by Opal Carew
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. Nee
ded 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.”
Chapter 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 wit
hout 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.