All Fired Up
(Black Halo Unplugged #2)
Madelynne Ellis
Mischief
An imprint of HarperCollins
Publishers
77–85 Fulham Palace Road,
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
An eBook Original 2014
Copyright © Madelynne Ellis 2014
Madelynne Ellis asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © 2014 ISBN: 9780008123994
Version: 2014-12-13
Contents
Five years earlier …
‘I’
ve done it, guys. That music exec has agreed to meet us. We’re playing for him tomorrow morning, nine-thirty sharp.’
The mumbled replies of ‘Yeah’ and ‘Cool’ were not the responses Iain had envisaged for all his hard work. He’d sweated his butt off to get them this break, and it was a big thing. If everything went well tomorrow, and there was no goddamned reason why it shouldn’t, then he and the rest of Love Rocket were made. The bigwig from the record label had already seen them perform live, so he knew that they could play
and
had star potential. Tomorrow would be about working out the details and selling them to the rest of his team. This was a small label, but it would get them out there in front of audiences, bigger audiences than they could muster playing the university scene, and in turn that would hopefully boost them into the spotlight.
Iain realised this wasn’t going to make them an overnight success, but it would give them a solid boost up the ladder of superstardom he had pinned to his wardrobe door.
‘Where’s Ash?’ he asked, noticing that his lead guitarist was absent. Ash would be totally stoked about this, and unlike the rest of the guys – who, Iain saw as he glanced around the room, were beginning to look expendable – he was essential to this deal. Iain might be the motivating force, but Ash was their primary selling point.
Ashley Ryan had been born to rock. He looked every inch the rock star he was so obviously destined to become: black hair that shrouded his face, a lean physique corded with muscles, and two baby-blue eyes that could magic the panties off chicks from a hundred paces. Their fan base had tripled overnight after the first time he joined them on stage. What made things more interesting was that Ash, beneath the grungy image, was about as clean-cut as you could get. His only stumbling block was his girlfriend, Connie, for whom he’d do anything. Correction, had been prepared to do anything, until she ceremoniously dumped him last week.
Thank you, Jesus!
‘He’s not mooning over Connie’s departure again, is he?’
‘Whaa–?’ Tom remarked, his eyes never leaving the TV screen, into which his games machine was permanently wired. Guitar Hero he certainly wasn’t. ‘There’s a letter for you on the corkboard.’
Biting back an expression of despair at Tom’s ineptitude, Iain left the communal lounge and hustled into his study-bedroom. Sure enough, a folded piece of paper with his name scrawled across the front in Ash’s overly swirly handwriting sat pinned in the centre of the board, on top of next month’s rehearsal schedule. Heart suddenly in his guts, he took it down and opened it.
Sorry mate. I need to get away from here. The whole thing with Connie has knocked me for six. I’ve been talking to some other guys about joining them, and I’ve decided this is the right time to make the jump. Clean break and all. Plus, their sound’s more my scene and they’ve agreed to take it more in my direction. You know that you and I don’t quite hit it off in that regard.
Anyway, they’ve a mini tour already booked for over the half-term break, so that’s why I’m not here to tell you this in person.
I know Love Rocket don’t have anything booked, but just in case you want to get started on finding my replacement, I’ve left you some numbers.
See you when I get back.
Ash
‘Fuck!’ Iain put his fist through the mirror.
‘Hey, man, what’s up?’ Gary mooched through from the lounge, lank hair combed forward over his face. Tom appeared at his heels, still superglued to his games controller. Gary bent and picked up Ash’s note, which Iain had dropped. He read it quickly.
‘Sucks,’ he remarked, and dropped it again.
It more than sucked. They were screwed. He was screwed. As the remaining shards of the mirror tumbled from the frame, Iain’s dreams of stardom crashed.
It was not supposed to work out like this. He’d thought, with Connie gone, Ash would be all over this project as something to throw himself into instead of making prissy wedding plans, but no, he’d only gone and fucked off to make some other fucker fucking rich.
Ash, you selfish ruddy bastard!
Birmingham, England, Requiem for the Damned tour, opening night.
A
sh looked for her the moment he came off stage, while his body was pumped with adrenalin and he was still buzzing from the performance high. He knew she’d be there, just as she had been every moment from the night they’d met. Ginny – just a glimpse of her was enough to make him want to barrel caveman-like through the crowd to claim her and cover her precious upturned face with a thousand million kisses. She made him crazy. One simple touch and he was all fired up and eager to please.
However, the last thing any budding relationship needed was the attention of the global media. Black Halo had just kicked off their Requiem for the Damned tour and there were enough journalists present, waving cameras and microphones about, to make his hackles rise.
Ash intended to keep what he had with Ginny private. No spotlights. No photographs. And no well-meaning friends offering advice and generally screwing things up. After his first brush with love had left him a quivering wreck, he wasn’t taking any risks second time around.
Still, it was hard not to run to her and lose himself, staring into her liquid-gold eyes. Instead, he steered himself in the opposite direction.
Ash made small talk with a couple of other ladies who’d managed to find their way backstage. He signed three autographs, one on a boob, and had his picture taken with new drummer Iain Willows, and their official fan-club president, whose name he could never remember. He forced himself to do an entire circuit of the room without looking at Ginny once, before he finally headed in her direction. Even then, he held off from giving her any sort of welcome that might have been deemed extraordinary. Just a friendly peck on the cheek, when really he wanted to drink down every last drop of her and tell everyone else here to fuck off home.
Only that sort of outburst would really focus their attention.
‘You took your time working your way here.’
‘I was saving the best for last.’
‘Were you?’ Sceptically, she raised one of her arched eyebrows.
‘I needed to find out how we went down.’
‘And?’
‘Like a storm, it seems.’
‘Because there was any actual doubt that’d be the case. The audience were just stoked you’re all together making music again and playing gigs. Say, has anyone ever told you, you hold your guitar in a really weird way. You make it look as if she’s about to fly from your hands.’
Yes, actually they had. He overlooked the remark though, because Ginny knew his guitar was female. She was amazing like that. Ash clenched his fists to stop himself cupping her face and stealing a proper kiss. He really needed to find an exit route out of here soon, because he didn’t want to stand still next to this woman. He wanted to do. His body wasn’t going to be content until he’d sampled every damn part of her for the zillionth time. These past few weeks, he hadn’t seemed able to screw his head on straight unless they were sandwiched so close there were no discernible gaps between them.
‘Actually, I think you’ll find she’s like a lot of ladies, and appreciates gentle coaxing.’
Her lips pursed. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate tenderness, but Ash could genuinely attest to her being one of the few women who, when she said she wanted it hard, meant exactly that. He had the bruises to prove it. And didn’t that just keep him running back for more.
‘It’s just unfortunate that Mr Geist keeps writing hardcore rock anthems,’ he muttered, still half talking about his guitar. They needed to get out of here now, find themselves somewhere secluded, away from the din and the crush of people. Who the hell were all these people anyway? And why were they backstage?
‘Yeah, I’ve heard he’s addicted to rocking out.’
‘Wanna rock out with me?’ they remarked simultaneously, making one another laugh. Did he ever. He was damn well hooked on her. Ginny Walters, the new drug of choice. ‘I think I’m addicted to the taste of you.’
Ginny prodded him with her elbow. ‘You say such crude if lovely things. I’m rather partial to the taste of you too.’
‘Then maybe I can persuade you to come this way.’ Ash hooked an arm around her tiny waist – Ginny was skinny everywhere apart from around the hourglass curve of her hips – and guided her in the direction of the bar. There was an exit right by it that’d take them to the dressing rooms and some blissful seclusion.
‘Hey, Mr Rock Star, I hope you’re not planning on plying me with alcohol and then having your wicked way.’
‘Course not. I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage like that. I was thinking wicked way first, then alcohol. What do you say we relive a little of our history?’
‘That does sound fun,’ she agreed, a nostalgic look in her eyes. He still couldn’t believe they’d met because she’d gatecrashed his dressing room looking for fun with whoever turned up. Ash had always supposed he’d meet his special lady somewhere civilised and unconnected to the music industry. Not that he was arguing with fate.
‘And were you thinking we’d do this with or without the accompaniment of your bandmates?’
Definitely without. While he’d once shared her with Spook and Rock Giant, he had no intention of ever doing so again. Just as he had no intention of sharing himself with anybody else. Ginny was his, and he was strictly a one-woman man from now on. Why risk perfection for something mediocre? And boy, was she perfect. He admired the wiggle of her butt as she walked ahead of him to get through the crowd.
