by Brooklyn Ann
“Sit down, Kinley, before you spill your coffee.” He patted the spot next to him on her bed, gratified more by her nearness than her compliance. “That definitely was not a one-night stand. I want more of you than that.” Feeling like an awkward teenager talking to his first crush, he took a deep breath and continued. “I like you a lot, and not just in bed. I like spending time with you. I want to get to know you better and see how this goes, if you’ll give me a chance.”
The silence was thick and palpable, making it hard to breathe. The fear and indecision in her dark eyes took his breath away. Until now, he had no idea how much he’d hoped she’d say yes.
Finally she spoke, not meeting in his eyes. “Do I get to keep my job?”
Quinn bit back a growl. “Damn it, of course you do!” Was the job all she cared about? “But what’s your answer for the rest?”
“Okay, let’s see how this goes.” Her gaze moved from the floor to stare at him, daring him to refuse her next words. “But I want a few ground rules.”
Ground rules? The words and her tone were so militant that he had to bite back a grin. He took a sip of his coffee and forced a nonchalant tone. “All right, shoot.”
She bit her lip and looked away. “First, I don’t want you messing around with other women as long as this…this thing is going on.”
Quinn felt another tremor of delight at her sudden shyness. “Sure.” How could he even think of another chick when he had Kinley? Another thought made him frown. “But”—he reached over to grasp her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze—“the same goes for you with other guys.”
“Duh,” Kinley snorted and playfully slapped his hand away.
His mood improved—until she spoke again. “Second, I want this to remain a secret. For now.”
Quinn’s smile faded. “I don’t know if—”
She put a hand on his arm, halting his words. “Look, you gotta see this from my point of view. The moment the band or crew discovers I’m sleeping with you, I’ll lose all the respect I’ve worked my ass off to earn.” Her eyes blazed with impotent fury. “They’ll see me as nothing but a groupie and that’ll make my job a living hell.”
Damn it, she had a point there. Unfair as it was, the guys would look down on her for being in his bed. Why did this have to be so complicated? Most women would be happy to have him on any terms—they wouldn’t care what anyone thought. But Kinley had more pride than that. And hell if he didn’t respect her for it.
“Okay,” he agreed, despite every nerve in his body crying out in reluctance.
She lifted her chin and nodded, but he saw a glimmer of vulnerability in her expression. Once more, the urge to protect her engulfed him in a wave. Of course looking at her gave him other urges that were harder to tamp down.
Her eyes were ringed by smeared mascara, giving them a smoky look. Her tousled hair swept her cheeks and he saw that her nipples were stiff beneath the flimsy T-shirt. She looked like a woman who had been well fucked. And she had been—by him. Quinn hardened once more at the thought.
Leaning forward, he caressed her blushing cheek. “We have a deal then?” he whispered against her lips.
In answer, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer, kissing him softly, languorously, as if she wanted the moment to last forever. Quinn groaned in mad desire and reached down to remove her shirt.
Kinley pushed him back, breaking the kiss. “You better go before someone sees you coming out of my room.”
“Okay, but you’re spending the whole night with me tonight.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, he resisted the urge to pull her back into his arms and ravish her.
Before he gave into that temptation, he rose from her bed and left her hotel room. Once back in the corridor, Quinn leaned against the wall and sighed. He couldn’t help but wonder if Kinley was his dirty secret—or if he was hers.
***
During breakfast, it took every bit of Kinley’s willpower to act casual around Quinn, to keep her face from flaming and her voice from trembling when she spoke to him in front of the guys. She kept her head down, hair hanging in her face to hide her blushes.
Thankfully, most of the band and crew were too hungover from the Vegas party to notice. They chattered on about their night, saying nothing to indicate they knew what happened between her and Quinn.
She tried to steady her shaking hands as she headed to the bus. Fuck, if Quinn and I don’t keep it cool, everyone will find out. Dread sat heavily in the pit of her stomach at the prospect.
Once everyone was loaded up on the bus, headed to the Salt Lake gig, she opened her laptop to hide behind her work on the website. Concentrating on the work proved to be a challenge as well. Typing a rational sentence was a strenuous effort. Thoughts of Quinn obliterated her ability to draft a blog post. Hell, she couldn’t even look at him without remembering last night—and anticipating tonight.
The fine trembling in her hands grew to uncontrollable shakes by the time the bus arrived at the gig.
As she joined the road crew to unload the truck, Quinn’s dark green eyes met hers. A naughty smile curved his lips, full of promise. Tonight those lips would be on her flesh. Her breath hitched as heat pulsed between her thighs. An amplifier slipped in her grip. Quickly she caught it, breathing a prayer of thanks.
“Watch it, Kin!” Gaffer barked. “Why are you so clumsy all of a sudden?”
She steadied her grip, mortified. “Sorry.”
Sucking in a deep breath, she forced her concentration onto her work. But once they began setting up the stage, her focus wavered. Like his breath on the back of her neck, Quinn’s voice whispered in her mind. Tonight…
But for now she had to set up speakers and tune Quinn’s guitar. A memory of him kneeling before her swept over her like a tidal wave, stealing her breath.
Kinley resisted the urge to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She was in a relationship with the biggest crush of her lifetime and she longed to shout it from the rooftops. But she couldn’t. Somehow she had to keep the relationship secret…as long as it lasted.
A sharp pang struck her heart at the thought of it ending. She shook her head. Don’t be ridiculous. This thing with us only barely started. I can’t be that attached to him already. But as she opened his guitar case and carefully took out Quinn’s Stratocaster, she knew it was futile. Kinley caressed the fine, polished wood with a sigh. She felt more for him than lust. Far more.
As she examined the strings and hooked up the electric tuner, she wondered when Quinn had become more than an object of desire to her. Was it when he validated her quest for a career in music? When he listened in understanding as she explained her trials and pitfalls? Was it the responsibility, care, and dedication he had for his band? The tragic look in his eyes when he mentioned his family?
Checking the cords and connections for a final time, she realized it was all of those things, and more. Quinn was more than a dreamy rock star. He was a strong, noble man. Only weeks ago, she would have thought that an oxymoron.
When Quinn mounted the stage and checked his guitar, amps, and pedals, Kinley’s pulse leapt in her throat. She forced herself to remain still, to not let him see how she cried out for his approval.
After a tense eternity, he nodded in satisfaction and turned to her with a smile. “Excellent job. I may have to reward you later.”
He gave her a salacious wink and Kinley fought back a tremor of desire—and a mad urge to jump and skip with glee that she’d pleased him. Instead, she gave him a tremulous smile. “Thanks. I’m, uh, going to see if Gaffer needs help with anything.”
Damn, keeping a balance between their professional and romantic relationships was already proving frustrating. Was it worth it? He would break her heart, she knew it. Romance never worked out in this kind of life.
But once the show started and she stood on the sidelines, basking in the radiance of Quinn’s constant smiles, she knew it was worth every moment.
Her expectations of t
ime alone with Quinn, though, were shattered the second everyone piled onto the bus after the show.
“I can’t wait till we get to Denver,” Curt said.
“Why?” Kinley asked. What made that gig different than the others?
“Because we’re going to Klement’s house on the way. Since he and Quinn became friends, we have a get-together every Denver show.”
Kinley’s excitement at the prospect of seeing a rock star’s house dissolved when Brand spoke. “I’m turning in now. I hear we’re driving straight through tonight.” He fluffed his pillow and grinned. “I can’t wait to see his girls.”
“Oh yeah.” Tony glanced up from his phone. “I bet they’re real pretty now.”
Girls? From the hungry look in Brand’s eyes and from Tony’s reaction, Kinley doubted Klement had daughters. Did he own a strip club? A whorehouse? It didn’t seem to fit the geeky bassist from Bleeding Vengeance. He’d struck her as a lonely techno-junkie, caring only about music and electronic settings.
Her musings ceased as Brand’s words sank in. Driving straight through. That meant they weren’t going to be stopping at a hotel. That meant there would be no time alone with Quinn. Her gaze darted over to him, and though he didn’t look directly at her, his fist slammed his pillow as he got into his bunk.
Kinley curled up in her own bunk and turned away before anyone could see her disappointment and worry. Was Quinn upset because they wouldn’t get a chance to be together tonight, or because she would be there when they saw Klement’s girls?
Chapter Fourteen
For the first time, Quinn found himself cursing what used to be his favorite part of the US tour. They’d made it a tradition that before every Denver show, they’d hang out at Klement’s mansion, which was in the forested, unpopulated town of Dark Score, Colorado.
They’d gorge themselves on deep-dish pizza from a nearby mom and pop restaurant, play videogames in Klement’s personal theater room, and, of course, reacquaint themselves with Klement’s “girls,” lush cannabis plants that yielded exquisitely sticky buds.
It was a rejuvenating stop, a guys’ night that reinforced their friendships. Now Quinn dreaded it. There was no way he’d get to be alone with Kinley. She was his drug now. And he wanted more.
As he watched Curt teach her the solo on one of their new songs, the urge to snatch her from the guitarist’s side and kiss her senseless was so powerful that he had to grip the sides of his seat to keep from doing just that.
Clunks and screeches from branches hitting the roof and sides of the bus pulled him from his reverie. The driver cursed and the band and crew groaned at the noise. It seemed like the rough back road to Klement’s house got swallowed up by nature more and more every year. Doubtless Bleeding Vengeance had beaten them there. Though he winced at the sounds, Quinn was glad to be back around trees. A Seattle native, he hated the desert. As he watched Kinley eyeing the greenery with a relieved smile, he gathered she had the same sentiment, being an Idahoan.
The bus finally rolled onto pavement and trundled through the open gate to a massive circular driveway in front of Klement’s mansion and five-car garage. They filed off of the bus and breathed in the fresh mountain air with sighs of appreciation.
Kinley gaped at the massive three-story behemoth. “Do all of you have houses this big?”
“I wish,” Tony told her. “Klement made a fortune with some computer software before he even became a rock star.”
Curt nodded. “Lucky, brilliant bastard. Just wait till you see the inside, Kin.”
Quinn frowned, silently counting the bedrooms from memory. There were eight. One for each member of both bands. The crews usually crashed on the couches and on air mattresses downstairs. Where would they put Kinley?
Klement greeted them on the lower front porch and ushered them inside. Right away he gave the tour, managing to be a gracious host while informing everyone which areas were off limits. Roderick and Tony headed out to pick up the pizzas.
The roadies who’d been here before wandered off to the living room, kitchen, and deck. The ones who hadn’t followed Klement. They gaped at the multitude of rooms, many of which were loaded with computer equipment and musical instruments.
While everyone was occupied with the guitar collection, Quinn pulled Klement aside. “Where should Kinley sleep?”
Klement frowned. “She’s a roadie, so she should grab a couch or a spot on the floor with the rest. It won’t do her any favors to single her out for special treatment.”
“But what if—” His voice came out more urgent than he intended. “I mean, after the incident with Phil…”
The bassist crossed his arms over his chest. “Didn’t she get the job after kicking your security guy’s ass? I’m sure she can handle herself.”
“Yes, but do we really want things getting to that point?” Quinn retorted.
Klement sighed. “True. I can set up a mattress for her in the music room.”
“Thank you.” He turned to head back to Kinley’s side but Klement tapped his shoulder.
“It’s none of my business, but if you have any ideas about sneaking her into your bed—well, for her sake, I’d recommend holding off until you’re somewhere more private.”
Quinn froze. He’d considered doing just that. He gave Klement a mute nod. For her sake. The guy was right. With the bands taking up the bedrooms and roadies sprawled out all over the place, there was no way he’d be able to take Kinley to his bed without anyone noticing.
They rejoined the group in the music room.
“Shall we go see the girls?” Klement asked.
Kinley’s eyes darted to Quinn, narrowed with suspicion. He bit back a laugh—she must think the bassist was talking about actual women. Eagerly, everyone started forward.
Klement held up a hand. “Band members only, but don’t worry. You’ll get to sample them in a bit.”
The roadies groaned in disappointment. Kinley paled further. It was a touching sight of vulnerability. Did she really think he was finished with her after last night? Quinn gave her a wicked smile. He decided to let her fret a little longer before she learned the truth.
His band mates exclaimed as Klement entered a code on the keypad and opened the door to his grow room. The heat, humidity, and the strong smell of fresh, mature marijuana assaulted their senses. Electronic gizmos hummed and cameras turned. The bassist didn’t trust anyone to take care of his plants, so he’d designed software to do it himself remotely from his phone and computer. The majority of the buds went to medical dispensaries for cancer and MS patients, but Klement kept plenty for himself and his friends.
While everyone admired the eight-foot-tall plants, Quinn eyed them with less interest than usual. He was craving something else—someone else.
It wasn’t just lust that drew him to Kinley, he realized. He also enjoyed her company. He wanted her with him now. To talk to her, to savor her rare smiles and simply enjoy her company. But because she wasn’t a band member, he couldn’t have her with him when he wanted. He shook his head. Funny, the dichotomy between band and crew privileges had never bothered him until now.
As Klement led them back to the living room, Quinn bit back a groan at the sight of Kinley laughing with the roadies. From the way they silenced at the bands’ return, they must have been exchanging musician jokes—usually ones with the singer or bassist as the subject.
“Why does he call them his girls?” she asked suddenly.
So someone had filled her in about that. “Because they’re all female. Only the female plants produce the buds.” Quinn looked at her pointedly, knowing she’d appreciate this biological fact. “Only the females have value.”
Sure enough, Kinley grinned at his words. “But don’t you need the males to fertilize them?”
“Not with cloning.” Quinn winked.
“So the males are useless?” she teased.
“Hey, now,” Klement cut in, though he was smiling. “I’m sure they make excellent rope, and I do g
row some for seeds. Now are we going to smoke or not?” He gestured for everyone to follow him to yet another room. “And whoever makes any bass player jokes doesn’t get any.”
The roadies laughed along with the bands. When the guitar tech from Bleeding Vengeance asked Kinley to join him for drinks after the next gig, Quinn quit laughing.
***
Kinley blinked when the roadie asked her out. She opened her mouth to reply and froze once more as she caught Quinn’s blazing glare.
She licked her lips. “I’d love to, but I…I have so much work to catch up on.” Quinn’s frown faded, but his brows still drew together in concern.
“With your website?” the roadie asked.
“Yup.”
“That’s a bummer. But Metalness is an awesome site. I love what you and MetalKat do for the industry.”
“Thanks.”
The guitar tech forgot all about his disappointment when they entered a room full of elaborate glass bongs and pipes. “Holy shit!”
Kinley was mostly ambivalent about weed but she couldn’t help but admire the beauty and craftsmanship of the blown-glass pieces.
Circles were formed as Klement opened a mason jar full of greenery and loaded a few pipes and bongs while describing the genetic strains. When the bong came to her, she admired the fluted design for a moment then passed it to the next guy.
“You sure you don’t want any?” The roadie frowned at her in disbelief.
She shook her head and smiled. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”
The last time she’d smoked she’d ended up in a heap on the floor, laughing hysterically until even Kat told her to shut up.
As it was, the room was quickly getting hot-boxed with smoke, making her dizzy. And the skunky odor wasn’t helping either. Kinley rose from her seat. “I gotta make a phone call.”
Leaving the room, she headed out to the sliding glass door onto the deck. She sucked in deep gulps of air as she looked out at the majestic view of the Rockies. She took a quick picture on her phone before dialing Kat.
