Kissing Vicious

by Brooklyn Ann

  Her friend answered right away. “I was starting to think you forgot about me.”

  Guilt panged her. “Of course I didn’t. It’s just that I haven’t had any privacy.”

  “Where are you now?”

  Kinley grinned. “Klement Burke’s rock-star mansion in Dark Score, Colorado.”

  “Holy shit! What’s it like? Is Cliff there?”

  “Of course Cliff’s here—he’s the lead singer,” Kinley said tiredly, though she was sympathetic about her friend’s hopeless crush. Cliff was the biggest man whore she’d ever encountered. Not like Quinn…so far. At least Kat sounded like she was in a good mood. Her boyfriend must not be around.

  “And?” Kat prodded.

  “And what? He’s here, smoking bowls with the rest of the guys.”

  Kat groaned. “You’re just too focused on Quinn.”

  “Yeah.” Kinley couldn’t keep back that much of the truth, though she felt guilty again for not telling her friend how far her relationship with Quinn had progressed. Instead, she gave Kat her other good news. “I got promoted to guitar tech.”

  “Shut up! When did that happen?”

  Kinley gave her an abbreviated version of the story, focusing most on what the new job entailed.

  “So not only did that douche Phil get what he deserved, you’re also getting lessons from Curtis Scrimm?” Kat’s voice turned teasing. “And spending more time with Quinn?”

  “Uh-huh,” Kinley said a little giddily. “I think I got a contact high from that room.”

  “What room?”

  So then she told Kat all about Klement’s mansion. “Seriously, the dude’s place is half full of computer equipment and half full of weed and musical instruments. And from what I heard, his garage is full of classic cars.”

  “Whoa!” Kat whistled. “Any chance we could do a feature on it on Metalness?”

  “I doubt it. He seems pretty adamant about his privacy.”

  “Damn.”

  “But Cliff said he’ll give me an interview soon.”

  Kat perked up. “Really? I am so jealous! I’ve told you that, right?”

  “I’m sure your time will come. You’re a better guitarist than me.” Kinley meant every word she said. Really, it should have been Kat. With her wit and artistic creativity, she’d fit in better in this life.

  The sliding glass door opened and Kinley turned to see Quinn walking onto the deck. He gave her a heart-stopping smile before lighting a cigarette.

  Her mouth went dry. “Um, I gotta go.”

  “Not private anymore?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Kat chuckled. “Okay, but you better promise to call me after you interview Cliff.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Is Quinn near you?”

  “Uh-huh.” Kinley hung up before her friend could tease her.

  Quinn took a drag of his cigarette and regarded her with unmistakable hunger. “Are you having a good time?”

  “Yeah. Klement has a cool place. What’s yours like?” she blurted, indelibly curious.

  “I have a condo in Seattle. It’s boring compared to this.” He sounded slightly mournful.

  She had the urge to hug him. “I’m sure it’s awesome too.”

  He gave her another seductive smile and walked closer. “Klement is putting an air mattress up in the music room for you”—he leaned forward and whispered in her ear—“but I’d rather you sleep with me.”

  “There’s no way we could get away with it,” she whispered, trembling at his proximity.

  His lips trailed down her cheek and along her jaw. “That won’t stop me from imagining you there with me.”

  Later that morning, lying down amongst guitars, keyboards, and drum kits, Kinley couldn’t stop imagining being with Quinn either. Her hips arched as her fingers slid down her pants.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The “guys’ night” at Klement’s house seemed to have had a positive effect on Kinley’s relationship with the crew. Ever since her abrupt promotion and change in sleeping quarters, her fellow roadies had avoided her as much as possible, even the ones who’d previously warmed up to her. Now that they’d spent time together as equals, they’d begun to get used to her and had started treating her as one of the guys. Even she and Phil seemed to have a come to an understanding—to peacefully ignore each other.

  With their improved rapport, the Denver gig went smoothly. The load-in was accomplished in record time, everyone maintained their places and worked as a team during the set, and after Viciöus took their bow, the stage was cleared like clockwork.

  Kinley hummed as she packed away the guitars. Anticipation lightened her steps as she took the cases to the bus. She’d confirmed that tonight they’d actually be stopping at a hotel.

  “Tonight,” Quinn had whispered against her neck after yanking her into the dressing room for a hungry kiss. Her core had been throbbing with need ever since.

  Just when the last of the gear was loaded and she returned backstage to meet up with Quinn, a strikingly beautiful blonde approached with a too-familiar smile and an obvious wiggle to her hips. A stone dropped in Kinley’s belly.

  “Quinn! Long time, no see!” she said in a sugary voice. “I’ve been counting the days till our interview.”

  Blinking, Kinley shifted her gaze from the woman’s unfairly gorgeous face to the badge next to her laminate. She was part of Rocktalk, a magazine and website that rivaled Metalness. Kinley’s gut plummeted further.

  “Of course, Marianne. I’ve been waiting for you.” He flashed the woman a charming smile.

  Kinley remained frozen in choked envy as Marianne and Quinn walked off to his dressing room. Marianne gave a smirk and rested her hand possessively on Quinn’s bicep. Kinley wanted to run up and shove the bitch away. She wanted to shriek, He’s mine! But no, she couldn’t do any of that, not without revealing that she and Quinn were sleeping together. She had no real claim on him. He wasn’t her boyfriend. If he changed his mind and wanted to sleep with someone else, that was his choice.

  The realization made her sick to her stomach. Sucking in her breath through her teeth, Kinley reigned in her tumultuous emotions. I made this decision. If I do anything to hint that I’m more than a roadie to him, my credibility will be destroyed. I’ll be seen as a scheming whore.

  Still, she couldn’t help her unease at Marianne’s familiar behavior. Would Quinn bring her with them on the bus? Would he take her back to the hotel and fuck her? Were they already fucking in the dressing room? Would Kinley be able to sit back and watch them together without screaming or throwing up?

  As if in answer, her stomach heaved. Kinley wove her way through the backstage area and out the side exit, taking in gulps of fresh air. She was such a moron. Getting involved with Quinn had been the biggest mistake of her life. There was no way she could handle the emotional rollercoaster of dating a rock star.

  She had to break it off with him. Before her feelings went deeper. Unfortunately, she suspected they already had.

  Thankfully, the bus was still empty. Grabbing a beer from the little fridge, Kinley settled on the bench seat that converted to the bunk she’d shared with Quinn. Willing herself to calm down and stop worrying about things she couldn’t control, Kinley took Quinn’s acoustic guitar out of the overhead compartment and began to practice Viciöus songs. Music was the only thing that soothed her, the only thing that freed her spirit.

  Just as the welcome bliss of melodic creation was beginning to calm her, raucous voices sounded outside; then the other roadies piled into the bus. Sighing at the interruption of her much-needed solitude, she continued to play, determined to finish the song without any mistakes.

  “That was damn good,” one of the roadies commented when she finished. He leaned forward and whispered, “Much better than Phil.”

  She hid a pleased smile. “Thanks.”

  The band returned, and her improved mood vanished.

  Quinn had brought the bitch on the bus.

>   Marianne glared daggers at Kinley as Quinn sat beside her.

  “How’s the practice going, Kin?” he asked, oblivious to her ire.

  “Fine,” she said glumly. Until you brought her.

  As if in challenge, Marianne plopped down on the other side of Quinn. He looked like he didn’t mind.

  Kinley gnashed her teeth. If he thought he would get to have a threesome, he was in for disappointment—and a fat lip.

  “Are you in the band too?” Marianne peered at her from around Quinn’s shoulder. “I didn’t see you on stage.”

  “I’m sorry for my bad manners,” Quinn replied before she could answer. “This is Kinley Black, my guitar tech.”

  A flush of pleasure rushed through her. He hadn’t told the woman she was a mere roadie.

  Marianne started to nod; then her brows drew together in a frown. “Kinley Black. That name sounds familiar.” Eyeing Kinley suspiciously, she dug her smart phone out of her designer bag. Manicured nails danced across the phone’s screen before the reporter looked up in triumph. “I knew it! You’re from Metalness.com. What are you doing here? I do hope I haven’t blown your cover.” Triumph laced her voice.

  Obviously she thought Kinley had been unmasked. Would Quinn play along? Kinley knew he didn’t want it known that they had a journalist on the road with them.

  “Of course she’s not undercover,” Quinn said quickly. “She came to a show to do some interviews just when I happened to need a guitar tech.”

  “And she just happened to be one, huh?” the reporter smirked.

  “That’s right.” Kinley lifted her chin and stroked the fret board of Quinn’s guitar.

  Marianne nodded and replied sweetly, “I suppose, running a little site like Metalness, you require a second job to sustain yourself. But going from blogging about rock stars to working for them seems like quite a stretch—and quite a story.”

  Kinley’s fist clenched at the pointed slight to her site. It was true that Metalness was not yet self-sustaining, and not anywhere near the caliber of Rocktalk—a small magazine-turned-website that got its start featuring hair bands in the late eighties—but they weren’t tiny fish either. They had made the list of top-ten metal websites in Thrash Magazine, and their readership and ad revenue were growing every day.

  “It’s a story that will stay between Metalness and Viciöus,” Quinn said politely, but with a thread of steel in his voice.

  “What about off the record?” Marianne leaned forward.

  Kinley shook her head and forced a professional smile. “My employment contract forbids it. Believe me, it’s not much of a story.”

  Quinn raised a brow at the fib. It really was one hell of a story, but not one that Vicious would appreciate being made public. Kinley had her own reasons for not wanting the world to learn how she came to work for the band—well, certain parts of the tale anyway. Parts that made her look like an opportunist or a whore.

  “Then it should be fitting for your site,” Marianne purred.

  Kinley’s fingers tightened on the guitar neck, wishing it were Marianne’s. She hated female verbal battles with their thinly veiled barbs. She wished Kat were here. Kat was so good she’d have Marianne on the floor in the fetal position without laying a finger on her.

  Phil came to the front of the bus, carrying a friggin’ wine cooler, of all things. He gave Kinley his usual glare before his gaze softened on Marianne. “I thought you could use a cold one,” he said in a kind voice Kinley had never heard from him before.

  Marianne giggled like a hyperglycemic twelve-year-old. “Thank you. I’m not supposed to drink on the job but I’m sure you won’t tell on me.”

  Wrapping her lips around the bottle in an obvious imitation of a blowjob, she resumed her flirtation with Quinn and the rest of the band. The roadies doted on her, treating her with the dignity due a queen.

  Kinley fought not to gag.

  The bus began to roll out of the parking lot. Her heart flinched like she was being stabbed. Marianne was going to the hotel with them. Kinley clutched the guitar, her only anchor in the world. Her eyes burned with…tears? Was she about to cry? She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. There was no way in hell she would cry just because Quinn was doing what rock stars did. Why the hell did she care anyway?

  God, she hated being a woman. These stupid emotions not only made her sick to her stomach, but they also distracted her from important matters, like doing her job and not embarrassing herself.

  By the time the bus pulled into the hotel parking lot, her throat was so tight she couldn’t breathe. With numb fingers, she tucked the guitar back into its case.

  Marianne licked her lips and trailed a finger down Quinn’s sleeve. “So, should we finish this interview up in your room?”

  Kinley held her breath and looked at the floor, unable to watch his reaction. He has every right, she reminded herself.

  “I’m sorry, but Kinley and I have some work to do.” He wasn’t looking at Marianne when he answered. He was looking at her.

  Kinley’s breath escaped in an ecstatic sigh. Quinn didn’t want Marianne. He still wanted her. A silly, girly part of her longed to dance in celebration.

  “I’ll give you an interview,” Brand told her. “A long one.”

  Marianne’s gaze swept him from head to toe. “I would love to do an in-depth exploration of a prominent bassist. So many are so underrated.”

  “Yes, they are,” Kinley said, giving the bassist a grateful look.

  Brand winked at her before slinging an arm around Marianne’s shoulders and leading her off the bus.

  “’Bout time one of us got some attention,” Curtis remarked as he slung his duffel over his shoulder. “They always go for the singer.”

  “That redhead you were with after the Vegas gig didn’t.” Quinn grabbed his bag and guitar case from the overhead compartment. “You coming?” he asked Kinley.

  Legs shaking from her emotional rollercoaster, she followed him off the bus and into the hotel. He remained silent until they collected their keycards and entered the elevator.

  “I’m sorry about Marianne. She can be such a bitch.” His voice sounded achingly sincere. “Unfortunately, her interview has been scheduled since December, so I couldn’t cancel.”

  “She acted really familiar. Have you fucked her?” The minute the question left her mouth she regretted it. “Never mind, I don’t care.”

  “Once, like three years ago. And I was so drunk that I don’t remember a thing. I must have done a good job because she pesters me every time we cross paths. I wish Gaffer wouldn’t set up any more interviews with her, but we need the promotion.” He grinned suddenly, revealing his dimples. “Why? Are you jealous?”

  She looked at the floor. “Shut up.”

  “She doesn’t hold a candle to you, Kinley.” He drew her into his arms and bent down to whisper in her ear, “All I wanted the whole time was to shove her away and pull you into my lap. This secrecy thing is a pain in the ass.”

  “It’s necessary,” she countered. “You don’t want people thinking you’re giving me special treatment or that I got the job because I’m sleeping with you. And the last thing I want is for everyone to call me a whore.”

  “I think you’re overreacting about the last.” He sighed, but his grip tightened. “All right, but can I at least take you out to dinner tonight? We’ll go someplace where we don’t have to hide the fact that we’re together.”

  Kinley’s heart filled with dizzying warmth at the prospect. Before she could melt into a sappy puddle, she drew back. “Okay, but let me get cleaned up and changed first. I look like shit.”

  Just in time, the elevator doors opened on their floor. Quinn glanced up and down the empty corridors before claiming her lips in a searing kiss.

  So now, instead of ending things with Quinn, Kinley was frantically wondering what the hell she’d wear for their dinner date. She cursed at the twist of fate. He’s going to break my heart.

  That knowled
ge didn’t stop her from dumping her bags on her bed and dashing out of the hotel to the little cluster of shops across the street.

  “This is stupid,” she grumbled, peeking over her shoulder for a sign of the band or crew. “Why am I doing this?”

  Oblivious to her logic, her feet carried her into a boutique filled with flimsy feminine apparel. The store clerk gave her a snotty glance before turning back to admiring her pink manicured nails.

  Kinley got the message: You don’t belong here.

  “No shit,” she whispered, sorting through the racks.

  Still, she had a date tonight, and the stupid girl within her demanded that she make an effort to look good for him.

  I have a date with Quinn Mayne. The thought made her heart seize in her chest. She struggled to breathe as the memories of his intense lovemaking slammed into her consciousness.

  Logic overrode the wave of dreamy desire. If anyone found out she was fucking Quinn, she’d be dubbed a slut and everything she’d worked for in the past few weeks would be tossed out the window. Hell, her website might even suffer.

  Yet here she was.

  Another irritated groan caught in her throat. She hated shopping. The cheery pastel and patterned dresses made her want to hurl even before she glimpsed the outrageous price tags. None of this shit was meant for her.

  Soft satin stroked her fingers. Kinley tugged on the material to reveal a shimmering, deep purple dress. The damn thing was even in her size. Would Quinn like it? Pulling the garment from the rack, she headed to the dressing room.

  After selecting two more outfits, she found herself in the intimates section. The sight of a white lacy teddy with thigh-high stockings and garter belt brought a flood of torrid fantasies. Too bad it cost over a week’s pay. She settled on a sleek, black satin nightgown and a few pairs of lacy underwear.

  The clerk rang up her purchases with a yawn as Kinley withdrew her debit card. She grimaced at the cost. Tucking the bag under her arm, Kinley exited the store, sucking in huge gulps of fresh air.