by Brooklyn Ann
“Only a true musician handles the gear with that much care. Also, the way she looked at your guitar, I could see her fingers were itching to play.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe you haven’t noticed before.”
A memory of Kinley’s fingers caressing the length of his Fender teased him. “Yeah, I should have known. I was just—”
“Paying more attention to her body?” Gaffer suggested. “You like her, don’t you?”
“No.” The lie tore reluctantly from his mouth. If he expressed a real interest in Kinley, his acknowledgement of her abilities would be mitigated by his bias. “She’s an employee, that’s all. But I am going to find out where she learned to shred like that.”
“Why do you care?” Gaffer grunted as he loaded the amp in the truck. “After all, she’s ‘just an employee.’”
Quinn stopped and leaned on his microphone stand, biting back an exasperated sigh. “Because that kind of talent shouldn’t be hidden. It just doesn’t make any sense. She’s that good, but she’s stuck running a fan website. I want to know why.” His eyes narrowed. “And I don’t like being lied to.”
“She didn’t lie to you. She just omitted information.”
His frown deepened. “Splitting hairs. I intend to find out why.”
The road manager gave him another smug look. “Yeah, and maybe get to know her better.”
As he headed back to the tour bus, Quinn shook his head at Gaffer’s parting shot. The old bastard was right. He did want to get to know Kinley better. The woman was a complete mystery.
She could fight, was into classic cars, and had worked in construction. She was an excellent roadie and apparently a virtuoso guitarist. For a woman, it was an extremely unconventional set of skills. Hell, it was unconventional for anyone.
When Kinley piled into the bus with the other roadies, her chocolate brown eyes met his briefly before she blushed and looked away. As if to compensate for such a girlish action, she immediately pounded a beer and began exchanging dirty jokes with the guys.
The problem was, she wasn’t a guy. No matter how many beers she chugged or how tough she acted, she was still a woman. No one on this bus would or could ever forget that.
Especially him.
Her rich laughter teased his senses even as a surge of protective rage tightened his chest when the lighting technician reached toward her. Suddenly Quinn’s mind took a dive back to his worst memories.
He heard his sister’s piteous screams and saw her hurt, betrayed eyes when he failed to protect her. He moved forward.
The light tech’s hand met Kinley’s in an innocent high five. Quinn halted and released his breath. Kinley was not Chrissy. She could handle herself. But that didn’t stop him from lying awake at night, despising the fact that she was sleeping in the back of a cramped bus with six guys.
Quinn’s fists clenched at his sides. Gaffer was right. He did like Kinley, and not in a brotherly way. More so, he wanted her. Wanted her more than he’d ever wanted a woman. Ever since he first saw her standing over Harry’s comatose form like an avenging angel, the urge to touch her was like a fever in his blood. He shook his head. It made no sense.
He could have any woman he wanted. What made this one so special? Was it because he couldn’t have her? As much as he wished his interest were that simple, his gut told him there was more to his attraction to Kinley. Maybe he would find the answer during their interview at the hotel. Anticipation spiked his pulse at the realization that soon she would be alone with him. Completely alone.
As if she’d read his mind, Kinley turned and once more met his gaze. Her eyes were wide and nervous. Clearly she was dreading his questions about her guitar skills. Why did she have such trepidation? He gave her a knowing smile and silently vowed to find out.
Tony suddenly closed the partition between band and crew. “I gotta call my wife.”
Before the slim, plastic, accordion door slid shut, Quinn chuckled at Kinley’s relieved expression. She couldn’t hide from him much longer.
Chapter Eight
Kinley’s fingers trembled as she packed her laptop. No way Quinn was inviting her to his room to do their interview. Most likely he wanted to yell at her for messing with his guitar, then maybe make fun of her when she told him about her old band.
The moment the bus parked at the hotel, Quinn opened the partition door, hefting a backpack. “Ready for the interview?”
Phil laughed salaciously. “Oh, is that what you’re calling it these days?”
Kinley forced a sickly sweet smile. “Do you want to be peeing blood later?”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “Come on, Kinley.”
As she grabbed her laptop bag and followed him off the bus, he glanced at her over his shoulder and asked softly, “Are they always giving you a hard time?”
She shook her head, fighting back a surge of warmth at his concern. “Only the first few nights. Now Phil’s the only one who insists on being an asshole.” And he’d been a bigger dick since he’d seen her rocking out with Quinn’s Fender.
A rush of pride filled her that she’d won the roadies’ respect. Joe even made an effort to ease her worry about this “talk” Quinn was about to have with her.
“Don’t worry, Kin,” he’d told her. “If Quinn had been pissed at you for playing with his gear, he would have chewed your ass in front of all of us.”
Quinn snorted, bringing her back into the present. “Yeah, that’s Phil, all right. Let me know if he becomes too much of a problem.”
Kinley bristled, voice echoing in the dark parking lot. “I don’t need to be protected. I can handle myself.”
He sighed impatiently. “I know you can, but I don’t think we can cover a kidney replacement for him either.”
Her cheeks heated as she remembered her crude threat. “I didn’t really mean…”
“I know.” His white teeth flashed in a teasing grin. “You really can lighten up a little.”
She nodded, avoiding his gaze in case he could see how his smile had raised her pulse.
Despite the late hour, a gaggle of fangirls waited in the lobby, squealing and charging forward the moment Quinn entered the hotel. A few gave Kinley petulant frowns. She fought back an urge to lean on Quinn like a girlfriend. He wouldn’t get it. Still, she straightened her shoulders and pinned her best I-belong-here smile on her face as he indulgently signed autographs.
Her smile dimmed once they were alone in the elevator. Holy shit, I’m alone with Quinn Mayne. Heart pounding at his close proximity, she struggled to think of something clever to say. All she could do was silently pray that she didn’t stink.
On quaking legs, she followed him down the hall. Her belly fluttered as he swiped his keycard in the door. Kinley had indulged in plenty of fantasies about being in a hotel room with Quinn Mayne, but none were anything like this, with him having caught her playing his gear and about to ask her about her pathetic attempts to be a rock star.
Quinn flicked on the lights, dropped his backpack, and plopped down on the king-sized bed with an appreciative sigh. Just as the sight of him there invoked dirty thoughts, he quashed her fantasies.
“You were in a band, weren’t you?” He leaned forward, staring at her with an intensity that filled her with heat. “That’s how you got your experience hauling gear.”
Damn, he didn’t waste any time. She paced the room, unable to meet his gaze. “It was just a local, all-girl Megadeth tribute band. Really, it wasn’t a big deal. Why do you care?”
He rose from the bed and stalked toward her. “Actually, I think it was a big deal.” His voice was low and stern. “Your sheer talent and joy in the music proves that. As for why I care, let’s just say I’m annoyed you didn’t tell me you had experience as a musician when we hired you.” Quinn seized her arms, forcing her to look up at him. “We may have been able to find something better for you to do. Why keep it a secret?”
Her cheeks flamed at his touch. “I was afraid you’d laugh at me.”
&nbs
p; His mouth twisted into a frown of confusion. “Why the hell did you think I’d laugh?”
“Because you’re one of the Big Six in thrash metal and I was just a small-time tribute player, not a real musician,” she answered glumly.
His hands slid up to grasp her shoulders as he leaned down until they were face to face. “Don’t ever say you’re not a real musician, not after what I saw.”
Kinley sucked in a breath. Was he going to kiss her? Her knees wobbled. Unbidden, she swayed forward, lips parted in anticipation.
To her disappointment, he released her and sat back down on the bed. “So, did you play lead or rhythm guitar?”
“R-rhythm and lead vocals.” She fought back a stammer, praying he hadn’t noticed her eagerness at his touch. “Kat was lead guitar. She’s way better than me.”
He leaned his elbows on his knees, still staring at her. “You say ‘was.’ Are you not playing anymore?”
“Our bassist and drummer left the band.” The pain of the loss remained like a fresh wound.
“Why’d they leave?” he prodded.
“They got married and had kids. We tried to replace them but no one wanted to play with girls. They think that because we have cunts, we can’t shred.” She choked back a bitter growl. “I fucking hate being a woman.”
He raised a brow at her outburst, but his eyes were full of compassionate understanding. “Yes, I can imagine that makes it harder in this industry. Honestly, I think the bias is fucked up.”
Kinley nodded, unable to believe that one of her biggest idols was talking to her about her band, and actually seemed to be interested. She felt an absurd urge to confide in him, to pour out all her frustration and despair over the failure of her career in music. To share with him her longing to be back on stage, to be performing before a crowd.
Common sense saved her. She changed the subject. “So am I getting my interview?”
“Of course, and I’m sorry for the delay.” His expression sobered. “And I’m sorry for what happened to cause the delay—you know, the incident with Harry. That never should have happened.”
She gaped at the remorse in his voice. “Why are you apologizing? It wasn’t your fault your roadie wouldn’t leave me alone. You weren’t there to stop him.” She grinned at him. “Besides, I got a great job out of it.”
“I know, but it still shouldn’t have happened. Things like that never should.” His gaze grew dark and distant. He looked like he was going to say more, but then he sighed and pointed at her laptop. “Hey, does that thing have a webcam?”
Her eyes widened. “You’re willing to do a video interview?” Her fans would be stoked.
“Sure, I figure I owe you—you know, for taking so long.” He ran a hand through that luscious, long black hair and gave her a sheepish smile. “Things got crazy since we had some staff changes.”
Fighting back another belly-flip at that smile, she dropped her gaze and set up her laptop. “You weren’t happy with those staff changes, as I recall.”
“No, I wasn’t.” His tone was unapologetic. “But that’s all over and done with. You’re working out fine.”
A curl of warmth filled her at his honesty. “Thank you for that. Shall we get started?” With shaking hands, she turned on the webcam and clicked the record button. “This is Kinley Black from Metalness.com. I’m here with Quinn Mayne, front man of Viciöus.”
When she turned the laptop to face Quinn, he waved at the camera.
Kinley took a deep breath, resisting the compulsion to sigh at the sinfully gorgeous man on the bed. “How’s the tour been going?” She winced at the lame question.
He fixed the camera with a roguish grin that set her heart racing. “Every tour is a new adventure with new challenges. This one in particular.” He gave her a sly glance from the corner of his eye. “However, as with all tours, this one would not be possible without our fans. You all have my ultimate respect and gratitude for your support.”
Kinley warmed from his subtle glance as well as the loving tone he used to address his fans. Arrogant rock stars were a huge turn-off.
“What people and things are your greatest inspirations?”
Again he gave a warm smile as he listed many of her favorite bands. Quinn had been charming in all the interviews she’d seen, but in person, the effect was magnified to the point where she felt entranced, as if he’d cast a spell on her.
“I also enjoy thunderstorms.” His lips curved up as a wistful expression overcame his handsome features. “I know that sounds funny, but the elemental savagery of nature really does something for me. If I hadn’t gotten into music, I probably would have been one of those storm chasers or something.”
Her pulse rose at the passion in his voice. There was so much she didn’t know about him.
“Can you tell us about your family?” The question wasn’t in her notes, but she blurted it out. “Are they supportive of your career? Do they come to any of your shows?”
His expression darkened. “My father walked out when I was thirteen, so my mom had to work two jobs, leaving me to raise my little sister. It was difficult, but we did the best we could.”
Quinn leaned out of the camera’s range to grab his cigarettes. His face contorted with pain. As he lit up, he gave her a minute but firm shake of his head. Kinley got the message. He did not want to talk about his family.
In a forced, cheery tone, she changed the subject, praying he wouldn’t be angry she’d asked an uncomfortable question. “What are your plans for the future? Where do you see Viciöus going in the next few years?”
Quinn chuckled, his bad mood seemingly forgotten. “Well, we’re not going to sell out, that’s for sure. As for the rest, we will continue to make music and tour as long as our fans continue to support us, which I hope will be a long time. Without them, we’re nothing.”
Fighting back an adoring sigh, Kinley moved to the next question. “Any advice for those pursuing a career in music?”
“This may sound trite, but be prepared for extremely hard work and many sacrifices. Nothing in this business comes easy. The payoff is next to nothing at first. But keep practicing, keep learning, and”—his green eyes flared intently—“never give up.”
Her belly fluttered at his proximity and the absolute confidence in his statement. What trials had he endured before achieving success?
“Kinley?” He interrupted her musing. “Was that the last question?”
Face burning, she turned off the camera and saved the video. “Um, yeah, thanks.”
He smiled and her stomach did another flip. “Again, I’m sorry for not doing this sooner. But I bet I can make it up to you. I can probably get you a couple interviews with Bleeding Vengeance at the party tonight.”
“The party?” Kinley swallowed. “I didn’t know I was invited.”
He raised a brow. “Of course you’re invited—the whole crew is.”
“But I…uh…I’m not looking my best.” Stank like a pig was more like it.
“Considering how long we’ve been on the road, I think you look pretty good. But”—he handed her his extra room key—“I know it’ll be a few days before our next big gig, so you can use my shower if you want. In the meantime, I’ll see about getting you those interviews.”
Kinley stared at the key card like it was an alien artifact. She had Quinn Mayne’s hotel room key. Kat would just die when she heard. But Kat would have to wait. Kinley still had to absorb the shock of this encounter. The memory of his hands gripping her arms slammed into her senses. The look in his eyes as he bent down until his lips almost touched hers. Had he almost kissed her? Would she have let him?
Yes.
God, yes.
***
The Portland after-party was small in comparison to most. But everyone was living it up as much as possible. They had at least two days cramped in the tour bus to look forward to. Quinn knew he should enjoy himself as well, but he remained seated in the corner, trying to tear his gaze from Kinley.
> He still couldn’t believe she’d hidden her talent for fear of being mocked. She hadn’t struck him as the type to be afraid of anything. Even now, she looked bold and proud. Not a trace of her earlier blushes remained.
Only a few hours ago, she’d been naked in his hotel room. He regretted missing it. But if he’d stayed, there was no way he could have resisted joining her. He’d left to call his manager and set up other interviews for her, but that didn’t stop the idea from tormenting him.
Now she was less than twenty feet from him, hair clean and shining, interviewing Lefty Swanson, lead guitarist from Bleeding Vengeance. That was fine—he’d set it up. What wasn’t fine was how the guitarist was sitting so close to her she was practically on his lap—or the deep throaty laugh emerging from her luscious lips whenever Lefty cracked a stupid joke.
Her interview with Klement hadn’t been so cozy. The bassist had laughed and joked with her at first, then said a few things that made Kinley shake her head in bewilderment before he shook her hand and departed. But Lefty’s intimate proximity made Quinn want to punch the guy.
He shook his head. What the fuck was his problem? He had no claim on her. Hell, there was a cute little blonde sidling up to him right now. He winced at the woman’s shrill giggle, or maybe it was from Kinley’s brief contemptuous glance in his direction, which somehow made him feel sordid.
Before the groupie could hop on his lap, he got up. “I need a beer.”
That piercing giggle stabbed his eardrums again. “I need some coke and a good fuck.”
He sighed and beckoned Curt over. “This girl could use your help.”
The guitarist’s eyes gleamed in appreciation at the blonde. Predictably, the two wandered over to Lefty. Quinn really didn’t like Curt’s habit, but in this industry, finding a clean guitarist was a tough feat. At least Curt never got too gacked out to do a show. If that happened, Quinn would have to replace him.
Unbidden, Quinn’s gaze was drawn once more to Kinley.
Maybe…
He shook his head. He didn’t want her working for him to begin with and now he was considering having her join the band? This tour must be getting to him—or maybe she was.
