by Brooklyn Ann
She was doing an amazing job—no way to deny it. He’d never seen a woman excel so much at manual labor, and look so damned beautiful doing it. He still hadn’t ruled out the possibility that she was trying to pull some undercover stunt with her website, though if she was, she had supernatural dedication.
“Jesus,” Curt breathed, leaning back against the side of the tour bus. “She’s like Mighty Mouse! Do you think she’s a dyke? I mean, look at those biceps!”
“Yeah,” Quinn muttered, lighting a cigarette. “Her biceps.” He couldn’t stop looking at other things.
If he didn’t turn away soon, his pants were going to get uncomfortable. Damn, he hadn’t reacted so strongly to a woman in forever. Too long. Despite his better judgment, he continued to watch her. After all, someone had to make sure she wasn’t going to cause any more trouble.
Thankfully, the crew was done loading up soon after, ending his torment. Gaffer headed over to deliver his report.
“What time did she get?” Quinn tried to sound nonchalant.
Gaffer held up his stopwatch. “I clocked her at twenty minutes.”
“That’s not as good as Mike did.” Quinn crushed out his cigarette, avoiding the tour manager’s gaze. He knew it was a stupid argument.
Gaffer snorted. “Shit, she was only five minutes behind him. And did you see her fuckin’ hands? They’re swollen up to kingdom come and still bleeding—yet she still hauled and loaded the gear in decent time.” His eyes narrowed. “Face it, Mayne. She’s done a damn good job, she’s qualified, and we need her. Either way, it’s my call, but things will go a whole lot smoother if I have your okay.”
The bastard was right. Quinn closed his eyes, trying to block off mental images of the disaster that was forthcoming. How would she handle sleeping in the back of the bus with the crew? What if one of them tries to— He broke off the thought.
“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “She’ll tour with us. But I want you to tell Joe to keep an eye on her and let us know if any of the guys get out of line.” Since their sound tech was gay, Quinn knew Kinley wouldn’t be in danger from him, at least.
Gaffer grinned. “Good. I’ll have her fill out a job application, then go with her to take her car to her house and pack her things. We’ll catch a ride to the hotel afterward.”
“No.” The word came out more severe than Quinn intended.
The road manager raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not going anywhere alone with her. I’m coming too.” Quinn fixed him with a firm stare. There was no way he was letting Kinley out of his sight any more than he had to.
Gaffer sighed. “Look, Quinn. Kinley’s gonna be fine. She’s not your baby sister and I’m not one of those assholes who—”
Quinn winced as he cut the old road manager off. “Just humor me here, okay?” He took a deep breath to fight off memories of his sister and the tragedy he’d been responsible for. “Besides, I still gotta talk to her about the waiver and the situation with her website.”
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Quinn approached his new roadie. Reluctantly he admitted that Gaffer was right again. Kinley was nothing like his delicate, ethereal sister. She had a gruff attitude and the proof to back it up. But this was still a dangerous place for a woman, any woman. And hell if one was going to be endangered again on his watch.
Best if he was the one to tell her that a condition of working for them would be to sign away her right to sue if someone tried to grope her. Best if she thought he was an asshole.
Kinley glanced up at him as if feeling his gaze on her. She gave him a tentative smile and straightened her shoulders, clearly eager to please.
Why did that make him feel like he really was an asshole?
Chapter Three
Kinley wiped a layer of sweat from her brow after the last of the gear was loaded in the truck. As she caught her breath, she noticed a guitar pick on the ground. She picked it up and saw it was one of those Quinn kept in his microphone stand to throw to fans. Should she keep it as a good luck charm, or return it to Gaffer when they went to pack her stuff?
“Keep it¸” Quinn said, as if reading her mind.
She sucked in a breath as he strode toward her. His dark green eyes glittered with resignation and some other emotion she couldn’t identify.
“Congratulations. You got the job.” Though he still didn’t look happy with the situation, he held out his palm.
She took his hand and shook it, trying not to wince at the pain from her cuts and bruises. This was not how she’d imagined it would go down. Still, his hand felt warm even through the bandages, making her belly flutter with desire.
“Thanks. I’ll work hard for you guys, I promise.” Reluctantly, she withdrew her hand.
At last he smiled. “I’m sure you will.” He sighed and shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Gaffer will give you an application to fill out after you get your stuff, but there is one more thing.”
“What?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, being on the road with a bunch of men who go for long periods without seeing any women… They can be less than gentlemen. You’re not going to have an easy time of it.”
Kinley laughed lightly at the attempt to discourage her. “I know. I’ve been the only chick on plenty of construction sites. As long as they keep their hands to themselves, I can take anything they can dish out.”
He shrugged, looking somehow guilty. “If you take this job, I need you to sign a promise not to take legal action if your coworkers behave inappropriately.”
“You want me to waive my right to sue for harassment?” She fought to keep her voice level. He was probably just trying to scare her off, but his request wasn’t entirely unreasonable. Some chicks got bent out of shape and overreacted to the slightest bit of harmless flirting. Still, she didn’t want to sign away her right to be treated like a human being, much less make herself available as fresh meat to the entire road crew.
He avoided her gaze. “Yes.”
Her jaw clenched, sending throbbing pain up the side of her bruised face. She should be pissed. She should walk away.
But he was trying to get her to back down.
She refused to let him.
Kinley closed her eyes a moment, weighing the pros and cons and considering how to negotiate enough to cover her ass. Finally, she nodded. “I will, but under two conditions.”
Quinn’s brow rose. “You’re not in a position to bargain for conditions, but I’ll hear you out.”
“First, I want to reserve the right to defend myself if the harassment is physical.” Her fists balled up in emphasis, shooting bolts of pain through her hands. “Second, I want you to include a clause that excludes rape.”
A strange, almost pained look crossed his features before he nodded. “That is more than fair. I’ll have Gaffer add that to the waiver he’ll be writing up tonight and you can sign it tomorrow.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly at his ready agreement. “Gaffer’s writing it up?” Somehow Gaffer didn’t seem the type to draft contracts.
“He used to be a lawyer.” He smiled at her skeptical frown. “But life on the road suited him better.”
She smiled back, still unable to picture the burly man in a suit carrying a briefcase. “I completely understand. I could never be chained to a desk.”
“Yeah, some of us are free spirits.” Quinn gave her a long, considering look, then shook his head as if deciding not to say more. “Let’s go take your car back to your house and pack your stuff.”
She blinked in surprise. “You’re coming with us?” She’d thought only Gaffer would be accompanying her. And why would Quinn want to come anyway? He clearly didn’t want anything to do with her.
“Gaffer has a shitty sense of direction. He’d never be able to get back to the hotel.” Something in his tone made her certain he wasn’t telling the truth.
Maybe he just wanted to keep an eye on her, make sure she wasn’t crazy or somethi
ng. Kinley shrugged. “Okay, let’s go.”
Despite her feigned nonchalance, her heart pounded in rhythm with her steps, her imagination flying with excitement at the prospect of having him ride in her car, having him in her house, if only for a little while.
***
“But your hands,” Quinn argued for the second time as he followed Kinley’s long strides across the parking lot.
The neat white bandages wrapped around her knuckles didn’t hide the fact that they’d been a bloody mess an hour ago. Driving with them like that would have to be painful. A twinge of anger gnawed at his gut that she’d gotten hurt just because she wanted to interview him.
“I said nobody drives my car but me,” she growled.
The damn woman was stubborn. Still, he couldn’t help but admire that. After years of mindless adoration from females, Kinley’s take-no-shit demeanor was refreshing, dangerously so.
Gaffer cut off his thoughts with a low whistle. “A ’71 Plymouth Duster? That’s a rare beauty. I hope she’ll be in safe hands during this trip.”
“She’s a ’70,” Kinley corrected him and smiled with warmth and pride. “And she’s my baby. Kat’s gonna keep an eye on her. She’ll be by every day to feed my cat, check on the house. She’s the co-owner of the website.”
Gaffer ran an appreciative hand along the fender. “Did you restore her yourself?”
She shook her head. “No, but Kat and I got her running—barely. She was a clunker until I was finally able to take her to a restoration shop to finish the job.”
Quinn willed his eyes to stay in his skull. She’s into metal and muscle cars? This chick was a dream come true. He shook his head. Must stay professional. She’s an employee—and a journalist.
“Speaking of your site,” Quinn fixed her with a stern gaze as he slid into the passenger seat after Gaffer climbed in the back. It was time to get back to business. “I need you to sign an agreement that you’ll refrain from writing about your job with us.”
Kinley met his gaze directly, her brown eyes large and solemn. “Of course. What happens on the road stays on the road. You have my solemn word on that.” She buckled her seatbelt and the engine came to life with the roar of a classic V8.
Her voice rang with honesty—and honor.
Quinn hadn’t met an honorable woman—or man, for that matter—in a long time. The realization struck a chord within, compelling him to indulge her. “However, we will meet up with lots of great acts on the road. I’m certain we can hook you up with some interviews.”
“Thanks.” For a moment their eyes met and he was disarmed by her brilliant smile.
He felt like a total shit-heel for assuming she’d want to use them to increase her audience. Still, he’d been burned before. No matter what he felt, he’d keep an eye on her blog and make sure she was telling him the truth.
Then the dome light went out, leaving them in darkness that was too intimate, even with Gaffer in the back.
He made an effort to fill the awkward silence. “So, what do you have for tunes?”
“There’s a CD case under your feet.”
Quinn lifted the leather monstrosity and opened it with an appreciative smile. CDs might be outdated, but he still liked seeing music in a physical form. Her collection was impressive, with many of his favorites, plenty of Viciöus albums, and the classics no metalhead worth their salt could live without.
He threw in some Iron Maiden and within moments all of them were singing along. Kinley had a nice voice, he couldn’t help but notice. It was especially pleasant compared to Gaffer’s guttural attempts in the backseat.
Despite the fact that her hands had to be killing her, the drive went smoothly. In less than an hour, Kinley pulled her Duster into a newly built garage next to a quaint old Victorian house.
Aside from a nervous swallow, her voice remained level. “Wanna come in for a beer while I pack?”
“Sounds great,” Gaffer said as they piled out of the car.
Quinn followed them up the creaking steps, trying to suppress his unreasonable curiosity about this woman.
Kinley’s house looked more like a bachelor pad than the home of a single woman. The living room was fairly clean, aside from an entertainment center overflowing with movies and CDs. A brief glance at the kitchen revealed a stack of dirty dishes next to the sink. Past that was a laundry room covered in a rainbow of heaped clothing.
“I’m gonna call Kat and let her know what’s up while I pack,” Kinley said. A light blush tinted her cheeks. Was she embarrassed at the state of her house? “I’ll only be a second. The bathroom’s at the end of the hall and the beer’s in the fridge.”
Gaffer needed no further urging and dashed to the bathroom with a grateful murmur as Kinley headed into a room to pack. Quinn grabbed a bottle of Kokanee from the vintage refrigerator, noting that the thing was stocked with more condiments than food, before he wandered out to explore the house.
The hall was adorned with rows of black and white portraits of rock stars. As Quinn stepped closer, he realized they were hand-drawn. Walking back and forth he recognized Cliff Tracey from Bleeding Vengeance, Dante Deity from Deity, all four members of Rage of Angels, Dave Mustaine from Megadeth, Ash from Niteblade…and himself. Did she draw these?
“Now don’t freak out,” Kinley interrupted his perusal.
He turned to ask her about the portraits, but realized she wasn’t talking to him. She was still on the phone with her friend.
Emerging from another room and juggling a backpack, a duffel bag, and a laptop case, she continued talking. “Just get over here, get my keys, say hello if you get a chance, but don’t freak out.” A light, delicious laugh escaped her lips as she locked the door and stepped back into the hallway.
Although Quinn missed the rest of the conversation, he heard enough to realize two things, the first being that Kinley had warned her friend not to “freak out” when she arrived to collect the house keys and saw a famous rock star. That was professional and considerate, but he didn’t dwell on it long. What concerned him was why did she lock that door? Was it because that room was such a mess, or was she one of those crazed stalker types with a shrine to her favorite band?
Maybe complete with plaster casts?
His teeth ground in dread. There was no way he’d take a nut job on the road. He made a note to check out her website the second they got back to the hotel.
The moment Kinley hung up, he approached her, forcing a casual tone. “Did you draw these?”
That enticing laugh escaped her lush pink lips once more. “No, a friend of mine did ’em. She gives me one every year for Christmas. I can’t draw a straight line.”
Quinn hid a sigh of relief as he studied the drawings. “She does excellent work.”
They’d just barely finished their beers when footsteps sounded on the porch steps. The front door opened.
“Now what am I supposed to not freak out about?” A petite woman with wavy black hair entered. Her brown eyes widened, gaping at Quinn. “Oh,” she finished with a squeak.
Gaffer chuckled behind him. “I take it this is ‘MetalKat’?”
Kinley nodded. “Yeah, this is Katana James, co-owner of Metalness.com. Kat, this is Quinn Mayne and this is his tour manager, Gaffer…”
“O’Malley,” Gaffer finished and shook Kat’s hand. “Kat and Kin—I like it.”
As Quinn shook Kat’s hand, he noticed with surprise that her fingertips were callused. Did she play guitar? For that matter, did Kinley? Because of her bandaged hands, he couldn’t tell.
“It’s an honor to meet one of my biggest inspirations, Mr. Mayne.” Kat’s voice was breathless, but at least she didn’t squeal and gush.
Kinley gave her friend another warning look before she explained, “I’m their new roadie, so I need you to watch my house for the next few months.”
“Oh my God!” Kat gaped. “You’re going on the road with Viciöus? That’s gonna bring hella traffic to our site!”
“
That’s not going to be public information, and if you say anything about it, they’ll fire me,” Kinley admonished. “I have to sign an agreement stating as much.”
Her dire words made Quinn feel less than charitable.
“Oh.” Kat’s voice sank with disappointment.
Kinley leaned forward and gave her an encouraging smile. “But Quinn says he’ll try to line up some interviews with other bands when we’re on the road. This will still be great for us.”
Headlights shone through the front windows, granting them a reprieve from further explanations. Kat visibly quivered with unanswered questions, but Kinley tossed her the keys before she could open her mouth.
“The cab’s here. We’d better get going. I’ll call you later.”
“But why are you going to be a roadie?” Kat asked in a strange tone. “Does he know you can—?”
Kinley cut her off with a growl. “I said, I’ll call you later.”
Quinn frowned, his suspicions returning. What was she being so secretive about? As they headed out for the cab, he gave her a warning look. Whatever it was, it better not screw up this tour.
***
The cab ride was starkly silent and thick with tension. Kinley already missed her car. No longer did she have the distraction of driving and singing along to Iron Maiden’s “Powerslave” to mute the tangible awareness of Quinn’s presence.
As if to taunt her, he’d let Gaffer ride in front with the driver and chosen to sit next to her in the back. His leg was only inches from hers. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him. She could imagine the hard, muscled warmth beneath his jeans.
After what seemed an eternity of tension, and yet also too soon, the cab arrived at the hotel. The tour bus crouched in the parking lot, its deep blue paint almost black in the darkness. Quinn slid out of the cab and got her bags out of the trunk before she even made it out of the car.
