BANGED: Rock Stars, Bad Boys & Dirty Deeds

by Lexxie Couper

  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.”

  “Travel? 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.

  “It’s probably nothing,” Graham reassured Xane once Spook had dashed off and Xane had settled into his chair again. “Ash has probably just run out of johnnies or the cable network box has fritzed again.”

  “Yeah, that’s probably it.” Xane didn’t seem entirely reassured, but he turned his head to business again. “So what sort of arrangement are we looking at to persuade Miss Hutton to climb on board? I mean, ideally we’d be looking to record things on a fairly ad hoc basis over the coming months so that we’re not putting too much pressure on Ash, or slowing his recovery.”

  “What’s up with him?” Max asked.

  While Graham and Xane indulged in another of their sign language exchanges, Alle bowed her head and hid behind her palm. Honestly, had her boss been hiding under a rock all summer? Everyone knew that Black Halo’s lead guitarist had collapsed on stage in Karlstad. Everyone. There’d been no end of speculation as to the cause, and the band had been strangely closed-lipped about it. Some thought he’d overdone the drugs and alcohol. Others claimed he’d had a mini stroke, but she’d also heard a more disturbing rumour about some sort of attack by Iain Willows, their temporary drummer. He’d certainly been arrested shortly after, and Black Halo had definitely fired him.

  “Ash took a bit of a tumble on stage is all,” Xane explained. “He’s fine, just cuts and bruises and stuff, but we’re trying to get him to take it easy. The sooner he’s all right, the sooner we can get on with finishing the current tour.”

  Max was still digesting this revelation when Alle’s phone began to vibrate.

  Not wanting to appear rude, she snuck it out of her purse and into her lap to peek at the screen.

  Tell them you can’t do it. This isn’t going to work, Alle.

  I can do it. I want to do it. I’d love to go to Sweden.

  We can’t… I can’t be in the same place as you. Sorry, but we need to go separate ways and stay away from each other.

  I don’t agree.

  “Alle, what do you think about this?” Max asked.

  She raised her head to find everyone looking at her. “Oh, I… I think it’s a great idea me working with Black Halo. I’d love to. If they want me.” Which Spook didn’t. Except he did. She hadn’t imagined the erection that had been bruising her thigh a few minutes ago.

  “Yes, but the details,” Max said, thumping his fist against the sodden tablecloth. “What do you think about those? The way Mr. Geist is putting it, you could end up there for months. It’s going to put you out of action as far as any other work goes, unless you’re willing to fly back and forth.”

  “I can do that,” she agreed. “Assuming that’s OK with the band.”

  FOUR

  Spook headed straight for the men’s room, where hopefully Alle wouldn’t follow him. He’d had to get away from her, had to, before she made him do or say something he’d regret. No one else had the power to shred his defences with such fucking effortlessness. She breathed in a certain way, smiled, and he was a quivering wreck. He didn’t like that he could do nothing to close those feelings off. He’d been trying for months, ever since they’d first met at the recording studio while remastering Within You.

  Allegra Hutton had torn a hole in his world that nothing seemed capable of patching. She haunted his dreams, stalked him through the daylight hours. Every gig, he swore he could sense her
among the crowd, even though he knew she wasn’t there. He’d checked. She’d spent the months since they’d met working with an assortment of up-and-coming acts. He’d listened to them. She’d done herself proud on all of them, but one look at her, and he knew time and distance hadn’t solved a goddamned thing.

  It couldn’t be — the two of them together. He couldn’t journey down the path she so desperately wanted to explore, not without punching holes in his defences and opening a stupendous can of worms. That didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted. Of course he was tempted. She’d been the Siren in his dreams these last few months, the woman whose image he glimpsed out of the corner of his eye and who had filled his head with dirty thoughts. She was inescapable. She tormented him, so much so once or twice his control had almost completely slipped away and he’d nearly succumbed to the fantasy of them actually making a go of things.

  He’d only caved in tonight because he refused to make her cry.

  Except now he’d made that outcome inevitable, because they couldn’t be together, which meant he couldn’t allow this deal to happen. They’d only spent a few hours working together the last time and see where that had got them. Occupying the same house for weeks on end would relieve him of what remained of his sanity.

  Something would snap, and it couldn’t be him.

  Spook burst through the door of the men’s, to find it mercifully empty. He hurried over to the sink and doused his face with cold water. It took some of the heat out of his cheeks, but did nothing to quell the fire in his loins.

  What the fucking hell was that about?

  He glanced down, shocked to find he was sporting a hard on. And not some half-hearted thing either, but a full blown, I’m ready to bang and bang all night, party in his pants.

  Shitting hell!

  You need to get it together man. You need to get it together right now.

  Walking around with a stick in his pants was not him. Ash got turned on. Paul sported an almost permanent boner, and Xane’s arousal and sexuality were so fluid, the merest hint of eroticism could turn him on, but he — Spook Mortenson — suffered none of these things.

  He prided himself on having control over his own damned body. Women threw themselves at him on a daily basis. He’d been groped so many times he’d actually lost count. It went with the territory. People seemed to think that if you were a rock star, they were entitled to a piece of you. Nothing was sacred. Yet, in all the years since Black Halo had made it, he’d never once reacted to that invasion of his space — until Allegra Hutton came along.

  Not that her touching him was even the issue. Just the tilt of her head, the slight breathlessness when she spoke, and — hell, yes — the sight of his troll cross hanging on a thong around her neck had been enough to punch through his defences as if they were formed of rice paper.

  Eyes closed, Spook forced himself to slow breathe; in through the nose, out through the mouth. His heart rate slowed, the nervous buzz vibrating in his limbs calmed, but his cock remained persistently hard.

  Bastard thing was mocking him. No, more than that, it was actually challenging him. He could go out there and show the world what state he was in, or he could take control in here, squeeze one off in a public loo and take the first step along the path of his own annihilation. That was a lose-lose situation by any count.

  Still bowed over the sink, Spook forced his eyes open and peered in the mirror. His expression, which he’d hoped was schooled into neutrality, instead showed every single emotion he was trying to hide, and splashing himself with icy water only seemed to lockdown his agitation more firmly.

  The blue of his eyes shone too brightly, and the set of his jaw was so rigid it had started to make his teeth ache.

  Maybe he could plead constipation, swallow a few dates and make a hasty retreat to the hotel. Except, what sort of belly ache gave you an erection you could bang nails with?

  “You don’t use them to bang nails with you idiot,” he could hear Rock Giant saying to him. “You use them to stuff your lady’s pussy.”

  This was totally the wrong thought to put into his head, because now he was seeing Allegra all laid out, her wrists bound with his belt and her thighs spread wide ready to receive him. The bright strands of her hair rested against her naked skin. He wanted to wind those curls around his cock.

  Who the fuck wanted to wind hair around their genitals?

  He did. And more… So very much more, like having her soft mouth close around his shaft again, and pinching her nipples so that they were ruby red and she squealed when he sucked them. Oh, and painting stripes across her rear and then fucking her there while the sting persisted.

  Spook shook his head, attempting to knock the savage thoughts clean from his mind. If he was letting this stuff play out in his imagination then he was in serious trouble.

  Maybe the key to restoring his sanity, was dunking something other than his face in icy water. His hand fell to his fly, only to discover a wet patch spreading across the fabric.

  Shitindamnation!

  He was seriously caught out here. Even that tiniest of exploratory touches had proven exactly how desperately he needed relief. Enough that he couldn’t stop himself stroking the outline of his cock. He kept his fly zipped, but the swell of his shaft nevertheless filled his palm and the heel of his hand produced bright bursts of pleasure as it circled against the head of his cock.

  The last time they’d met, Alle had done this to him. She’d unzipped his fly, wrapped her soft palm around his shaft, and worshipped him. He still remembered the cheeky grin she’d worn when she’d asked if she could suck him.

  Of course, he’d said no, but in the end she’d got what she wanted, because she just darned well undid him too expertly.

  If he stroked himself now, would it ease the tension? Once he was done, arousal dispersed, would he then be better able to deal with her intrusion into his world?

  Spook turned, uncertain whether to lock himself within one of the cubicles, or to just give his bastard cock an ice cold bath. The squeak of the bathroom door opening diverted him from either action.

  Relief and trepidation warred in his chest on realisation that the intruder was Xane.

  “There you are. We’re getting ready to move on over to the hotel. Graham’s up for talking shop. He wants to hash out all the details tonight.”

  “Yeah — give me a minute,” Spook replied, turning his back to his friend.

  “Spook?” Xane swanned over to him, until his reflection stood almost level with Spook’s in the mirror. “Are you all right?”

  Course. Yes.

  Somehow his mouth wouldn’t form the words, and in any case, they knew one another far too well for Xane to accept such a glib reply when it was patently clear he wasn’t all right. He was hiding in a bathroom for fuck’s sake, like he was twelve.

  Xane’s broad shoulders lifted slightly as he raised a hand and clasped Spook’s shoulder. Their gazes locked within the mirror’s depths. Together they had roughed storms that would have broken lesser men. Xane knew things about him that few others did. There was no hiding from him. No secrets between them.

  “Do you want to tell me what this is about?” A dark shadow passed across Xane’s face. “There’s nothing wrong with Ash, is there? Have there been complications?”

  Spook shook his head, allowing his blond hair to fall forward and mask his face. Then he coughed to clear his throat. “Ash is fine as far as I know. I’ve not heard from him, but I’ve no doubt that Ginny’s taking ridiculously good care of him.”

  He needed someone like her to take care of him right now.

  What a stupid thought. He wasn’t interested in a relationship.

  “Then what? Why are you in here? You look like you’ve just taken a slug to the guts.”

  If felt kind of like that too.

  “Spook?”

  They both turned at the same time so that they ended up facing one another. Xane’s eyes remained creased at the corners as he scanned Spook’s
face for clues, but it wasn’t until he glanced down that realisation hit. “Oh!” he remarked. Instantly, his shoulders relaxed. His gaze flicked back and forth a few times between the source of the dilemma and Spook’s expression then a wide smile replaced his frown. “Is that because you’re pleased to see me, or has somebody else got your attention?”

  In a way, he appreciated Xane’s attempt to make light of it. If only it were actually funny and not a tremendous strain on his psyche.

  “Need me to help you with it?”

  Spook positioned his hand, guard-like, over his loins.

  Xane aimed higher and clasped the back of his neck instead. He pulled their brows together so they rested against one another, close enough to kiss.

  “Xane, you’re not a free agent anymore.” The man had two full time lovers already, one male, and one female.

  “Tell me who’s done this to you. Who’s got you so riled?”

  Spook pushed him back a little, needing the barrier of space between them. It gained him a few inches, but Xane still had him trapped against the vanity unit.

  “Tell me. Otherwise I might have to resort to drastic measures, and you’re right, that wouldn’t go down well in certain quarters.”

  The mere suggestion of anything going down caused his cock to flex and set him rocking onto his toes trying to contain the pulse of excitement. He hissed as he inhaled sharply.

  “Spook, you know I’m not going to say anything. You don’t get this wound up — not ever. Talk to me. Do I need to drag them in here to finish you off?”

  “No! God, no.”

  “Who?”

  “Alle,” he blurted.

  “Alle…Allegra? Alle — the woman Graham’s about to install in your house for a month to work on mixing the new album? That’s who’s been fucking with your equilibrium for the last four months? I thought it was just band crap screwing you up.”

  “He can’t. I can’t… I can’t have her there. She’ll destroy me. I’ve worked too hard to get to this point.”