Madelynne Ellis - All Fired Up

‘You’re going to talk dirty to me?’ She heard the catch of excitement in this throat. ‘Babe,’ he purred, ‘you’re way too good to me.’

Dinner had seemed like such a good idea when Spook had suggested it. Seriously, what wasn’t to like about the idea of decent food, in a nice restaurant, and someone else footing the bill? However, that had been before the adrenalin rush of the Paris gig had worn off, and he’d had to talk Iain down from the rafters. Ash didn’t recall Iain being quite so big a diva when they’d played together in the past. Apparently these days he didn’t take criticism at all well. He was rather peeved himself that Iain had screwed up ‘Fatal Error’, since it was normally a major crowd-pleaser, but he’d had to bite his tongue, given that the rest of the band were already seething and they couldn’t actually afford to give him the boot, or see him walk. Without a drummer, the whole tour would collapse, and none of them could afford for that to happen. This perhaps explained why they were all tolerating his motor-mouthed yapping too. Iain had hardly paused for breath in the last forty minutes and Ash was beginning to suspect he’d taken something, but he sure as hell didn’t want to suggest that at the dinner table, because it’d be an instant tour-killer.

And, if he was being honest, he needed this tour. Touring was easy, it made life ridiculously simple: they drove about, they played gigs, he ate, slept and fucked. It wasn’t real, and it wasn’t complicated. He didn’t want to deal with real life right now. Reality was a total screw-up.

Xane leaned towards him, his long black hair falling forward to shroud his angular face. ‘If he doesn’t shut his trap soon, I swear I’m going to throw something at him.’

Ash caught Xane’s wrist as he reached for a bread roll. Although he was relieved it was only food missiles Xane was considering – there were steak knives on the table.

‘He’s nervous, is all. Iain always talks when he’s nervous.’ Not entirely true, but he needed to find some explanation for Iain’s behaviour. ‘Give him a chance to settle in. It’s only been a few days, and you did all lay into him when we came off stage tonight.’

Actually, they’d all given him hell every night since the tour began, nearly a week ago.

Xane withdrew his hand, but rolled his eyes at the notion that they’d given Iain a hard time. ‘What the fuck were you thinking, Ash? He’s so wrong for us, it’s depressing.’

‘He’s a drummer. That makes him perfect for us.’

Xane gave him the sort of look that would have made anyone else wither. Ash refused to shrivel.

‘He pisses me off – deliberately.’

‘That’s a bit of an overstatement. He messed up one song, Xane. And I hardly think he did it deliberately. Why would he? We’re his ticket into the big league.’

‘Yeah, well, maybe that’s my issue. I don’t like freeloaders hanging off my coat-tails.’

‘So work him harder.’

Xane smiled grimly. ‘Oh, I will. Don’t worry about that.’

‘Whose phone’s vibrating?’ Spook asked, his native Swedish lilt coming through, a sure indication that he was stressed. The rest of the conversation around the table had stopped.

‘Heck, mine.’ Ash fished the damn thing out of his pocket and swiped a finger across the dimmed screen to waken it. It was a little late in the evening for his mum to be calling; she’d be in bed with one of her beloved mystery novels by now. There were only two other people with his number and one of them, Spook, was sitting next to him.

You never told me what a nice guy your driver is. Ginny’s message flashed up.

Shit! Ginny. What with one thing after another post show, the fact he was meant to meet her had completely slipped his mind. Although, hang on. He checked the time. He wasn’t due at the Arc de Triomphe until midnight. Why was she texting him now?

Where are you? He typed and hit send .

On your bunk. Flicking through your porn.

Really, where are you?

Your bunk.

She couldn’t really be on the tour bus. Troels, their driver, wouldn’t let her on. OK, he might, depending on what Ginny had said, and if he believed he was doing Ash a favour. It wasn’t as if the band’s resident Cave Troll hadn’t sneaked a girl or two on board in the past for him.

Why don’t you come and check if you don’t believe me? It’s all quiet here, no one’s home. It’s just me and a lot of empty beds. Whose do you think we should try out first?

Ash shot to his feet.

Maybe Xane’s? No. Spook’s. We can rumple all his neat edges and give his mattress springs a workout. It’ll be the only action they ever see if your assertions he’s celibate are to be believed.

‘Ginny, you’d better be pissing with me,’ he mumbled. What in the name of hell was she playing at? She’d seemed fine with their arrangement the last time he’d seen her. They’d had a lot of fun playing Secret Agent and Spy on the train under the English Channel.

‘Where the hell are you going?’ Rock Giant asked, when Ash pulled on his leather jacket.

‘I’m …’ He stalled, having failed to invent an adequate answer. ‘Off,’ he concluded. He turned to Spook, hoping his friend would understand why this was important. If he didn’t make the connection now, then Ash would explain it later. ‘Sorry. I’ve really got to go. Something’s come up.’

‘Can it not wait until dessert? At least finish your meal.’

Ash’s phone buzzed again. This time the message came with an attachment. Ash opened it and gawped at the screen. She’d only gone and sent him a picture of her pert and very sexy derrière wrapped in fishnets and the skimpiest, sexiest black silk shorts he’d ever had the pleasure to behold. She was bent over, clearly on the tour bus, as the bunk room was in the background.

‘I’d love to, but no. I’m sorry. I need to run.’ He needed to get her off that tour bus before anyone saw her there.