by Brooklyn Ann
But soap and water were unable to wash away the dark circles of fatigue under Kinley’s eyes, the painful sight of her slender hands, blistered and scraped from strenuous manual labor, or the obvious stiffness in her muscles from overwork. And yet she’d pressed on, working harder than most of the crew and without complaint.
Somehow she also kept up with the work on her website, documenting band interviews while holding onto the secret she was working for one.
He shifted his attention back to her website as he checked out older posts. Gaffer had been right. It was indeed awesome. The interviews and blog posts were entertaining and displayed genuine knowledge and love of the music. Curious as to how they started the site, Quinn scrolled down to the earliest entries, dated a little over two years ago.
A small smile curved his lips. Apparently, Metalness had originally been targeted to a female audience. There were posts on the difficulties of being a female musician in metal, how to tell the difference between a groupie and a true fan, and other miscellaneous feminine-based topics.
One entry made his eyes widen with interest.
What was this?
Kat and Kin’s Top Ten Hottest Rock Stars. Quinn’s smile turned into a broad grin. Kinley’s list was especially intriguing.
He was listed at number one. The picture showed him shirtless, guitar in his grasp as he sang. It looked like a photo from the Wacken Festival in Germany. Quinn didn’t care about that. His attention was fixed on the caption Kinley had written under the photo.
Every cell of his being longed to find out if she’d meant it.
Chapter Ten
“Okay, you want to draw out that chord a little longer,” Curt said before demonstrating on his guitar. “Like this, okay?”
Despite being a cokehead, he was actually a pretty good teacher. Kinley mastered three songs in a little over an hour. Of course it helped that Quinn was no longer hovering over her with unnerving scrutiny.
In spite of, or because of her new promotion and sleeping arrangements, he’d been professional to the point of coldness all day. There was also that unnerving way he kept staring at her, as if he were trying to read her mind. Kinley couldn’t hold back a sigh of relief when he joined the rest of the band and crew with the video games.
She rubbed her eyes and covered a yawn with her hand. Sleep had been near impossible. She couldn’t stop reliving the memory of Phil on top of her, his rancid breath on her face, or Quinn’s rage as he pulled Phil off of her, his teeth clenched as he announced her promotion.
She didn’t believe he’d moved her up front because of her position. No one did. He’d moved her up here to protect her. The warmth coursing through her body was at odds with the tightness in her stomach. She didn’t need a man to protect her—but the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant.
Just awkward.
It was especially disconcerting to be around the road crew. Phil grimaced at his first sight of her the next morning, then patently ignored her while the others alternated between curious glances and half-hearted smiles. They seemed to have no idea how to treat her now that she was guitar tech. Kinley sighed. The feeling was mutual.
At least the rest of the band didn’t heighten her discomfort. Brand, the bassist, treated her with polite indifference. Tony, the drummer, was friendly but mostly preoccupied with constant phone calls and texts to his wife when he wasn’t showing off pictures of his growing children. Kinley smiled at the romantic devotion, a phenomena she’d never seen before.
Curt alternately flirted with her or teased her, but there was no real lust or cruelty when he did either. And he left off of both as he taught her his riffs.
Only Quinn ruffled her awareness with the heat of his presence and intensity of his gaze.
By the time her lesson with Curt finished, Kinley’s fingers were throbbing. The bus stopped at a diner for food. Everyone piled out, stretching their legs and breathing in the cool desert air with sublime gratitude.
But once they were seated and served steaming plates of food, Quinn resumed his staring. Her belly flipped over, killing her appetite. Sullenly, she picked at her dinner. What the hell was his problem?
She pushed her barely touched plate away. “I should get some work done.”
“You should eat more,” Quinn said curtly, nudging her plate back. “You’ve lost too much weight. Besides, nobody’s working tonight. It’s our last free night before the next gig. You’re gonna want to be able to hold your alcohol.”
Again she wondered what the fuck his deal was. He’d done nothing but boss her around since she’d moved to the front of the bus. As if reading her thoughts, he raised a brow, daring her to complain.
Kinley picked up her fork. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Quinn’s victorious smile made her want to throw one of her fries at him.
After dinner, they headed to the liquor store and exited with cases of booze and beer. Back in the bus, Kinley tried to get on her laptop and check on her site, but Quinn pulled it out of her hands and held out a beer.
“You’re going to lighten up tonight and have some fun.” His autocratic tone set her teeth on edge.
Kinley took the beer with a glare. “If I do, will you quit being so bossy?”
“Of course.” He laughed, raising his bottle in a toast.
She clinked her beer against his. Damn it, he was right. She had been stiff and sour as a schoolmarm since she started this tour. It was a wonder they even wanted her to party with them.
Gaffer sat at the small kitchen table and began shuffling a deck of cards. “Who’s up for Texas Hold ’Em?”
Four beers and seven hands later, she’d cleaned everyone out and had them falling out of their seats from her repertoire of dirty jokes. Only Phil remained surly, but fuck him. She was having an excellent time.
***
Quinn watched Kinley laughing and joking with the others, unable to hide his surprised grin. The woman actually did have a fun side. She was so tightly wound most of the time he’d doubted such a thing was possible. And damn, where did she learn those jokes? His sides still ached from laughing.
“Okay, girl.” Gaffer rose from the table with a yawn. “I’m quitting while I’m ahead.”
Kinley grinned and scooped up her winnings as the others retreated to smoke some weed. Quinn declined to join them, enjoying Kinley’s company more than was healthy. He handed her another beer, and time froze as their eyes met and their hands touched. An electric current pulsed between them. For a moment, he was tempted to ask her about what he’d found on her website.
No, it wouldn’t be fair. Not in front of everyone, and especially not when they were both drunk. Instead, he lit another cigarette and leaned back in his chair, looking for an impersonal topic of conversation. “That Duster you have is pretty sweet. Where’d you get it?”
“It was my father’s.” She gave him a defensive look, as if expecting him to accuse her of being spoiled. “He said whichever of my brothers got her running could have her.” Her upper lip curled in scorn. “But they just sat on their asses and played video games.”
Quinn nodded as comprehension dawned. “So you fixed the car up.”
“Kat and I got her running, at least,” Kinley replied modestly. “Once I did that, I took her to a restoration shop to get the bodywork and more complex stuff done. A shop owned by a woman. That griped dad’s ass almost as much as me working on the car. But he had to keep to his word, so I got the title.”
“He was unhappy that you fixed the car?” He frowned in confusion. “Why?”
A low, bitter laugh bubbled from her lips before she took another swig of beer. “Because I did it. The girl, not one of his precious sons.” She said girl like it was a bad word.
Quinn deduced that her father had not been a winner.
“What about your mother?” Quinn asked, though her words implied a tragic answer.
“She died in a car crash when I was eleven.” She visibly struggled to keep her tone strong and indiff
erent, but her voice cracked at the last. “To her I wasn’t a girl. I was a person.” Tears glistened in her large dark eyes. “A person she loved.”
His heart bled for her in sympathetic understanding. “So you ended up taking her place.”
“Yeah, but I was never good enough. Never the perfect lady that she was.” Kinley’s eyes met his, and she jerked in her seat as if startled by the confession. “I can’t cook as well as she could, and I couldn’t get the boys to behave or keep the house Martha Stewart-immaculate.”
“He made you into a surrogate wife and mother?” Quinn said softly.
She nodded. “I hated it. And I wasn’t any good at it.”
“My mom did something similar when my dad took off, but I was a little older and my sister…” His breath strangled for a moment. “She wasn’t too badly behaved and even helped out when she could. And our place would have terrified Martha Stewart. But mom was so tired from work that she didn’t give a shit what the house looked like.” It sounded like Kinley had it worse. God, had the woman even had a chance at a normal childhood? Had she had time to play with her toys, run around with her friends?
Remembering her stoic demeanor and the way she tended to hang on the fringes of the crowd, he wondered if she’d even had any friends.
“Did your brothers help?”
“No.” Her voice radiated derision. “Dad said I needed to take care of them, and that cooking and housework was women’s work.” Her voice broke at the last, and a hot tear traced down her cheek. “I used to wish I was a boy.”
He brushed aside the tear with his finger. “Instead you ended up showing your father that you were twice the man your brothers were.” The car restoration and construction jobs suddenly made sense.
She froze at his light touch. For a moment her eyes flashed with brittle rage before dissolving into heartrending pain.
Grinding another tear away with a fist, she guzzled the rest of her beer and slammed the empty bottle on the table. “Know what? We have a lot in common. We were both raised by single parents and given way too much responsibility at such a young age. And”—she raised a declarative finger, swaying slightly—“we both have excellent taste in music!”
Kinley beamed at him expectantly, urging him to agree.
Quinn blinked at her abrupt shift in mood before realization came. Not only was she deliberately changing the subject, she was trying to cheer herself up. A lump formed in his throat at the pain she so obviously tried to hide. Another, more primitive feeling surfaced: anger. Anger at Kinley’s father for forcing her into such an impossible position. Just like my mother.
He forced the traitorous thought away. It was better to focus on the present, to help banish her gloom. “I don’t know about that yet. Who’s in your top ten?”
“Well, there’s Viciöus of course.” She giggled, voice beginning to slur. “Then there’s Iron Maiden, Deity, Megadeth…”
Quinn nodded and smiled in agreement. They were all great bands. But a new anger emerged. She shouldn’t have to comfort herself. That should be his job. The absolute certainty of the thought gave him pause. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but somehow he didn’t think so.
***
Kinley continued to ramble off band names as her insides churned with self revulsion. Her first day as guitar tech and she’d almost cried in front of Quinn Mayne, cried like a girl. A hot wave of humiliation engulfed her. God, he must think she was a total wuss. Maybe he was even regretting promoting her.
He doesn’t think that at all, a small voice said in her mind. He sympathized and understood. For God’s sake, he went through a similar experience.
Kinley blinked and sat up straighter. The voice sounded like her mother’s. And maybe it was right. He hadn’t mocked her. He’d listened with compassion in his eyes; he’d brushed her tear away.
Her cheek still felt warm from his touch. Her throat felt tight at his tenderness and she fought an aching urge to throw herself into his arms, to let him protect her from her sorrow.
“I should go to bed,” she said before she embarrassed herself further.
Kinley rose to head to her bunk and froze. Gaffer was passed out in her bunk—well, his old bunk. That meant she’d have to sleep next to one of them. It took all of her willpower not to turn back and face Quinn.
“Oh, fuck,” Quinn muttered behind her.
“She can sleep with me.” Brand looked up from his tablet and waggled his brows.
“No way, man.” Curtis rolled over in his bunk to face them. “She’s my guitar tech, so she’s s’pposed to be with me.”
Kinley’s face burned. They must have been listening to her and Quinn the whole time. She longed to tell them both off, but her voice had abandoned her. The prospect of working with Viciöus surpassed her wildest daydreams. But was it worth it if she was going to be treated like some kind of toy?
“She’s my guitar tech as well. Furthermore, she’s a colleague, not a groupie,” Quinn cut off the argument. “I wouldn’t trust either of you to keep your hands to yourselves for five minutes. She’ll bunk with me.”
Her cheeks flamed further at his announcement and she forced her gaze to the floor before anyone could spot the spark of excitement in her eyes. The thought of sleeping next to Quinn made her body quiver more than the first time she’d seen him on stage.
“Oh, look at you, fuckin’ prissy pants,” Curtis grumbled.
Tony chuckled. “Nah, he’s just being a typical Vox, making sure he gets first claim.”
“First claim?” Kinley recovered her voice, fists clenched in outrage. Good God, had Phil been right? Did Quinn plan to turn her into a Pass-Around-Pattie? “I am not—”
Quinn silenced her with a glare and gave both men the finger. “What I’m making sure of is that this tour doesn’t turn into a bullshit disaster.”
Why the hell is he so pissed? He’s the one who ordered me up here.
Kinley’s eyes widened as she realized the obvious. He wasn’t promoting her. He didn’t even want her in his bed. He just wanted to protect the band’s interests. That wasn’t as bad as the thought of him wanting her to “entertain” them, but it still rankled.
“Look, I don’t need a babysitter. I was doing just fine back there,” she retorted. “Now I’ll just go back to my old bunk and—”
Quinn held up a hand to silence her. “No, we’ve settled this.” He took her backpack from her bunk and handed it to her.
Her eyes narrowed. “You sanctimonious—”
“Go put on your pajamas,” he said severely. “The Vegas show is tomorrow and we all need to rest.”
Unable to argue that logic, she grabbed her backpack and fled to the bathroom. Fighting to ignore the voices outside, she unzipped the bag with shaking hands and pulled out a tank top and flannel bottoms. Though she changed with record speed, she took her time unbraiding her hair, brushing it out and taking deep breaths as she tried to absorb the situation.
Half of her anticipated feeling the warmth of Quinn’s body next to hers. She wondered if he found her attractive. The other half prayed she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.
“Besides,” Quinn was saying as she emerged, “it’s fucking freezing up here and I don’t mind the added warmth.”
All eyes swiveled to her as if seeing her for the first time. Comprehension dawned. They had never seen her with her hair down.
“Wow,” Brand whispered.
On quaking legs, she crossed the length of the bus. The band’s scrutiny made the few feet feel like miles. Do I look pretty? one inner voice asked. The other scoffed, They’ll never respect you now.
Quinn’s intent, unreadable stare didn’t help matters in the slightest. She could drown in that deep green gaze. I’m going to share a bunk with him? The situation was so surreal her knees nearly buckled.
“This isn’t going to work,” Quinn said suddenly.
Relief and regret warred within her. She was going to be sent back to her old bunk with the crew. Part of her
stung with rejection and mourned the loss of an opportunity to cuddle with him—a big part.
“Damn, Quinn.” Brand raised a brow. “When did you become such a prude?”
Tony chuckled. “Yeah, should we get her a burka?”
Quinn shook his head. “No, dipshit, I’m talking about her hair. It’ll get in my face.” His eyes met hers and he patted the place next to him on the bed. “Sit down.”
“Um, okay,” she said dumbly and sat, trying to appear indifferent to his proximity while inwardly rejoicing.
He scooted behind her and before she could question him, his hands were in her hair, sending frissons of pleasure through her scalp and down her back. Kinley bit back a blissful sigh. It took her a moment to come back to Earth enough to realize what he was doing.
Quinn Mayne was braiding her hair.
His breath was a phantom caress on the back of her neck and his fingers…oh God, they worked like dark magic. Kinley’s breath hitched as she remained still as a statue, struggling to hide her arousal at his touch.
“Damn, you’re really good at that,” Tony commented.
“I used to braid my little sister’s hair before school.” There was something odd about his tone, tender yet full of regret.
The emotion in his voice made Kinley remember that he was a normal human, not an all-powerful rock god. For some reason, the realization made him all the more appealing.
Curtis leaned up on his elbow. “Is she hot?”
“Shut up!” Quinn hissed. Kinley flinched as he tugged her hair too hard. “Sorry,” he muttered and resumed his gentleness.
Her guess during their interview had been right. Quinn didn’t want to discuss his family, especially his sister. It seemed even his own band didn’t know about her. He’d said he’d raised her. Had something happened to her? If so, did he blame himself for it?
