and chase a tear of frustration that tracked down her face.
“It was good between us, Spook.”
“Yes, it was. Better than good.”
She blinked, trying to clear her eyes, and not crumple into a blubbering heap. She was stronger than that. She didn’t cry, not with four brothers who’d mocked her mercilessly for it. Tears had never got her what she wanted, quite the opposite. At home, her tears were what had marked her as a girl and had stopped her from getting her the same deal as the rest of her siblings. She couldn’t wipe the salt tracks from her skin though, without knocking Spook’s hand out of the way, and no matter what, she wouldn’t break that contact.
“I’m not worth crying over.”
“I’m not crying.”
He caught another tear on his fingertips and brought it to the tip of his tongue. Mesmerized, she watched him taste it, and felt her panties get wet. Sweet mercy! She could see him doing that after he’d pushed her to the limits of her endurance and she was just a breath away from numbness, sunk deep into a sort of sub-space of stretched nerves, surrender, and bliss. Her gasp left her lips gently parted and the remainder of her breath caught in the top of her lungs.
Spook’s gaze fixed upon her breasts, then lifted slowly back to her mouth.
She was going to kiss him.
She didn’t care if he pushed her away.
She was going to kiss him.
Kiss him now.
Spook caught hold of her with both hands and claimed her. There was no imagining she was in charge of this, or that she’d actually made the first move. He’d seized it.
This kiss wasn’t soft like the gentle brushing of lips they’d shared on stage. No, this was hard and heady, motivated by desire. It was about the brain saying no and the body saying yes. His body was definitely saying yes. His hands were in her hair, but the whole of him was crushed against her, claiming her, bending her backwards over the nearest table, spreading her out so that their hips were glued together, and she could sense just exactly how eager he was to meld them into one.
Alle snuck her hands inside his jacket and under his shirt, desperate to feel some skin on skin. She’d never really had the chance to explore him. Get too close, and he was liable to jack-knife away. All he ever gave away were little glimpses of himself. All he allowed were tiny scoops of sensation, at least when it came to being touched and the satisfaction of his own needs. From her observations, dishing out pleasure to others was more natural to him than breathing.
“No,” he groaned, breaking them apart for a split second so that he could grab hold of her wrists. Spook locked her arms out wide on either side of her and held her firmly in position. He could deny her the pleasure of touching him, but apparently, his will to do anything besides drink from her lips had been obliterated. “Alle… Oh, God!”
The kiss deepened, their tongues sliding against one another, heart rates accelerating while breathing became a past event.
Alle let him take. Hell yes, whatever he needed.
He’d obviously been wound tight for way too long. That was fine. She was right here, and willing. Whatever he wanted… Starting with a bloody good fuck, judging by the way he was grinding against her. But not here. They needed to be naked. Needed privacy enough to get a little savage.
She heard the clink of glasses behind them, and caught a glimpse of a waiter lifting a tray. Then Spook recoiled from her like a scalded cat.
Eyes wide and fathomless, chest heaving with the effort of breathing, mouth open wide, he stared at her. If it had only been that one waiter, she swore he’d have grabbed her again and picked up precisely where they’d left off, but other service staff were filing into the room. The noise of numerous voices echoed in from the hall too, alerting them to the fact the ceremony was over. Any moment, five hundred guests were going to descend upon them.
“Shit!” he snarled, more flustered and wildly beautiful than she’d ever seen him. His fists clawed against his own thighs as he tried to dial back his very obvious arousal. “Shit. Fucking. Shit!”
She’d never taken him to be particularly foul mouthed, but the situation and the obvious depth of his feelings seemed to demand it.
“Come away from the door,” she said, taking hold of his hand and leading him to a table at the back of the room. They’d barely sat down — Spook looking distinctly uncomfortable — before Xane was sliding into the seat beside his bandmate.
“I see you’ve already found her,” Xane said, while giving her an appraising once over. His gaze lingered on her face, no doubt adding to the blush she was already sporting.
Did he realise what had happened?
“Graham will be pleased.”
Graham Callahan, the band’s gargantuan manager, appeared as if he’d been summoned by the mere mention of his name. “Miss Hutton, fantastic. We were just talking about you. Max,” he hollered, waving his arms in the air. “Here. She’s over here. Spook’s got her.”
Her manager claimed the seat beside her, with Sally Kettering, Black Halo’s PR guru taking the last spot around the circular table.
“So, how many tracks are we looking at?” Max asked.
Graham consulted with Xane, in a form of sign language that consisted purely of facial expressions and eye movements.
“Definitely a couple, assuming she’s free to travel.”
“Trave
l? Why does she need to travel? Surely, you’re using our studios again.”
“Not this time,” Graham slapped Max on the back, causing him to choke on his complementary sherry. “Spook’s a sudden hankering for his homeland, isn’t that right? They’re all holed up in the arse-end of nowhere.”
“I’m not sure travelling that far is going to be worth it for two minor album tracks.”
What the hell was Max on? She’d travel to the other end of the universe to work with Black Halo again, even if all she got to do was help record their new answerphone message. Damn straight she’d go to Sweden and hang out in Spook’s native land. She flicked a glance at him. His body language remained rigid, and his jaw jutted out a good inch more than normal. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure he was at all on board with any of this. Not the homeland bit and certainly not with her involvement. Despite the fact he’d just pinned her down, she hadn’t forgotten he’d been telling her that they couldn’t be together right before he’d pounced and kissed her damn near senseless. Recording songs together, especially in a remote setting, was going to throw them together big time.
“We can negotiate over how many tracks,” Graham offered.
“What do you want? Is this possible?” Alle whispered, not wanting the others to hear. “Spook?” She sought his hand under the cover of the tablecloth, but found his knee instead.
Spook shot to his feet, knocking the table in the process, which sent half the drinks flying.
“Sorry,” he stammered, shoving his chair back and making a frantic bid for escape, while both managers folded the tablecloth up on itself to prevent any run off.
Xane rose to block Spook’s path. Even with his feral cat’s eye lenses in place, his concern was obvious. “Is everything OK?”
“Yes. Sure, I’ll be back in a minute. I just need to make a call.” Spook dragged his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket.
“All right.” Xane remained on his feet a moment, then shrugged and let him pass. “Don’t be long.”
“I won’t. It’s just a call.” He held up the phone as proof.
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