She laughed breathlessly, her ability to draw in a deep breath limited by the constriction of being slung over Victor’s shoulder. He turned his head and bit her behind, making her shriek and giggle like a maniac. “Shit,” he said. “The door is closed.” He released his grip on his jeans so that he could open the door, and they slid down to his ankles. “Oh, goody,” she seized onto his arse. “Someone skipped their underwear this morning.” He laughed, stepping out of the jeans, and kicking them into the room. “I went for a swim,” he told her. “They are out on a chair, drying.” He lowered her onto the bed and laid his body out over hers, as he kissed her, his tongue stroking against hers. “I do like it when you wear skirts,” he reached between them, pulling her underwear to the side so that he could slide against her intimately and she drew in a shaking breath. “I probably need a shower,” she said. “I have been dancing all afternoon.” “You taste salty,” he dragged his tongue along her
She slid into the limousine and felt a twinge. Three days so far, she thought with a small smile, at the memory, and her body had not forgotten them. Just the thought of it made her hot, despite her exhaustion. She lay out along the seat as Alexei slid into the back.“You really shouldn’t lie like that when he is driving,” Alexei commented as he put on his seatbelt. “If there is an accident, you would get seriously injured.”She groaned and dragged herself up before dropping into the seat on the other side of the car to Alexei, leaving the middle seat empty. She put on her seatbelt and dropped her handbag onto the spare seat. “So tired,” she told him, leaning her head back against the headrest and closing her eyes.“I am not surprised,” he replied with sympathy as the limousine driver started the engine. “Your schedule is pretty hard core. Radio interviews in the early hours of the morning, photo shoots and TV appearances midday, sound checks in the afternoon, and then the show from e
Alexei opened the door to her room and did a quick tour of the interior. “All good,” he told her.“Thanks Alexei,” it no longer seemed odd to have him check her room before she entered it. “Where is the damn light?” She felt for the light switch and could not find it. It seemed that every hotel kept their light switches in different places, designed to baffle her in the darkness.“Here,” he turned on the switch. “Ah, no that is the bathroom one.” At least she was not alone in her bafflement.“It is okay, hotel lighting always makes my eyes funny after a busy day,” she told him. “I will just be brushing my teeth and going to bed anyway.”He shrugged. “Alright, I will see you in the morning?”“Thanks. Goodnight,” she saw him to the door and waited until he got onto the elevator before closing and leaning back against it with a sigh. It had been a gruelling day that had begun very early in the morning with a red-eye flight, followed by radio interviews for the commuters on their way to
Victor was woken when his phone rang at eight am. He groaned. Less than four hours of sleep was torturous, he thought, but it wouldn’t be the first time that he and Vice had worked under such deprivation. Mirage was still out, he noted, the sleeping pill still working to keep her in the oblivion of unconsciousness, but he saw Vice’s eyes open a slit and close again as Victor moved. Mirage’s head was on his bicep, so he rolled onto his back and felt blindly for his mobile. Aaron’s name appeared on the screen. He accepted the call. “Hey.” “It is me,” Aaron told him. “I am downstairs.” “It is Aaron,” he said to Vice. “He is downstairs. I will call the concierge to bring you up,” he said to Aaron. “We will order room service. Vice and I are going to need a lot more coffee than this kitchenette holds.” “I have got go cups here,” Aaron said. “I love you,” Victor said easing his arm out from under Mirage. Vice had his arm over her, and he snuggled in closer with a sigh, which was, Vict
The seating arrangement was meant to be cosy and confidential. To the viewer it probably looked so. There were fake walls on three sides to give the impression that they were in a sitting room and not a studio, and she was certain that the green screens behind the windows would be filled with a pretty garden view and the sound-track augmented by birdsong by the time the show aired. The couches were possibly the most uncomfortable ones she had ever sat upon, Mirage thought. But maybe that was in her head because of her dread of the topic she was there to discuss. Kelly certainly appeared to be comfortable on them. But Mirage was glad that Vice had selected trousers, and not a skirt, for the interview, as the angle of the seats was such that she would have been fighting to keep her hemline decent. The last thing she needed was to flash a camera whilst she was there to discuss a sex crime committed against her. The combination of clothing that Vice had thrown together was stylish, rela
Victor watched Mirage through the window into the DJ booth. She was smiling brightly at the DJ as she answered questions about her show. She wore a t-shirt advertising herself, over a pair of jeans, biker boots, and a cropped leather jacket, her hair slicked back into her signature ponytail, complete with pink-tipped extensions, and looked every part of the rockstar that she was. “She is holding up,” Vice murmured. “She is strong, our Mira.” “Mmm,” Victor wanted nothing more than to cancel the rest of her tour and take her home where he and Vice could keep her safe from the outside world that was too often cruel to her. But Mirage lived for her music, and being up close and personal, seeing the faces of her fans, was doing a lot to rebuild her confidence after twelve months of media harassment. He had taken control of Mirage’s phone and was fighting the desire to ring the burner phone number, to see if Mr Rich would answer, and then spewing some of the vitriol he was feeling toward
“Bloody hell,” Vice declared as he opened the door into their house. “I don’t think I have ever been so glad to get home. I think I am drunk off the smell of house.” “What does house smell like, exactly?” Mirage giggled. “Hmm,” he drew in a breath. “Ghosts of your perfume, furniture polish, and Victor’s gym socks.” “Hey,” Victor protested. “My gym socks are a refined vintage.” “Keep telling yourself that, whilst the rest of us gag,” Vice replied. “I smell,” Mirage stepped in. “Vice’s aftershave, and Victor’s shampoo, and staleness.” “I smell,” Victor followed them into the hall leaving the driver to unload the boot. “Vice’s toy room,” he added optimistically. “What does my toy room smell like?” Vice asked with a sly grin. “Lube, vinyl, and leather.” Victor replied readily. “Is that wishful thinking?” Vice asked conversationally as he claimed a suitcase from the front door and placed it into the front hall. “Factual thinking,” Victor decided. “Unpack, shower, food, wine, and
On Monday Raven turned up unannounced at their gate as was his habit. Victor went to greet him at the door as Vice and Mirage were already in the pool, and watched as the lean, black-haired, sharply featured man got out of the crappy silver sedan he was driving. Raven looked rough even by his normal standards with a week’s worth of stubble on his face and shadows under his eyes, but he grinned widely, revealing a flash of strong white teeth against his olive complexion, upon seeing Victor. “If you offer me coffee, I am not responsible for my reaction,” Raven said. “What?” Victor raised an eyebrow and realised that he was teasing him about the manbun he was wearing and the beard he had been growing in. He stroked his beard between his forefinger and thumb. “You don’t like the beard? Apparently, they are the current fashion, and it doesn’t raise a rash on Mirage. Anywhere,” he added with a glint in his eye. Raven snorted. “You grew a beard so you that didn’t prickle your woman when
“Are you ready?” Vice asked her, his voice low. “If you feel tired…” Mirage could hear the music pouring out of the venue in the occasional breaks in the roar from the crowds gathered around the red carpet as the limousine driver opened the door. The crowd pressed against the barricades trying to see who was in the car. “I am fine,” she assured him. “Fit as a fiddle.” Both he and Victor would happily have kept her home and in bed forever more, she thought, amused. Vice lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles before releasing her. She watched him slide elegantly out of the car, something only he could do, she was certain. The man simply oozed elegance in every movement, like a sleekly coated panther. She heard the crowds scream his name, excitement rising the pitch, and the flash as cameras went into a frenzy, and his laughter, enjoying their admiration. Vain boy, Natalia called him fondly. As usually, Victor’s mother was entirely correct. But Mirage loved the vain boy
“Hello, sweetie,” there was no wondering who the woman stroking back her hair was, her eyes were exactly the same shade of Victor’s and there were shadows of him in the shape of her nose and the high cheekbones. “Natalia.” Mirage’s voice was a croak. “Vice and Victor?” “The boys are fine, so don’t you worry about them,” Natalia adjusted the bed, until Mirage was sitting up enough to drink, and held a cup with a straw to her mouth. “You are alright, my darling.” “I feel awful,” Mirage admitted, sinking back into the cushions. “Where is Vice and Victor?” “Nicola has taken those boys in hand and taken them home for showers and food,” Natalia replied. “They were starting to smell.” “How long has it been?” Vice and Victor were not the only ones who smelled, Mirage noted, wrinkling her nose. “I need a shower and toothbrush.” “It is Saturday morning,” Natalia said. “I will ring the nurse.” There were flowers, cards, and balloons all around the room. “Oh, wow,” Mirage said. “Who are al
“Do you remember when pulling up to this building was exciting?” Mirage asked Vice and Victor as the limousine slowed to a stop out front of the gleaming tower of glass with its neon highlights of color drawing the eye into the glossy foyer. A bored security guard watched the red carpet out front through the glass doors, to see what celebrity had gotten the photographers that lingered by standing invitation to capture the comings and goings, and she could see Aaron, in a blue suit, near the reception desk. “Now every time I come here; I feel like I am arming up for a battle.” “I know the feeling,” Victor agreed as they waited for the chauffeur to make his way to the door. “It is just further motivation to start our own label.” “Well, into the fray,” Vice smoothed the lapel of his jacket as the driver opened the door, standing back crisply. Vice stepped out, raising his hand, and beaming at the photographers, before reaching back into the limo to hand Mirage out. “Watch your skirt,”
Victor leaned against the bench as he waited for the coffee to percolate and watched his partner at work. Vice was bent over the control board his headphones on, his posture hunched, and his eyes closed as he nodded along with the music. Vice’s cheeks were dark with stubble, and he had shadows under his eyes. He looked as if they had put in a few hard nights partying, rather than at the control board and in the attached recording room. They were both looking a bit rough, Victor thought wryly. The last few days they had been putting in hard hours in the studio, getting as many tracks down as possible. Their mornings were early, showers perfunctory, and days long. Mirage had taken to bringing their meals to the studio and collecting the plates afterwards to ensure that they ate. But the hard work was gradually paying off. The album was shaping up, and it was solid. It did not have the magic of passion behind it that Mirage’s did, but they were convinced they were doing their best work
On Monday Raven turned up unannounced at their gate as was his habit. Victor went to greet him at the door as Vice and Mirage were already in the pool, and watched as the lean, black-haired, sharply featured man got out of the crappy silver sedan he was driving. Raven looked rough even by his normal standards with a week’s worth of stubble on his face and shadows under his eyes, but he grinned widely, revealing a flash of strong white teeth against his olive complexion, upon seeing Victor. “If you offer me coffee, I am not responsible for my reaction,” Raven said. “What?” Victor raised an eyebrow and realised that he was teasing him about the manbun he was wearing and the beard he had been growing in. He stroked his beard between his forefinger and thumb. “You don’t like the beard? Apparently, they are the current fashion, and it doesn’t raise a rash on Mirage. Anywhere,” he added with a glint in his eye. Raven snorted. “You grew a beard so you that didn’t prickle your woman when
“Bloody hell,” Vice declared as he opened the door into their house. “I don’t think I have ever been so glad to get home. I think I am drunk off the smell of house.” “What does house smell like, exactly?” Mirage giggled. “Hmm,” he drew in a breath. “Ghosts of your perfume, furniture polish, and Victor’s gym socks.” “Hey,” Victor protested. “My gym socks are a refined vintage.” “Keep telling yourself that, whilst the rest of us gag,” Vice replied. “I smell,” Mirage stepped in. “Vice’s aftershave, and Victor’s shampoo, and staleness.” “I smell,” Victor followed them into the hall leaving the driver to unload the boot. “Vice’s toy room,” he added optimistically. “What does my toy room smell like?” Vice asked with a sly grin. “Lube, vinyl, and leather.” Victor replied readily. “Is that wishful thinking?” Vice asked conversationally as he claimed a suitcase from the front door and placed it into the front hall. “Factual thinking,” Victor decided. “Unpack, shower, food, wine, and
Victor watched Mirage through the window into the DJ booth. She was smiling brightly at the DJ as she answered questions about her show. She wore a t-shirt advertising herself, over a pair of jeans, biker boots, and a cropped leather jacket, her hair slicked back into her signature ponytail, complete with pink-tipped extensions, and looked every part of the rockstar that she was. “She is holding up,” Vice murmured. “She is strong, our Mira.” “Mmm,” Victor wanted nothing more than to cancel the rest of her tour and take her home where he and Vice could keep her safe from the outside world that was too often cruel to her. But Mirage lived for her music, and being up close and personal, seeing the faces of her fans, was doing a lot to rebuild her confidence after twelve months of media harassment. He had taken control of Mirage’s phone and was fighting the desire to ring the burner phone number, to see if Mr Rich would answer, and then spewing some of the vitriol he was feeling toward
The seating arrangement was meant to be cosy and confidential. To the viewer it probably looked so. There were fake walls on three sides to give the impression that they were in a sitting room and not a studio, and she was certain that the green screens behind the windows would be filled with a pretty garden view and the sound-track augmented by birdsong by the time the show aired. The couches were possibly the most uncomfortable ones she had ever sat upon, Mirage thought. But maybe that was in her head because of her dread of the topic she was there to discuss. Kelly certainly appeared to be comfortable on them. But Mirage was glad that Vice had selected trousers, and not a skirt, for the interview, as the angle of the seats was such that she would have been fighting to keep her hemline decent. The last thing she needed was to flash a camera whilst she was there to discuss a sex crime committed against her. The combination of clothing that Vice had thrown together was stylish, rela
Victor was woken when his phone rang at eight am. He groaned. Less than four hours of sleep was torturous, he thought, but it wouldn’t be the first time that he and Vice had worked under such deprivation. Mirage was still out, he noted, the sleeping pill still working to keep her in the oblivion of unconsciousness, but he saw Vice’s eyes open a slit and close again as Victor moved. Mirage’s head was on his bicep, so he rolled onto his back and felt blindly for his mobile. Aaron’s name appeared on the screen. He accepted the call. “Hey.” “It is me,” Aaron told him. “I am downstairs.” “It is Aaron,” he said to Vice. “He is downstairs. I will call the concierge to bring you up,” he said to Aaron. “We will order room service. Vice and I are going to need a lot more coffee than this kitchenette holds.” “I have got go cups here,” Aaron said. “I love you,” Victor said easing his arm out from under Mirage. Vice had his arm over her, and he snuggled in closer with a sigh, which was, Vict