Mastered 2: Ten Tales of Sensual Surrender (47 page)

Resistor

Madelynne Ellis

Rhythm guitarist, Spook Mortensen doesn't want a second chance with sound engineer, Allegra Hutton-- not over a table, in a limo or in bed.

Sex is the last thing on Spook’s mind, or he wishes it was.

Spook Mortensen has one rule when it comes to relationships: just say no. He has his reasons. Good reasons. His policy of total abstinence has kept him out of trouble for years. Sex ought to be the last thing on his mind, but whenever go-getting sound engineer Allegra Hutton shows up, she doesn’t just hijack his libido, she downright screws with it. The only way to deal with her is to tie her up.

Alle realises she’s upsetting Spook’s rhythm, but she’s under no illusion that he’s the right top to warm her bottom.

Copyright 2015 Madelynne Ellis

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

About The Author

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Chapter One

Allegra Hutton stared at her image in the backstage mirror and almost wailed at her reflection. Her crazy red hair was already working its way free of its binding, so that bright frizzy copper strands stuck up at alarming angles, competing with her fascinator for attention. Her cheeks were flushed, and the same blush was making her décolletage look blotchy. Why had she agreed to do this? Where in her job description did it mention addressing monstrously large crowds full of industry insiders and A-listers? She wasn’t even a somebody within the music industry. No one spoke her name in awe, or got stars in their eyes at the prospect of meeting her. Nor was she witty enough to deliver a decent speech. She was, however, a pushy idiot who hadn’t learned when to step back.

For the most part, her eagerness to succeed and willingness to fight her corner had served her well in her chosen career as a sound engineer. Instead of being stuck digitizing old classics and mixing bippity-boppity pop aimed at seven year olds, she’d got to work with an assortment of up and coming rock bands over the last few months. Too bad she hadn’t concentrated on that and not fought for this particular assignment too. She hated being overlooked, but the only thing she was going to achieve tonight was making the most enormous fool of herself in front of a crowd of her peers and an entire bank of photographers.

Cameras — her brow creased into a severe frown — she never liked photographs of herself. She always looked too ungainly and big… and well… big.

They’re not interested in photographing you.

No — the press were here for the stars, not the industry worker-bees. Stars like Spook Mortensen…

And there it was; the real reason why her stomach was in knots and she was trembling so hard she’d already sloshed water down her front. He’d see her. She’d walk out there, and Spook would be in the crowd; him and the rest of his band, Black Halo. God help her, they were even nominated in the category she was announcing. What would she do if they came on stage and she had to shake hands and congratulate them?

Allegra plucked the fascinator from her hair, and released the knot she’d spent hours constructing, letting the glossy ringlets spill over her shoulders.

Be brave, is what she’d do. If she opened the envelope, and the card said Black Halo, then she’d congratulate them, deliver some air kisses and look professional.

Simple.

She would not melt all over them, or say anything stupid or inappropriate. And she definitely, definitely wouldn’t challenge Spook over why, after they’d had such a good time together, he hadn’t called her. Because honestly, why had she even allowed herself to imagine he would? Just because she’d tempted him once, didn’t mean she’d shot to the top of his dating list. It wasn’t as if he’d been desperate to dive into bed with her. Sure, stuff had happened, but most of that had been down to her insistence.

She’d pushed him too far. He’d warned her. He’d told her he couldn’t give her what she wanted. But she’d been absolutely certain that he could, so she’d kept on asking until he’d delivered.

Was it really any wonder he hadn’t called?

It might have seemed their chemistry was off the charts on her end, but Spook had countless women willing to serve his every need. Why would he choose the pushy one, the one who refused to listen or take no for an answer? He wouldn’t, quite simply, and he hadn’t. Like every other man in her life, he’d been scared off by her inability to rein herself in. Fact was; she’d always been more Amazon than nymph, curvy, rather than waif-like, and far too eager to prove she was every bit as good as her overachieving brothers.

“Ms. Hutton, are you ready?” The backstage hand enquired, letting her know with a wave that this was her cue. “Just follow the steps down, then straight across the boards to the podium in the centre. The winners will come onto the stage from the right.”

“OK, thank you.”

She took a deep breath, levelled her shoulders, and then clutching the golden envelope that contained the winners name, walked out to face the audience.

Chapter Two

Spook’s heart damn near stopped when he saw her walk out onto the stage. The black shimmery dress clung to her hourglass figure and fanned out behind her ankles forming a short train. Her hair — bright, burnished copper — shone against the deep midnight hue of the fabric. She looked radiant up there. Perfect. Too perfect, exactly as she’d been when she’d lain stretched across his knee, her bare bottom raised eager for the heat of his palm.

Oh, fuck!
If he’d known she’d be here, he wouldn’t have come. He’d have made his excuses, perhaps insisted that he needed to stay in Sweden with Ash. Their lead guitarist hadn’t been quite right since he’d collapsed on stage during their last live performance.

But he was here, and God help him, so was she. The one woman he couldn’t let himself be near, unless he wanted to risk his goddamned sanity. Allegra Hutton did things to him that no other woman had done in over seven years.

He’d walked away. He’d deliberately walked away from her. Yet here she was, right in front of him as if destiny was laying down the law, telling him he couldn’t dream of her and simultaneously stay his distance.

And, oh, he’d dreamed of her all right. She’d haunted his thoughts ever since that day in April. She was the only person he couldn’t block out. There was just something about her. Something that obliterated every fucking shield he had in place. Shields he’d spent years perfecting. They’d been impervious until she’d torched them all with her smile.

Unblinking, Spook watched her stand at the podium, and wondered if his imagination had finally got the better of him, given how often she’d been on his mind of late, tormenting him with her absolute willingness to submit.

The memory of that moment — watching the plump, peaches and cream skin of her arse turn pink — never failed to heat his veins.

He liked inflicting pain.

And Allegra Hutton, as much as she’d squirmed, had loved having him dish it out.

She’d been so damn sure of what she wanted, so insistent and so eager for what he could give.

They ought to have been a match made in heaven.

The reality looked more like a one way trip into his personal hell. There were reasons he’d cut himself off from pursuing physical relationships. Good, sound, solid reasons.

She shouldn’t have been able to make him feel like this — excited by her presence, tingling with the need to warm her arse.
Shit
! He mentally chastised himself when he found himself checking that he was wearing a belt.

It didn’t matter one way or the other because they were never going to pursue that avenue together. He was not going to bind her with it, or trail the pointed tip against the curve of her spine, or snap the end against her perfectly rounded rear.

Thwack!
The image of it ignited desire in his cells.

“Spook! Spook…” Xane punched him in the shoulder. “With me,” he laughed, cat’s eye contact lenses glowing in the dark. “We’re up.”

“What?”

It was obvious enough to work out, when everyone around him was clapping, Xane was bounding his way onto the stage, and their most recent hit was blaring from every speaker in the place.

Spook followed at a more sedate pace, taking the time to accept congratulations from folks he passed on the way up to the stage. Honestly, he didn’t want to go up there, but as he and Xane were the only two members of the band in attendance, there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of choice. At least he wouldn’t have to say anything. Xane was always happy to hog the mic.

He would however have to face her — Alle. And touch her.

At minimum, a handshake was in order.

“Fuck!” He complained under his breath as he watched Xane press a smacker to her lips. That was just out of order. It was not allowed. And worse still, there was now a palpable air of expectation. However, that didn’t mean he had to follow suit and kiss her, even if she was bent forward expectantly.

Xane was already speaking to the crowd as Spook held out his hand to thank Alle for the award. Sparks zapped through his synapses at the contact. They raced up his arm and straight into his heart.

Fuck!

He sucked down a breath, just to remind his lungs how to inflate.

Alle tugged. She took the damned initiative.

Treble Fuck!

Her lips were soft and giving, but he refused to linger. He wished he could believe in some sort of forever with her, but to give it a chance required sacrifices he was too afraid to make. To let her close, he’d have to tear down the walls he’d built, trash the safety net he’d so carefully constructed. And then what? There was no guarantee of a happily ever after, so why even contemplate the possibility?

Why risk everything? Better, safer, that he kept his urges and desires locked up. Giving in to them had only ever got him into trouble. The sort of shit you didn’t so much wallow in, as struggle not to drown. He’d been drowning when he’d met Xane. Black Halo — Xane — had saved him, which is why he did his damnedest to keep them both intact.

“I thought you’d call,” she said as they broke apart.

Spook didn’t respond. He turned to the audience, took the trophy from Xane, held it aloft and said “Thank you” into the microphone, all too conscious of Alle’s presence behind him.

He should have called. At minimum, he ought to have told her that it’d been fun, but he wasn’t up for a repeat. He hadn’t done it of course, because that was an outrageous lie. And he didn’t lie.

“You OK?” Xane asked as they exited the stage. “You seem a bit rattled.”

“I’m fine.” He wasn’t about to admit that he was relieved they were leaving the stage, because that would involve admitting why. Instead, he shoved his hand into his jacket pocket. Relief flooded through his tensed limbs as his fingers closed around the lucky guitar pick he had stowed there. Ever since his prized Washburn had temporarily gone missing in Amsterdam, he’d felt ill at ease without the security of the instrument’s weight upon his shoulders. The pick didn’t bestow the same level of comfort, but it was less conspicuous.

Carrying his guitar along to an awards ceremony, at which he wasn’t scheduled to play, would have drawn too much attention, and attention wasn’t something he cared to invite. He and the other guys from Black Halo underwent dissection by the media on a regular basis already, and now, with yet another award to their names, they were no doubt set for increasing public scrutiny. It rather made him wish they’d all stayed back on Lake Vänern, chilling, healing and pretending the world outside didn’t exist.

“Another one for the tour bus dashboard, eh?” Xane nudged him as they headed into the stage wings, where they both paused to stare at the silver statuette, this one a stylized figured holding a microphone. “Reckon Cave Troll will like her?”

“’Spect so.” Troels, their driver had most of the band’s trophies superglued to the tour bus dashboard, much to their PR manager’s disgust. “What do you think she’s doing?”

“Sally?” Spook shook his head. “Probably bigging us up to anyone who’ll listen.”

“I meant the figure.” Xane reclaimed the award and raised it so that they could both get a better look.

“Ice-skating?” Spook suggested, based on the way her leg was kicked backwards and her arms were outstretched.

Xane nodded in agreement, “Looks as if she’s just landed a Salchow. She’s certainly going to have trouble singing in that position, especially with the microphone two feet above her head.”

“I didn’t know you were such a skating expert.”

“I can skate,” Xane replied. “And I’ve watched the Winter Olympics.”

“And there I was thinking you were going to say you’d banged a skater.”

Xane brushed a hand back through his long black hair. “I might have done.” He grinned. “Hey, we’re up.”

A blizzard of flashbulbs popped in front of them. Xane clamped an arm around Spook’s shoulder and they both smiled and then made inappropriate gestures for the camera.

“Where’s the rest of the band, Xane?” one journalist called.

“Consulting with Lucifer.”

“Black or white for the wedding?” asked another.

“I didn’t realize I was getting hitched.”

“Spook, how do you feel about the award?”

He took it from Xane’s grasp and lifted it. “Yeah, great. I always wanted to be an ice dance champion.” He and Xane both performed pirouettes and laughed at the nonplussed expressions on the reporters’ faces.

“Any comments on Iain Willow’s exodus from the band?”

“None.”

“That’s it, guys. Let’s get back to our seats, eh?” Xane remarked, steering Spook back towards the main auditorium and their plush theatre seats. Spook paused before sitting, still too aware of the taste of Alle’s lips and the hurt that had shone in her eyes. What sort of coward had he become, to leave so much unsaid between them? More of one than he cared to be.

He caught sight of her across the room, standing at the end of an aisle waiting for the other occupants of the row to let her pass. She mesmerised him. Even from here he could feel the magnetic pull that existed between them.

“Are you going to sit down?” Xane asked, tugging him into his seat. “What the fuck is up with you?”

“I was just thinking about the guys. They ought to be here with us.” It wasn’t an actual lie. He had been thinking that earlier.

“Yeah, well, none of them wanted to be here.”

That wasn’t strictly true. It was only that they’d all had other things on. Luthor was in the studio drumming for his old band; Elspeth and Paul were off at some folk festival recapturing their youth and Ash — poor Ash — wasn’t up to facing a crowd. He had wanted to be here, but it was more important that he stayed out of the public eye and got himself healthy.

Spook settled uncomfortably into his seat.

“We should have been up for this one too,” Xane remarked about the next award.

“Well, if we have to go up again, no kisses, OK?”

His friend flicked his tongue against his lip piercing. A broad grin stretched across his face. “Is that what’s put a bee in your bonnet? It’s not compulsory to follow suit. Besides, it was only a peck. It’s not like I snogged her face off.”

“Just as well or your girlfriend would have a fit.”

Xane sniffed, then gave his head a shake so his long black hair settled against his shoulders. “Gonna have to call her later. Going twenty-four hours without her amplifies certain cravings. It’s gonna be fucking cold in bed tonight — ”

Try going months, years…

“— unless you’re up for some snuggling?”

“Last time I looked, you thought snuggling was a synonym for fucking, so I’m gonna have to pass.”

“Damn, spoilsport,” Xane joked. Spook knew he wasn’t serious. Well, not very, anyway. It depended on whether his heart or his libido was talking.

“Hey, hold still.” Xane said to him. He reached out and dragged his thumb across Spook’s lower lip. “Looks like Miss Hutton left a bit of herself behind.” He showed Spook the smear of her lipstick he’d wiped away. “She did an OK job on remastering
Within You.
Maybe we should see if she’s free to work on the new album. What do you think?”

“We probably want someone more experienced for that.”

“For the whole thing, yeah, but for a track or two…”

“Can we discuss this later? We’re supposed to be listening.”

“Graham,” Xane hissed, leaning over Spook to reach their manager. “What do you think to getting Allegra Hutton in to work on the new album?”

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.