The Festival Spirit Read online

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  The Festival Spirit

  ISBN #978-0-85715-189-6

  ©Copyright Rachel Randall 2010

  Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright July 2010

  Edited by Andrea Grimm

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2010 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way

  , Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom

  .

  Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

  Sultry Solstice

  THE FESTIVAL SPIRIT

  Rachel Randall

  Dedication

  To F and L, my partners in crime.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  The Beatles: Apple Corps Ltd.

  Chapter One

  Her wings were gossamer-thin and a delicate gold. They caught the late afternoon sun, scattering flecks of light to dance across her dark, choppy hair and mingle with the freckles on her burnt shoulders.

  Mira winked at the guard standing by the gates, cocking her hip and letting the frothy skirt of her frock swing teasingly towards him. That won her a big smile. Good. No one should frown on a day like this, she thought. Not when it was so glorious.

  It wasn’t just her beautiful costume that had her mood soaring. The weather was incredible, not a rain cloud in sight—nearly unheard of for the world-famous Irish music festival. Her set had gone well enough that she’d already been invited back next year, and on top of that success, it was her last gig of the tour, meaning she could finally let loose and relax for a few months before she hit the studio again. She already felt lighter with the freedom from responsibilities, as though the wire and gauze of her wings might actually allow her to fly.

  Johnny and Lee were here, her biggest reason to smile. At just the thought of them, her lips curved wider and she shivered in pleasurable anticipation. And best of all, it was the summer solstice—the longest day of the year—which meant that every second of its glory could be enjoyed to the hilt.

  Mira definitely meant to enjoy it.

  The lighting rig—their rendezvous point—was off to the side of the stage in the quieter zone between crowd and crew. It towered above the festival grounds, taller than everything save the dramatic backdrop of the trees in the forest. At its base, Mira slipped out of her shoes and put a bare foot on the base of the ladder. The metal was cool on her soles and her toes curled happily against the rungs as she began to climb. Near to the top—endless, cloudless sky—the breeze caught her wings, tugging her backwards.

  For a moment she teetered near disaster. When she looked up again, it was his face that filled her sight, his smile wide and his eyes very blue. He extended his hand, pulling her to safety on the wide wooden platform, his fingers biting into her wrist just a little too hard. Breathless, she rested against him, vividly aware of the warm movements of his chest and the soft cotton of his faded t-shirt. Then she twisted away, laughing, holding the intimacy of the moment at bay until she could again find balance.

  “But I was going to fly,” she complained.

  He was now covered in glitter where he had touched her, skin to her painted skin. He flicked some at her, and it sparkled through the air. “Nice. I like it. My own personal fairy princess.”

  Johnny’s hair was rumpled, his eyes deceptively sleepy. He was too short, too thin. He shouldn’t have been so attractive to her. In less than an hour, he was going to headline the biggest music festival of the summer. It was an endless mystery to her, his talent, and the diffident way he wore it.

  “If you can fool everyone that you’re a rock star,” she said, “I can have wings.”

  He leaned close and overwhelmed her with the heady scents of sun and male. “I know you, Mira,” he said, laughter in his voice. “You’ll have anything you want.”

  “Anything I want?” Her lips parted, her tongue wet them, and she watched with interest as his line of sight tracked the movement of her mouth. Friends for three years now, though it felt like a lifetime of wondering about more. The last time she’d seen him had been New York, the awards show. They’d been photographed together, along with Lee, and the tabloids had speculated endlessly. She couldn’t blame them, given the subtext. It was hard even for her to look at those pictures without being reminded of what she’d wanted that day—what she still wanted.

  He brushed a kiss across her cheek, too fleeting. “We saw you earlier,” he said. “You were fantastic.”

  Her hands caught his shoulder, holding him in place as he went to retreat. She kissed him back—just as lightly, but on his mouth. “Thanks,” was all she said, and reluctantly she let him go.

  Johnny’s gaze flickered back down to her mouth. Three beats of their slow stare, while her nipples tightened and her breath came quicker. Then the spell was broken as he bounded to the edge of the platform. “Have you seen this?”

  This, of course, was the panorama afforded by their position high over the site. He glanced back to her, hurrying her with his hands until she was right there at the edge with him. She’d forgotten his energy, the fever-pitch of it, and how just before a gig it would spill off him in great waves. She felt it as a physical force—prickling at her skin, sending her thighs weak and her breasts heavy.

  “Look,” he said. “No, not at me.” He took hold of her chin, tilting her in the way he wanted. Mira breathed deeply against the sudden vision of him doing that while she sucked his cock. He huffed an impatient breath of his own until she obliged him.

  A popular American R&B star was performing. From here, the view of thousands of people jumping up and down in time to her music was spectacular, but Mira had already seen it first-hand from the best angle possible—the stage.

  While Johnny watched the main event, fitfully tapping out a beat on his thigh, she took in the rest of the scenery. The deep blue-green of the Irish countryside glowed jewel-like in the sunshine, while the campsites to the far east of the main stage were a patchwork of colour. People everywhere, even all the way to the edges of the forest. The thick cover of trees skirted the edges of the festival, a darkly brooding border to the merriment. As she looked, a cloud of black birds lifted from the trees and scattered with loud cries in every direction.

  Distracted, her gaze drifted again to Johnny’s lean profile. His wind-rumpled dark hair was longer and scruffier than usual. Faint stubble shadowed his jaw, and his scarlet t-shirt shaded his eyes bluer than even the summer sky.

  Mira shifted, restless, her hands twitching to touch him. Butterflies, low in her belly. Part aroused anticipation, part nerves—the usual cocktail around him. She sank cross-legged to the weathered boards and J
ohnny joined her, leaning back on his hands and stretching out his legs to dangle over the edge of the platform.

  His forearms were lovely, she mused, lightly tanned and strong. And his t-shirt was riding up just a little, right above the waistband of his jeans. There was a tempting swath of skin showing, just a lickable amount at the sharp point of his hip.

  She blinked, wondering what he would do if she bit him, right there. So that she didn’t, she asked, “How's the tour going?” They loved touring, she knew, and they were bloody amazing on stage. Their future was diamond bright.

  “Brilliant. Everything's going right, they're loving the new material.”

  She’d wager it wasn’t just the new material they loved. The hardcore fans were one thing, but they weren’t enough to keep the stadiums full for year-long tours. Casual listeners were lured by the music but caught by the charisma of the musicians. Mira, who by all rights should have been immune, could sympathise.

  “And Lee?” She wasn’t sure what she was asking there. She tossed the question lightly to see what she would hook in reply.

  “Ask him yourself,” came the teasing voice behind her.

  “Lee!” She sprang to her feet to receive his enthusiastic embrace. It was worlds away from her more restrained greeting from Johnny, but that was the two men in a nutshell.

  The afternoon sun hit the gold highlights in Lee’s hair, giving him a halo that she didn’t believe for a second. Looking good, she thought in the fleeting second before he swooped down again for another thorough kiss.

  “Hello, you,” he murmured against her lips, then pulled back with a wide, promising grin. “I saw you earlier. Invincible!”

  Johnny said, “Epic, wasn’t she?”

  Their glowing approval settled low, warming and wetting her. Mira sat back down beside Johnny, closer than strictly necessary, while Lee collapsed onto the floor on the other side of her with an exaggerated sigh of relief.

  “Thank God you found the one out-of-the-way place in this joint,” he said. “I think I’m allergic to the countryside. Ten bloody acres and not a moment of privacy.”

  Johnny smirked. “Shagged all your fans already?”

  Mira stretched to look down over the edge of the platform. Three teenagers, one with hair so red she could only be a local, were skulking around by the base of the ladder, clearly hoping that Lee might come back down. “Nope. Three unsatisfied young women over here. Get on that, Lee.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I wish. No, those ones are trying to warn me off.”

  “Oh, so it’s Johnny they want?” she teased.

  Lee pulled his aviator sunglasses down off his head to cover his eyes. “Sacred Celtic mumbojumbo somesuch,” he said. “Apparently the forest belongs to the fairies and the festival's disrupting the fey feng shui. And now they’re upset and we’re all in danger. Or something. I dunno, I wasn't really listening at the time.” The slow curl of his lips told Mira exactly why not. She remembered his preference for messy blowjobs quite clearly.

  When she’d hooked up with Lee, it had been an unexpected pleasure. Drunk on their awards success and the vodka that had sponsored the event, she’d matched Lee’s aggressive flirting and welcomed the next step. They’d fucked for three days straight in his hotel room. Johnny had known about it, of course. They’d even sat down to breakfast with him, still covered in love-bites and sweat and come, still on their orgasmic highs. But if it bothered him that they’d been off having really excellent sex without him, he’d not shown it. For her part, the only thing that could have made it better was if Johnny had joined them for more than just coffee.

  Mira closed her eyes, letting the weight of the sky press down on her. Neither Johnny nor Lee should appeal to her. When you actually knew musicians, when you were one, they lost all mystique. It was the main reason that she’d quite happily stuck to dating a string of civilians. But somehow Johnny and Lee were her exceptions to the rule.

  The two of them were closer than brothers, so close that the music mags and the internet loved to dissect the exact nature of their relationship. Mira wasn’t sure herself—there was no question that they both enjoyed women, but there was a definite connection between them, one that resonated with her in ways she couldn’t quite identify. Whenever Lee touched Johnny the intensity of it vibrated through her, made her senses ring. The way the highly-strung Johnny would relax under that touch…it made Mira want to touch Johnny too.

  She tilted her head to better see him and noticed a wide band of brown leather circling his wrist. It dug in just a little bit, right where his hand bent to hold him steady. The contrast of dark leather against his skin was riveting.

  Johnny hadn’t noticed her looking, of course. He was keeping up a steady stream of patter with Lee, watching the crowd and laughing. The wristband must be recent--she hadn’t seen it before and Johnny was a creature of habit when it came to wardrobe.

  She nudged his arm with her elbow. He glanced away from Lee, down at her, and his mouth curved slow and secretive when he understood. His fingers tugged at the band for a moment, pulling it even tighter. Mira bit her lip.

  “From Lee,” he said.

  Mira mulled over that interesting piece of information. Lee’s expression revealed nothing.

  They relaxed, side-by-side, through the next performance. Mira lay on her stomach in the middle with her wings and bare feet in the air, and they sprawled into her space. Though now low in the sky, the sun was still very warm. Perspiration prickled underneath the harness she wore, but she didn’t mind a little discomfort in exchange for the magic of a beautiful day and a fabulous pair of glittery fairy wings. In fact, the acute awareness of every inch of her body was extraordinarily sexy. She was still buzzing from her set and the intimacy between the three of them was stoking her excitement higher.

  To her left, Johnny was a kinetic presence. Each time he stilled, he had to move again—rubbing his calves against each other, nudging his body closer to her, flexing his hands and fingers to warm them in readiness for playing. It fascinated her, this awkward side of him, because he would utterly transform on stage. When he picked up his guitar and leaned into the mic, his focus and mastery would be absolute—every muscle and fibre of his body, every corpuscle of his blood intent on his music. It was what made him utterly mesmerising as a performer, and the intriguing contrasts of him only sharpened her interest.

  On her right, Lee was the very picture of laid-back cool. In less than half an hour he would be driving the beat of the music they’d make, both grounding Johnny’s vocals and pushing him harder. There was no sign of it now, though. To the casual eye he could be any bloke taking a nap in the sun.

  Lee knew it too, she thought, the trick needed to survive in their business. When she was onstage, she chose a face in the crowd, any face. Then she played to him. Made him react, made him listen, made him fall in love. When she’d won him, she’d take them all, every single person, because they’d see her respond in kind. You couldn’t take anything without giving something of yourself back, Mira had learned the hard way. And so, the golden rule—give as little as possible, take as much as you could.

  She was studying Johnny, thinking about this, when she reached out impulsively to put her hand on his sun-warmed arm.

  “Mmm?” Johnny rolled towards her, squinting a bit to see her properly in the glare, but before she could speak the music crashed to a close. She lost him to the moment as he sprang up and dusted himself off with brisk movements. “Right. Let’s go!”

  Lee laughed at his enthusiasm, but hauled himself upright. Mira curled into a sitting position and as Johnny started down the ladder she couldn’t stop herself. “Don’t give them everything today, yeah?”

  He shot her a friendly grin, the sort that said he hadn’t a clue what she was on about, and ducked down off the tower. Lee lingered, his own slyer smile telling her without words that he had heard the ones she left unspoken. Save some of yourself for me.

  “You’ll come later?” he asked,
reaching for the top of the ladder.

  “What’s later?”

  “Magic glade, middle of the woods. Midnight debauchery. I’ve been promised the afterparty to end all afterparties. More than enough to share.”

  She hesitated, wondering if Johnny would go, but Lee seemed to read her mind. He said, “You’ve camped out in a tent amidst the rabble, our Johnny tells me. No way you’re going to get any shut-eye, especially if he’s gone to the trouble of finding out where you sleep.” Mira’s slow flush made Lee grin with appreciation. “You’re gorgeous. I’d try again myself, but I know you’re just holding out for him.”

  “No—“

  “You’ve been dancing around that for years, you two, and you’re running out of excuses.” Lee held up his hand. “Don’t even deny that you want him. I’ve listened to your bloody album.”

  She didn’t rise to his bait. “A magic glade, hmm? You'll never get Johnny to go along,” she told him.

  Lee shook his head, still looking amused. The smugness suited him, even if it did make her want to bash him. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” he said.

  “Well, if he comes, I'll come,” she said, deliberately making the double-entendre. “And if you’re very lucky, I might even let you say ‘I told you so’.” Watching him leave, admiring the shape of his ass in his tight jeans, she called out, “You’re wrong, by the way.”

  He paused. “How’s that?”

  “It’s not just Johnny I’ve been holding out for.”

  Time slowed as his smile went wicked and turned her blood to treacle.

  With the memory of that smile simmering through her, Mira decided to stay up on top of the tower. It would be the best seat in the house from which to watch them—and she definitely wanted a good vantage point. Of course, she could have gone backstage where some of the other musicians would be gathered. Hell, Johnny and Lee would have invited her onstage with them if she'd showed an interest—that festival in Melbourne two years ago had been hilarious and the tabloids had a field day with the story of their raucous Beatles’ cover. But either venue was far too public for the sorts of thoughts she was thinking right now. If they could even be called “thoughts”, since they were mostly sense-memories and fevered anticipation.