Kissing Vicious
Author: Brooklyn Ann
Date: 2015-08-20 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Music; Contemporary; Adult
Description: When Kinley Black becomes a roadie for Viciöus, beginning a foray into the unglamorous, male dominated world of heavy metal, she won't escape with her pride or heart intact. It's hard to be one of the guys… Ever since Kinley Black's metal band broke up, bringing her back to only being a co-owner of a metal fan site, she's been dying to get back into the music industry. The opportunity arrives when her interview with Quinn Mayne, lead singer of her favorite band, Viciöus, goes off the rails. If she can beat up a pervy roadie, she can have his job. Kinley has no problem with hard work or being o

THE ROADIE

At 15, aspiring guitarist Kinley Black wished she were a boy. At 16, after hearing Quinn Mayne sing, she wanted him to make her a woman. Now, at 22, her dreams have come true. Quinn’s band Viciöus needs someone to lug their amps around the country, to strive and sweat with the guys. She just has to act like one of them.

AND THE ROCK GOD

Quinn had to admit the new chick could pull her weight, but that didn’t mean his road manager made the right choice. Taking a hottie on a heavy metal music tour was like dangling meat in front of a pack of feral hounds—and Quinn could be part dog himself. But more surprising than her beautiful body are Kinley’s sweet licks, so that no man could help but demand a jam session. Quinn will soon do anything to possess her, and to put Kinley in the spotlight where she belongs. And to keep her safe and sound from the wolves.

PRAISE FOR BROOKLYN ANN

“Following her promising debut (BITE ME, YOUR GRACE), Ann hits her stride with solid writing, a tasty dash of originality, and realistic relationships that zing with sexual energy. A strong sense of fun mixed with a little feminism keeps things lively and light, while the well-developed story keeps eyes on the page.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Ann’s delightful vampire world is a fun place to stop for a swift, lively evening’s enjoyment. Yes, it is a dark world, but with Ann’s propensity for subtle humor and eccentric characters, it’s an enchanting world as well. Four Stars.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Clutch the pearls, ladies. It’s wonderful…I have found a new love in ONE BITE PER NIGHT and Brooklyn Ann’s work. I can’t wait to get my greedy little hands on more of it.”

—Lit Bites

“Brooklyn Ann’s series is a definitely must read.”

—Romantic Reads and Such

“I could not put this book down I became so engrossed in the storyline and all of the colorful characters”

—RomFan Reviews

KISSING VICIOUS

Brooklyn Ann

a HEARTS OF METAL novel

www.BOROUGHSPUBLISHINGGROUP.com

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. Boroughs Publishing Group does not have any control over and does not assume responsibility for author or third-party websites, blogs or critiques or their content.

KISSING VICIOUS
Copyright © 2015 Brooklyn Ann

All rights reserved. Unless specifically noted, no part of this publication may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Boroughs Publishing Group. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or by any other means without the permission of Boroughs Publishing Group is illegal and punishable by law. Participation in the piracy of copyrighted materials violates the author’s rights.

ISBN 978-1-942886-78-5

Dedicated to Karen Ann

(6-11-62 - 2-14-09)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thanks to my editor, Camille Hahn, for providing a home for this story and embracing the not-so-glamorous aspects of the rock ’n’ roll world.

Thanks to my fabulous agent, Nephele Tempest, for all your wise words and encouragement.

Thanks to Kinley Baker, for letting me use your cool name for my heroine.

Thanks so much to my musician friends for their helpful feedback on the music industry: Tommy Rossini, Mason Bundshuh, Kent Butler, Craig Goldy, and Jeremy Wagner.

Thanks to my critique partners: Ashlyn Chase, Rissa Watkins, Bonnie R. Paulson, Shelley Martin, Millie McClaine, Laurie Schneider, and Brigitte De Mouey.

Thanks to my friends and family and my colleagues in the Inland Empire Chapter of Romance Writers of America and Gus’s Pub for all your support.

Finally, thanks to my readers. Writers would be nothing without you.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23

About the Author

KISSING VICIOUS

Chapter One

“C’mon, baby, just let me feel ’em and I’ll let you through.” The leering roadie uncrossed his arms to reach forward.

Kinley choked back a groan of revulsion and stepped away.

Her pulse had been jacked up, her steps light with anticipation as she’d gone backstage to interview her favorite band. This interview would be her website’s biggest feature to date.

And now this asshole roadie was ruining her elation with his disgusting come-ons.

“It’s not the seventies anymore. Let me through.” She waved her laminated pass. “I have a scheduled interview.”

There. That was as diplomatic as she could be. It wouldn’t do to piss off the crew if she wanted to talk to the band, but this Neanderthal made it hard to be nice. With any luck, he’d back off and badger someone else. But considering those piggy eyes and that “Female Body Inspector” shirt, a woman would have to be desperate to allow his grimy fingers near her. The fact that a band as awesome as Viciöus had such a prick in their employ was beyond depressing.

She sighed. After she got her interview, it would all be worth it. Her ears still pounded from the glorious shredding guitar riffs, the throbbing bass, and the impossible speed of the drums. They had been gods on stage and now she was going to meet them.

“Sorry, sugar. Rules are rules. I gotta make sure the band’s getting Grade A titties.” With speed belying his sluggish appearance, he shoved those sausage fingers forward, reaching for her breasts. She swatted his hand away.

Fury boiled from her toes up. “If you touch me again, I’ll wipe the floor with your ass.”

The roadie’s laughter, like from a cheesy sitcom, rang in her ears. “Sounds kinky.” The moron actually stepped closer.

Kinley rolled her eyes. If it weren’t for this once-in-a-lifetime chance, she would have answered him with an uppercut. “A little help here?” she shouted, trying to salvage the situation.

The mass of gawkers muttered and looked in all directions, avoiding her gaze. Some asshole in the crowd yelled, “Show your tits!”

The roadie grinned and nodded in agreement.

“Thanks,” she muttered, embittered but unsurprised.

After what seemed like hours of dancing out of the caveman’s reach, a man approached. Her eyes widened. It was none other than Curtis Scrimm, lead guitarist of Viciöus.

He pushed his dirty blond locks from his face and grinned. “What’s going on?”

She struggled to meet his gaze while keeping one eye on the roadie. “I have a pass, but this guy’s molesting me and won’t let me through. Could you please tell him to stop?”

Kinley waved her laminate in case he hadn’t noticed. He leaned forward and gazed at it with squinty, glazed eyes.

Damn. If he was high, he’d be no help at all.

The roadie gave him a pleading look. “C’mon, Curt, she won’t play the game.”

Curt shrugged helplessly, eyes darting between Kinley and the roadie, then back at the swarm of groupies visibly panting after him. One already had her breasts bared.

“I’m serious,” Kinley growled. “I’ll kick his ass if he touches me again.”

Her harasser licked his lips. “Oooh. I like it when they fight.”

The guitarist shook his head, blinking at the roadie. “Harry, are you drunk on the job again? I thought Gaffer warned you. Besides, she doesn’t look like she has much anyway…” He trailed off as the groupies slinked closer, eyes feral with curiosity.

Kinley’s chest tightened with trepidation. Where were the other security guys? Where was the rest of the band?

The roadie reached for her again.

She jumped out of his way, stomach churning with anxiety. Then again, maybe it was a good thing the rest of the band wasn’t here to witness this disaster. The situation was quickly getting out of control. And it looked like she wouldn’t be getting her interview after all.

“I’ll fuck him up,” she stammered, flipping her braid over her shoulder. “I swear!”

Curtis chuckled, eyes roving over her body, visibly assessing her odds. Though she was tall and fit, she was lean, and the roadie outweighed her by at least eighty pounds. “Lady, if you can kick Harry’s ass, you can have his job.”

Her breath left her lungs. Kinley had been prepared to just break the roadie’s nose and walk out, but now the proverbial carrot had been dangled.

A chance to work for Viciöus? Hell, a chance to be back in music?

A wave of longing rushed over her to once more be part of it all. For that pump of adrenaline, the roar of the crowd, the heat of the stage lights—the soul searing passion of the music. To return to that life, even if only on the fringes, Kinley would do anything.

Beating this perverted scumbag to a pulp would be no hardship.

She dropped into a fighting stance and slightly relaxed her fists, the better to do more damage.

One last time, she tried for diplomacy. “As much as I’d love to work for you, it really would be better to call him off and let me—”

Harry’s porcine hand gripped her breast.

Kinley saw red.

Her fist connected with the roadie’s nose and she felt the satisfying crunch. He bellowed like a boar and blindly swung a ham-like fist.

Kinley easily ducked the punch and followed up with a knee to his gut.

He doubled over with an agonized groan but surprised her with an uppercut that thankfully missed her jaw and instead struck the side of her head. Kinley stumbled back, one ear ringing from the blow, the other echoing from the noise of her audience. Are those cheers or jeers?

Her mind struggled to unscramble. Another punch whistled past her head and she dodged it just in time. Her heel slammed into Harry’s kneecap and he went down shrieking.

This time Kinley didn’t give him a chance to recover. Her fists pummeled his face like the punching bag she practiced on in her garage.

Savage glee infused her with every strike. He collapsed after another blow to the jaw, but she wasn’t finished. Kinley raised her fist.

A voice rang out: “What the fuck is going on here?”

She froze. Quinn Mayne, lead singer of Viciöus, strode forward, his long black hair framing a chiseled, god-like face with green eyes foreboding as a hurricane sky.

Reality crashed down upon her. Suddenly, she could see how insane she must appear.

Heart pulsing, Kinley released the unconscious roadie. His skull thudded on the cement floor as her lips quavered to form a response.

Quinn was her hero. She’d had a full-on crush on him for years. The man was capable of brilliant vocals and shredding guitar riffs—not to mention his stormy good looks. Securing an interview with him had been a dream come true. And now she’d turned it into a nightmare.

A horde of groupies squealed and scurried toward Quinn, but he waved them off. His gaze never left his band. “I’m waiting.”

The audience warbled enthusiastically, albeit with contradictory responses. They fell silent as Brand Kife, the bassist, stepped forward. Broad shouldered and with curling auburn hair, he was almost as handsome as Quinn. “Curt told her to kick his ass…and, well, I was going to step in, but she handled it herself.”

“I didn’t tell her to kick his ass,” Curt interjected. “I said if she can kick his ass—”

“Son of a bitch had it coming,” a new voice intruded. Tony McVries, the drummer, shook his head. “Harry was up to his old shit. Couldn’t keep his hands to himself. This lady gave him fair warning, and then laid his ass out before any of us could do anything.”

Damn, Tony was there too? Too bad he hadn’t intervened. The drummer was built like a brick house. Kinley’s mouth went dry as a question sprang up: How long had the rest of the band been watching?

Quinn’s gaze darted back and forth from his band members to Harry’s pudgy form on the floor—and then to her.

Every time he looked at her, her pulse sped up, his presence stealing the breath from her body.

He’s really there. I am standing here before Quinn Mayne! The girlish voice squealed in the back of her mind. She loathed that voice. That voice made her want to slap herself, now more than ever. She wasn’t going to turn into a stupid simpering groupie just because she was attracted to the guy. This was business.

She took a deep breath and faced Quinn head on. “I tried to get him to leave me alone, but he wouldn’t quit. Then he grabbed my breast and…” She looked down at the bruised and beaten man on the floor. Why hadn’t that asshole just listened? “I just lost it.”

“I’m pretty sure he was drunk again,” Curtis supplied, finally being of some help.

A bearlike, older man came up behind Quinn. “Then that means he’s fired.”

Quinn nodded and turned to Kinley, staring at her with unnerving intensity. The impact of his stormy eyes made her suck in another breath. Heat unfurled within her stomach.

“I’m so sorry about this.” He reached forward to shake her hand, but lowered his arm at the last minute, grimacing at the blood coating her fingers.

Kinley’s face burned in humiliation at the rejection, understandable though it was. She’d anticipated shaking Quinn’s hand since the minute his publicist had approved the interview. Only now, he was clearly repulsed at the idea of touching her.

“What the hell were you all doing when this was going down?” He turned his thunderous gaze on his band mates.

“I…uh…” Curtis shrugged.

Brand flushed. “We really were going to help, but she handled herself just fine. Besides, what do you care about it anyway? Don’t you have interviews and autographs and other shit to do?”

Tony held up his hands. “Hey, man, I told you I wanted to do something but…”

The singer ran an exasperated hand through his thick dark hair. “Are you telling me you just stood here and let Harry harass a chick to the point where she was forced to defend herself?”

One of the groupies stepped forward, wrapping her fingers possessively around Curt’s bicep as she pouted up at Quinn. “They had a bet.”

His frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

Kinley sighed and explained. “Your guitarist said that if I could kick your roadie’s ass, I could have his job.”

“What?” Quinn roared, rounding on Curtis. “Why the hell would you do that? Not only is a deal like that completely fucked up, but since when do you call the shots?”

The big man behind him nodded. “That’s my job, Curt.”

Oh shit! Dread filled her stomach. He must be the road manager.

Quinn frowned at the comatose mess on the floor. “Look. I don’t have time for this clusterfuck. I have an interview in ten minutes.”

The thudding of her heart increased. Kinley opened her mouth to inform him that the interview was with her. All that came out was a pathetic squeak. Thankfully, no one heard. She gritted her teeth. Man up, Kinley.

The manager glared at Brand and Curtis. “When Harry wakes up, get him a bus ticket home. You two are paying for it.”

“Aw, man!” Brand protested.

Quinn silenced him with a glare. “And if he needs medical treatment, that’s on your dime too. You should have stopped this.” He eyed Kinley and sighed. “And she can—”

“We can reschedule our interview, maybe do it online or over the phone,” Kinley finally managed.

Quinn’s expression was one of sublime confusion.

“Our interview. I can reschedule. I…um…” She looked down at her gore-encrusted hands, resisting the urge to wipe them on her jeans. “I need to clean up anyway.”

If he even wanted to talk to her after this. She glanced at the bleeding mess of the roadie. She’d hurt him worse than she’d intended.

The manager burst out laughing. “You’re Kinley Black? The host of Metalness.com? This is too rich.”

Quinn’s gaze returned to Kinley, gleaming with momentary interest before darkening again. “Wait, you’re the one who’s interviewing me?” He shook his head and turned back to his band. “So not only did you assholes let Harry harass a woman, then stood there with your thumbs up your asses while she took care of him, but that woman is a fucking journalist too? What the hell is wrong with all of you?”

Kinley’s spirits sank further. Great, he was seriously pissed off now.

“I didn’t want to get hurt,” Brand replied, eyes twinkling with merriment. “That chick packs a serious punch.”

“Yeah,” Tony added, absently twirling a drumstick. “She handled herself fine.”

“Yeah!” Kinley’s foolish mouth chimed in. “I didn’t need their help. And I’ll handle working for you fine as well.”

Quinn’s eyes widened then narrowed as he spun to face her. His long dark hair hung in his face, making him look dangerous. “That’s all well and good, but what makes you think you can be a roadie?”

His scathing tone sent a prickle of anger up her spine. Kinley squared her shoulders, rising to her full five feet eight inches, and returned his glare. “I happen to have over two years’ experience loading and unloading gear, setting up instruments, working with sound, basic lights, and all the rest.”

“Who did you work for?” Quinn asked.

“Just a small-town band. You wouldn’t know them.” She looked down at her boots.

She didn’t want to reveal that her experience came from being in a local tribute band, and she and her band mates had been their own roadies, by necessity. If Quinn Mayne mocked her for that she’d die from embarrassment.

Defensively she added, “I’ve also worked for five years as a construction laborer, so I’m good with grunt work.”

The manager’s eyes gleamed with interest as he scratched his silver beard. “I see…”

Quinn frowned. “Still, I don’t think—”

“Quinn, may I speak to you in your dressing room for a moment?” the man interrupted with subtle authority before he addressed the other band members. “And could one of you help Ms. Black clean up and show her to the other dressing room? I don’t think it’s a good idea to have her near Harry when he wakes up.”

“I’ll take her.” Tony beckoned for her to follow him.

Normally, Kinley would have been ecstatic to spend time with her favorite drummer. Now, the burning intensity in Quinn Mayne’s eyes continued to haunt her as she followed Tony with a sinking heart. I finally met the man of my most secret fantasies and I blew it.

Chapter Two

Quinn cracked open a beer with so much force he broke the tab. “I don’t like this, Gaffer. I don’t like this at all.”

The road manager fixed him with an implacable stare as he opened his own beer. “I know the situation doesn’t look good, but it could get a lot worse. We don’t want a sexual discrimination lawsuit on our hands. I’ve seen enough of those, and I gotta warn you, they get ugly and the ladies usually win. And if Kinley Black is denied the job, she could get pissy and sue for sexual harassment as well, thanks to Harry’s jackassery. Not to mention the fact that one of your crew ended up in a fight with a fan—a prominent blogger, no less.” His voice lowered, enunciating slowly to emphasize the severity of what he was saying. “That’s bad publicity, Quinn. I don’t need to tell you what that can do. I mean, what if she blogs about what happened tonight?”

Quinn closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, but bringing a woman on the road with us? How will that help us avoid a lawsuit? It’ll be like dangling a bone over a pack of rabid dogs.”

“Come on, Quinn. The guys aren’t animals, though sometimes they smell like ’em. And she may be pretty, but she’s no centerfold.”

“But you know how some guys get when they’ve been on the road awhile and without company. I mean, look what happened to Harry.”

The road manager didn’t answer. Quinn opened his eyes and frowned at Gaffer, who was glued to his phone.

The road manager looked up. “Sorry. I was checking out Ms. Black’s site. It’s really good, actually, and high profile—which is exactly why we need to tread carefully. Now, I could write up a waiver for her to sign so she can’t sue for sexual harassment as long as she’s under our employ. It wouldn’t fly in court for a second, but she likely wouldn’t know that. That could very well change her mind about wanting to work for us.”

Quinn nodded, optimism rising. “Yeah, and you could make the job so hard for her that she’ll give up right away.”

With a big laugh, Gaffer shook his head. “This job is hard enough as it is. I don’t need to make it any worse on her—and I won’t anyway. I’ll be fair to her just like I am with all the newbies. Either she’ll sink or swim. Hell, my initial interview might be enough to scare her away, though I doubt it.”

“Why not?” Quinn couldn’t conceal the frustration in his voice.

“For starters, she worked Harry over real good.” Gaffer’s gray eyes twinkled with obvious merriment at the memory. “Also, her website proves she’s familiar with the music scene. And if she was telling the truth about her experience, she might be capable of handling the job. After all, she’s in great shape—and she’s wearing good work boots. I think they were Georgia’s.”

To his annoyance, Quinn found himself pondering her shape a little too intently. Lithe and muscular, she looked like Lara Croft from the old Tomb Raider games, complete with a long braid of silken dark hair. He frowned. Her shape was a big part of the problem. A man would have trouble keeping his hands off her.

“And what about her website? What if she blogs about what happens on the road?” The more he thought about it, the more it made sense: She was hunting for a scoop to get her website in the spotlight. Why else would a beautiful woman sign up for months of nonstop drudgery?

The road manager interrupted his thoughts. “We’ll make confidentiality another condition for the job. Look, Quinn, if we don’t placate her, things could get ugly.” He continued in a gratingly patient tone. “She got roughed up pretty bad by Harry and her hands are a mess. Given that, it’s unlikely she’ll make it through the night. And if she does, she probably won’t last much longer, considering the tight quarters and grueling schedule of the tour. When she caves, I’ll pay for her ticket home.”

Quinn’s sense of decency railed against the prospect of putting a vulnerable and injured woman to work. Let her rest tonight and start tomorrow, his conscience prodded him. Instead, he bit his tongue and took a deep breath. Discouraging her was the right thing to do.

“Fine. Give her a shot,” he grumbled with feigned indifference. For her sake he prayed she couldn’t handle it.

***

Fist clenched in a death grip on the cold washcloth, Kinley dabbed at her bleeding knuckles and did her best not to fidget on the worn sofa. This night was a disaster. She still couldn’t believe she’d made such an ass of herself in front of Quinn-freaking-Mayne. Oh yeah, and the rest of the band—and their tour manager.

At least Tony had been nice. He’d given her a new Viciöus tour shirt to replace the bloodstained one, and then he escorted her to a restroom and guarded the door while she washed her face and hands. When they’d arrived in the dressing room, he’d grabbed two beers out of the ice bucket and handed her one.

“I want to thank you for kicking Harry’s ass. We’ve all been dying to for a long time, but Gaffer wanted to give the douchebag one more chance since he’s been working with us for so long.” The drummer held up his bottle of Michelob.

“Thanks,” she murmured awkwardly. The cold beer was bliss on her swollen hands.

Tony clinked his bottle against hers. “I also want to say that I love your site. And I think you’re a riot on Twitter. You’re ‘MetalKin,’ right?”

Kinley nodded, torn between awe and dread that the drummer of Viciöus was aware of her online presence. Had he read her giddy status updates before the concert? She’d probably sounded like a dork when she’d raved that she had an exclusive interview with Quinn Mayne. Her chest tightened as an even more disturbing thought emerged.

“Oh, shit,” she groaned. “What am I going to tell my readers? After what I did, Quinn’s never going to give me that interview.”

And what was she going to tell Kat? Her best friend and cohost of the website had been heartbroken that they’d only been given one backstage pass. She’d wanted to meet the opening band, Bleeding Vengeance. She was going to stick around and see if Kinley could get her in, too, but then her asshole boyfriend had called and guilt-tripped her into going home early.

Now Kinley wouldn’t have any good news to cheer Kat up.

She took a big swig of beer to hide her grimace. Hell, Quinn’s probably going to file a restraining order on me.

To her humiliation, Tony nodded in agreement. “Yeah, the interview’s probably a no-go tonight. He’s pretty pissed— at us, not you. But you know how it is. Anyway, I know I’m a poor substitute, but you can interview me right now. And if you get the job, Quinn will probably be willing to do it later when he’s in a better mood. He’s not a bad guy, for a tyrannical bastard, anyway.”

She managed a wan smile, wishing she could share his optimism. “Thanks. And you’re not a poor substitute at all. You’re one of my favorite drummers.”

As she removed her tablet from its case, Kinley fought off another wave of dejection and embarrassment. She should be more grateful that Tony was willing to help.

To add to her torment, her original fantasy meeting with Quinn Mayne whispered through her mind.

His eyes flared in admiration as they met hers, his hand warm and strong in her grasp as she introduced herself. Their conversation flowed so naturally, he asked her out to dinner. His gaze devoured her over the candlelit meal. Unable to part from her company so soon, he invited her to his hotel room. The second the door closed, Quinn pulled her into his arms. Kinley’s hands plunged into his thick hair as his lips came down on hers—

“So what’s the first question?” Tony yanked her from the blissful daydream back into harsh reality.

Kinley forced her focus to the interview template. It was a stupid, girly fantasy anyway.

“What’s been your favorite venue on this tour so far?”

Though she had to change and reword a few of the questions, Tony was an amiable subject and even managed to get her to laugh a few times. He also talked a lot about Quinn. Whether it was to make up for Quinn’s absence or it was just that highlighting the front man was standard marketing policy, she didn’t know. But she was grateful to get to know more about her favorite singer.

“Quinn’s always been the backbone of the band. Without him keeping us on task, we’d never finish an album.” Tony grinned. “Sometimes the guy’s a slave driver.” He stiffened and his eyes widened, obviously realizing it was a bad idea to speak ill of his cohort. “Please, don’t put that in the interview.”

“Put what in the interview?” Quinn’s voice rumbled like thunder as the door opened.

The beer bottle slipped in Kinley’s hands. She caught it before it could spill, grimacing as the pungent liquid splattered her knuckles.

“It’s already forgotten.” She smiled at Tony.

Unable to stop herself, Kinley turned to look at the singer as he entered the dressing room flanked by what appeared to be the entire road crew.

Oh shit, they’re going to escort me out of the building now.

Quinn’s eyes were inscrutable. “We’ve decided to give you a shot, but not at security. The whole reason for tonight’s disaster was that no one believed you were capable of kicking Harry’s ass.” A hint of a smile curved his lips. “We’d prefer to keep the bloodshed to a minimum, so Mike got a promotion and we’ll put you with the sound crew. You’ll be hauling our gear and making sure our patch cords are hooked up right and stay that way during the shows. It’s backbreaking work.”

Kinley fought to keep her legs from trembling in reaction to that smile as she stood.

“I can handle it. Thank you,” she managed with calm dignity, barely resisting jumping with joy and throwing her arms around him.

Still looking disgruntled, Quinn nodded and ran a hand through that gorgeous midnight hair. “Well, I gotta go sign autographs. Gaffer here will take over and get you started. C’mon, Tony.”

Tony high-fived her gently, mindful of her bandages. “Welcome aboard.” He gave her an encouraging smile before following Quinn out the door.

Her gaze traced the singer’s broad back and she fought the urge to pinch herself. I’m going to be working for him.

Gaffer stepped out from the throng of roadies and sent them away with a wave. A few gave her disapproving looks on their way out, but she didn’t give a shit. She’d show them.

“Before we get started, I want to ask you a few questions,” the road manager began.

She nodded cautiously, keeping a tight grip on her euphoria. “Okay.”

“First, do you have anyone at home? A husband or boyfriend? Kids?” His tone was as solemn as if he were asking for her criminal background.

Kinley gave him a respectful nod at the practical question. Families held one back from pursuing this life. Proof of that lay with the breakup of her own band.

“No, there’s no one.” For some reason, she felt a pang of sadness at the words. She hardly spoke to her father anymore and her brothers were busy with their own lives. Straightening her spine, she hardened her heart. No, I’m happy to be alone. It’s the only way to true to myself, not be a man’s slave.

The tour manager nodded, oblivious to her internal struggle. “What about your job?”

She lifted her chin with growing confidence. He was taking her seriously. It was about time someone ignored her lack of a penis and treated her like a capable human being. “I just have the website and I can manage that anywhere as long as there’s an Internet connection.”

Gaffer’s eyes widened. “You bring in that much from the site?”

“My partner and I get a pretty decent amount from advertising and stuff, but not a livable wage. Yet.” She looked down. “I also received an inheritance from my mom.”

“My condolences.”

Kinley shrugged. “She passed away when I was young, but the money didn’t start coming in until I came of age.” Though Mom had been gone for nearly thirteen years, an aching hole gaped in Kinley’s heart, filled with simmering anger at being burdened with the impossible task of taking her mother’s place.

To her relief, Gaffer changed the subject. “Why do you want to be a roadie?”

“I’ve loved music all my life and I want more than anything to be a part of it.” She flinched inwardly. God, that sounds so corny. Recovering herself, she smiled and added, “That, and Viciöus is my favorite band.”

The road manager chuckled. “Well, you might not think they’re so great after being on the road with ’em. They can be a pain in the ass, and they stink just as bad as anyone else in close quarters.” His hazel eyes suddenly turned speculative. “Tell me, Kinley, do you play any music?”

She blinked, startled by the question. “Just a little guitar, but I can only imitate songs I hear. I don’t have the creativity to write my own stuff.” Kat was the real musical genius. “It’s really not worth mentioning on the job application, if there is one.”

“Hmm. I’d like to hear you play sometime.”

An unreasonable fantasy of jamming with the band flitted across her mind. She tamped it down, retaining her grip on reality. “Um, okay.”

He nodded and went on to ask her some questions about her health, then described the less-than-glamorous wages roadies received, as if in an attempt to deter her. But from his tone, Kinley could tell she was in.

Sure enough, Gaffer reached into his pocket and pulled out a crew pass to stick on her shirt. “Okay now. Let’s get you started.”

Holding the pass like a priceless treasure, Kinley forced a dignified nod. She could give in to the giddy squeals later when she told Kat the news. That is, if her friend could get away from that jerk for even five minutes.

As she joined the crew, the other roadies gave her looks ranging from leers to curiosity.

“Did you really beat up Harry?” one of them asked as he helped her carry a speaker cabinet.

She nodded, biting her lip as she adjusted her grip with bandaged hands.

“Impressive. He’s a big dude. Most of us didn’t like him anyway, but Phil did.” The guy shook his head as they loaded the cabinet into the cargo truck. “And now you’re working with us. That’s gotta be the craziest way to get a job I’ve ever heard of.”

She grinned. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Maybe she’d start fitting in sooner than she expected. That hope was dashed when Gaffer called her over to help the guitar tech wind up patch cords.

“Who the fuck are you?” the scrawny, pockmarked guy snarled as she approached.

He must not have been with the others when Quinn announced she got the job. “Kinley Black.” She pointed at her crew pass. “Gaffer told me to help you.”

“Where’s Mike?”

Recognizing the name, she searched her memory. “Uh, Quinn said he got promoted to security to replace Harry.”

He froze at her words. “You mean it’s true? Harry actually got beat up by a girl?” He did a double take at her bruised face. “And they hired you? Un-fucking-believable.”

“Yeah, it was a surprise to me, too, but I’m here, so I’ll get that other cord if you’re just going to sit there.” She smiled to take the bite out of her words, but his attitude still irked her.

He ignored her and jerked a cable out of an amp. “Gaffer must be going senile. Harry was worth ten times what you could be.”

“You must be Phil,” she surmised. Her hands throbbed as she wrapped the electrical cables, giving with a silent prayer of thanks that she remembered the correct method.

“And you must be a bitch.”

Kinley ignored him with gritted teeth and scrambled to obey Gaffer’s barked orders. There were assholes on every job site. It didn’t surprise her that this one and piggy Harry were close.

The pain was soon forgotten as she hefted cases and amps with the same ease as the rest of the crew, earning respectful glances from a few of her new coworkers and indifference from the rest. She cast a longing look at the guitars—Quinn played a Fender Stratocaster and Curt, a B.C. Rich, and they used an incredible array of pickups that she’d never seen before. Looking away before she could torture herself further, she heaved a sigh of envy as Phil finally got up off his ass and handled those delectable pieces of equipment.

***

Quinn’s breath caught in his throat as Kinley crouched down, presenting him with a view of her denim-clad backside. The muscles in her thighs tightened beneath the material as she lifted the Marshall amp with more care than any roadie had taken before.

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 something. 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.

“See you tomorrow, when we’re back on the road,” he said as he handed over her laptop case and backpack.

“Yeah,” she managed weakly.

He gave her a quick nod before striding off to the hotel like he couldn’t wait to get away from her. Kinley stared at the monstrous tour bus. It was bigger than a Greyhound.

“C’mon.” Gaffer brought her attention back to the forefront. “I’ll show you your bunk.” He scratched his beard, suddenly looking awkward. “Look, if there are any problems with the guys, let me know, okay?”

She bristled at his solicitous tone. “I can handle it.”

He laughed, undaunted at her ire. “I’m sure you can, but try to leave them in good enough shape to do their jobs. Deal?”

She couldn’t help but return his smile. She held out her hand and shook his. “Deal.”

Every inch of Kinley’s skin itched from the scrutiny of the other roadies as she entered the back of the tour bus. The rank odor of BO permeated her nostrils, making her eyes water. Gaffer had been right about it being smelly.

Her new coworkers continued to stare, tracking her every move.

“You got Harry’s old bunk,” one said while the rest chuckled.

Once she threw back the blanket, she understood the reason for their laughter. The bunk was littered with crusty socks and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what they’d been used for. A sour stench, worse than the BO, emanated from the area.

Kinley refused to quail before them. “It’s a good thing I recently got my tetanus shot,” she quipped for their amusement.

One of the guys laughed. “Think you can handle sleeping there?”

“What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger.” Cursing under her breath, she grabbed two plastic grocery bags from the wastebasket. Using one as a glove, she retrieved the bunk socks and tossed them in the other bag. With that repulsive chore completed, she threw the blanket back over the bunk. There was no way she was getting near those sheets.

Pulling out her phone, she searched for the nearest Laundromat. She would get this bedding cleaned first thing in the morning. Hell, maybe she’d just buy new.

“You can sleep in my bunk,” one of them offered.

“I don’t mix business and pleasure.” Kinley frowned at the screen. The closest Laundromats were closed and didn’t open until six in the morning. “What time are we headed out?”

“I think around ten. Depends on how late the groupies keep ’em up.”

A sudden image of Quinn Mayne with skanky bimbos frolicking in his lap struck her with the force of a baseball bat. Bile filled her gut as white hot rage engulfed her heart. She sucked in a breath and cursed herself. Why the hell should I care? That’s what rock stars do, for Christ’s sake. But thank God they’re in a hotel and not here.

One of the roadies raked his gaze across her body and licked his lips. “You can keep me up.”

“No thanks.” Kinley set an alarm and curled up on the bunk using her coat as a blanket. She kept her pocket knife clenched in her fist in case the guys got any ideas.

“Damn, you’re a cold bitch, aren’t you?”

“Careful man,” another said to the pervy one. “Did you hear what she did to Harry?”

Kinley pretended to sleep, though with the stench of the bus, the pain in her hands, and her raging emotions, such a thing would be impossible.

Despite his cold, autocratic attitude, even just the thought of Quinn Mayne made her fill with heat. It was gonna be hard to be one of the guys when he made her feel like such a girl. But she would die before he ever found out she was attracted to him. And she vowed to work circles around the rest of his crew.

Chapter Four

Quinn struggled to concentrate on jamming with Curt as they neared The Gorge in George, Washington.

As the bus pulled up beside another nearly identical bus, Gaffer cursed. “Damn, I was hoping we’d beat them.”

Quinn smiled and opened a notebook, making a check mark next to the list of gigs. “Bleeding Vengeance and crew score another point, but we’re still in the lead.”

“We need to be, and not to win the silly game you and your crew have going on with theirs,” Gaffer said sternly. “You’re the headliner. You need to be done with the load-in before they can start.” Getting up from his seat, he went to the back of the bus to gather the crew.

Tony sighed before stretching and rising from his seat. “Whatever. Let’s get this show started.”

Quinn lingered behind the others as they piled off the bus, watching Kinley make her way down the steps behind Phil. She had her head down and her hands in her pockets, trying to look tough, but from the fine tremble in her arms, he could tell she was nervous. The bruise on her face from her fight with Harry had darkened to an angry purple. His fists clenched at the sight of it, a primal wave of protectiveness coursing through him.

How had her first night gone? Had any of the road crew harassed her? He eyed the other roadies and was somewhat reassured at their lack of black eyes and split lips.

Fighting the urge to hang back and reassure her, Quinn quickened his pace, ignoring Gaffer’s questioning look.

He’d looked at her website last night, but she hadn’t posted anything since before she came to the concert. Giddy enthusiasm had emanated from her every word, making him feel a twinge of guilt for postponing their interview. Still, he wanted to see what she posted next.

Bleeding Vengeance waited backstage, eyeing Quinn’s band smugly. “We beat you again,” Cliff Tracey, the lead singer, said.

“We’re still ahead,” Quinn replied.

“Your roadies still better hustle.”

Oblivious to the singer’s posturing, Curt rushed forward to greet the guitarist, Lefty Swanson. Curt and Lefty were best friends and inseparable when not touring. As touching as their friendship looked, Quinn couldn’t help but think it was bad for Curt. Every time he and Lefty hung out, Curt did way more coke than usual. Sure enough, both took off to the dressing rooms, rubbing their noses in tandem.

Quinn, Brand, and Tony greeted the other three members of Bleeding Vengeance. Roderick Powell, the drummer, high-fived them all and Klement Burke, the bassist, chattered amiably before asking if they wanted to smoke a bowl before their sets.

They fell silent as the roadies filed inside with the gear.

Cliff’s dark eyes widened as he stared at Kinley. “When did you get that one?” Licking his lips, he added, “I’d love for her to handle my equipment.”

Resisting the sudden urge to punch Cliff in the face, Quinn cleared his throat and answered, “We hired her after the Spokane show. Harry didn’t work out, so she stepped in.” He didn’t elaborate.

Klement eyed him speculatively, as if he knew that Quinn was leaving out a huge chunk of the story. Unsurprising, since the guy was a certified genius—the undisputed brain behind the band.

Instead of pressing him for more information, the bassist glanced at Kinley and nodded. “She looks like a hard worker, and smarter than your last one,” he said with no desire in his voice. “How’s Phil working out?”

Phil was Klement’s sister’s nephew by marriage and had high dreams of a rock ’n’ roll life. Bleeding Vengeance already had a guitar tech, but Quinn’s had quit to get married, so he took Phil on as a favor to his friend and colleague.

Quinn scratched the back of his neck, weighing his words. “Honestly, I don’t think the kid’s going to make it. He’s too short tempered and can’t get my guitar tuned the way I want it. I’m trying to give him a fair shot, but…”

“It’s all good. That’s all I promised my sister. Just let me know when you’ve found a replacement for him. I’ll pay for his ticket home. And I still owe you one.”

The bassist stalked off to talk with the house sound engineer, doubtless to nitpick on the mix settings. Quinn pitied the guy, though he had to admit, since touring with Bleeding Vengeance, Viciöus had never sounded better.

Quinn followed the rest of Bleeding Vengeance behind the stage area, wondering which one he should get for Kinley to interview. Cliff and Roderick were definitely out. He wouldn’t trust them alone with her for a second. He put off the decision. He should probably let her interview him before any of them. After all, he’d been scheduled with her first.

***

Kinley’s heart raced as she scrambled to keep up with the rest of the road crew. Then she froze, breath caught in her throat at the site of the Gorge Amphitheater. The main stage rested before the Columbia River Gorge, sunlight from the river shimmering on the metal stage and the canyon walls beyond. The Cascade Mountains reigned off in the distance like a magical land.

She’d been to a few shows here, but by the time she’d arrived, the area around the stage was always packed with fellow fans. Now, with only the tour buses and the trucks with the gear, the grassy hilled region surrounding the stage was incredibly vast. And the canyon, holy shit. She stared, breathless, at the magnificent vista.

Gaffer’s voice barked into her consciousness. “Yeah, I know it’s pretty, but you can gawk later. It’s time to get to work. The audience will start showing up soon.”

Ashamed, Kinley straightened her spine like a soldier coming to attention. A sigh of relief escaped her when she realized Gaffer wasn’t scolding only her. The rest of the road crew had also remained frozen in awe at the sight of the gorgeous venue.

She’d never done an outdoor gig before. She felt a momentary pang of dread at the prospect of being rained on, but thankfully the sky was cloudless and pristine blue. There was a nip in the early May air and she shivered, wishing she’d brought her hoodie. Following the others, she headed to the trailer to start unloading the gear.

The cargo truck had backed up near the entrance and parked beside one of several long shed-like structures on either side of the stage. Kinley hadn’t noticed them during her previous visits. Her attention had been focused entirely on whatever band was playing.

When she and the crew began unloading the truck and hauling the gear inside, she saw that the sheds were pretty much the same as the backstage areas at indoor venues. There were even walled-off sections to serve as the bands’ dressing rooms.

And speaking of bands, Bleeding Vengeance stood in the center of the room, chatting with Viciöus like old pals. As they had departed just before Kinley got started on the job back in Spokane, she hadn’t seen them in person yet, aside from on stage. She couldn’t help but stare, though she told herself she was only taking mental notes to share with Kat. Bleeding Vengeance was her friend’s favorite band.

Cliff Tracey, the singer, gave her a dazzling smile meant to make her melt. Kinley remained unaffected. Cliff was Kat’s crush. Seeing Cliff standing next to Quinn, Kinley decided Kat was crazy. Quinn was way sexier. Just looking at him made her heart flutter. She struggled to tamp down the sensation. Now that she was working for him, she had to get over her silly crush on the guy.

Cliff said something to Quinn, and the drummer tipped her a wink before turning back to his colleagues. The bassist glanced at her and then said something to the others. Kinley had the disturbing sensation they were talking about her.

Praying they weren’t mocking her, she lifted her chin and forced her concentration on her work, refusing to look in their direction until they departed for whatever served as the green room here.

Her focus only faltered once, when Klement passed her and approached Joe, the head sound tech, and another guy who must be Bleeding Vengeance’s sound engineer to discuss the EQ channels and other settings on the mixing board.

In rapid-fire technical jargon, the bass player proceeded to direct the sound guys to make a dizzying array of adjustments and tweaks, cutting off all arguments with a stream of logic that had both men nodding sullenly and obeying. Once everything was to his satisfaction, the bassist nodded and strode off.

Kinley closed her gaping mouth and shook her head. Dude sounded just like tech support for their website. She always made Kat talk to the guy because she couldn’t understand half of what he said.

Joe sighed and scratched the stubble on his chin. “Goddamn, that guy is such a pain in the ass. I mean, I know he’s right, but Jesus!”

The other tech nodded. “At least you don’t have to deal with him for every show. I swear, if he was able to be in two places at once, he’d be running all the mixers and on stage playing bass at the same time.” He paused, considering. “At least he always has good weed.”

Some of Bleeding Vengeance’s road crew stepped in to help with the load-in while the rest held back and watched. The two crews exchanged stories about what it was like working for the bands while bantering amiably about which band was better. Aside from a few curious glances, Kinley was pretty much ignored, so she stayed on Gaffer’s heels taking direction as to where she could be the most useful.

With an outdoor venue, wiring up the amplifiers, mixers, and PAs was a little different, but between Joe’s and Gaffer’s helpful instructions, she felt fairly confident she pulled it off. They were ready for the sound check just as the security guys and the food and beer vendors arrived.

Kinley stood on the stage for a moment, gazing out at the vast hilly grassland that would soon be filled with thousands of fans. Closing her eyes, she imagined herself on stage holding her guitar, playing for a crowd this size.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Gaffer said beside her.

Dragging herself away from the daydream, she nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“It’s time for us to get out of the way so Bleeding Vengeance can do their load-in.”

As the crew for Bleeding Vengeance began hauling in their gear, Kinley offered to help. All scornfully refused—except for one who said he could use help with the equipment in his pants. Rolling her eyes, she cleared out of the way and occupied herself with watching the parking lot fill up with eager fans.

Joe tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey, Kin, come help me up here.” He pointed at one of the raised pavilions behind the mosh pit.

“You got it!” she said eagerly and followed the sound engineer up the hill and under the roped-off area surrounding the lower one. She didn’t care what Joe wanted her to do. From there she could see the whole stage unencumbered.

Bleeding Vengeance’s sound engineer was already behind the mixing boards, looking hassled as Klement stood over his shoulder making adjustments to the sliders.

“Don’t touch anything,” he told them sternly before his mood abruptly shifted and he pulled out a pipe with a grin. “Wanna puff?”

Kinley shook her head, but the sound engineers eagerly nodded. Once they finished smoking, Klement departed to get ready for the show. Two men in security uniforms escorted the bassist back to the stage as fans began to fill the area below the pavilion.

“What do I need to do?” Kinley asked Joe.

“Gaffer wants you to get better acquainted with the mixing boards, so when Viciöus goes on, I’ll show you the system. For now, we can kick back and watch the show.”

A lighting technician came in then and she watched him set up.

When Bleeding Vengeance mounted the stage, it was all she could do not to cheer along with the crowd. Cliff greeted the audience with a roar as Klement ripped into an insane bass riff that was so fast, his fingers were a blur. Lefty matched him riff by riff. There seemed to be something magical about The Gorge—this performance was even better than the Spokane show. She wished she could record a video on her phone and send it to Kat. That probably wasn’t allowed. But maybe she’d get a chance to interview one of them.

By the time Bleeding Vengeance finished their encore and took their bow, Kinley’s adrenaline was through the roof. Viciöus took the stage and she bit back a gasp. Like a Greek god, Quinn overpowered her consciousness. It took every bit of her will to concentrate on what Joe was explaining to her about how to operate the mixing board. The thing was three times the size of the ones she’d used at bar gigs—and a million times more complex. She learned a few things, but most of it went over her head. Kat had always been better at this sort of thing.

Too soon, the show was over.

Chapter Five

Yet again Quinn found himself watching the roadies load up the gear. Well, one roadie in particular. Kinley moved across the stage with sleek grace as she double-checked the amp hookups. He watched her hook up the speaker cords, a blissful smile curving her lush lips as she tapped her foot along to the rhythmic chanting of the crowd in the stadium.

Despite the grueling work, she loved this—it was clear. She loved it as much as anyone who lasted in the business.

To his relief, she seemed to be keeping to her word. Last night, she’d posted her interview with Tony and made no mention that she was now working for his band.

Quinn ran a hand through his hair and sighed. She was working out better than he’d expected. Hell, she was working out better than most of the roadies he’d known in his career. And she was infinitely more fascinating.

Their gazes met and immediately a spark of desire shivered through his form. He knew he should look away, but like a magnet, she held his attention.

He frowned. Why was he so interested in her anyway? Chicks had been throwing themselves at him since the first time he stood on a stage with his guitar. Now that he was a millionaire, before taxes anyway, he could take his pick. A-list actresses had flirted with him, for Christ’s sake. Yet he hadn’t taken them up on their offers lately. In fact, it had been awhile since he’d taken anyone up.

Maybe it was just ennui. For the past twelve years, he’d placed all his focus on putting together a killer band, writing songs to top the charts, being a mega rock star, and living the dream of sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.

Now that he had all of that, where was there to go? The next album, of course, he answered himself while shunting away the other implications of the question.

Maybe Kinley reminded him of where he’d started. Seeing the determination evidenced in her hard work and the sheer hunger in her eyes made him remember his own. The question was: What did she hunger for? Surely not being a manual laborer.

“Shouldn’t you be chatting with your fans?” Gaffer’s amused voice pulled him from his ruminations.

“I will in a minute.” He winced at his defensive tone and lit a cigarette. “I just wanted to check in on our new crew member.”

The road manager grunted. “The girl’s a trooper. I mean, she was hopeless at operating the mixers when I tried her out with that, but she busts ass with the grunt work and is a damn quick learner.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.” Quinn continued to watch her. “Whoever she worked for before must have been real small time.”

At his words, Kinley flinched as if slapped. He felt a momentary pang of embarrassment for talking about her as if she weren’t there, but it was quickly overshadowed by confusion at her extreme reaction. She herself admitted the band she worked for were nobodies. Why take it so personally then?

“I never asked her who she worked for before.” Quinn tried to sound nonchalant despite his sudden curiosity on the matter. “Well, I did, but she never gave me a clear answer. Did you ever talk to her about that?”

Gaffer shook his head and gave Quinn an odd smile. “No. Maybe you should.”

Unbidden, his gaze returned to Kinley.

She was packing up his guitar. That was supposed to be Phil’s job. But she handled his Fender with such care that he didn’t mind. She placed the Stratocaster in its case with the reverence it deserved. With long, delicate fingers, she stroked the instrument like a lover. Shivers ran down his spine as he imagined her touching him like that.

“Is she having problems with the rest of the crew?” He refrained from asking the real question: Had any tried to climb in her bunk yet?

“None of them were thrilled at first to be working with a chick, but most seemed to have adjusted. Especially with her being so easy on the eyes.” Gaffer chuckled. “You playing guardian angel?”

Quinn shook his head, about to retort, when another roadie approached Kinley with an obvious leer. Grinding his teeth, Quinn moved forward to put a stop to it.

Gaffer seized his arm, holding him back with bear-like strength. “You have to let her handle herself.”

“But—” The protest died in his throat as he watched her do just that.

Kinley eyed him with a cold glare, but her voice remained calm and professional. “I told you I’m not interested.”

The roadie shrugged and moved on, but then Phil charged up to her with a sneer. “What are you, some kind of dyke or somethin’?”

She shook her head. “I’m as straight as the pole your mom dances on.”

With that epic comeback, she returned to her work as the rest of the crew burst into laughter. Phil’s face turned an alarming shade of crimson. His mouth gaped and moved soundlessly like a dying fish.

“See,” Gaffer said merrily. “I told you she could handle them.”

But as Quinn saw the rabid fury in Phil’s eyes, he wasn’t so sure.

***

The back of Kinley’s neck tingled as she wrapped the patch cords, winding them over and under so they’d remain flat when unrolled. On the pretext of moving her braid over her shoulder, she glanced up to see Quinn Mayne standing in the shadows of the industrial speaker cabinets, watching her with an intensity that made her shiver. That man was far too good looking. And why was he staring at her anyway?

Was he still mad at her for insisting on taking this job? Or was she doing something wrong? She knew she wasn’t supposed to handle his guitar, but Phil was busy hanging out with Bleeding Vengeance. She’d heard he was related to the bassist somehow. Her neck ached with the effort to keep her eyes pointed straight ahead and not to turn and ogle him.

Gaffer approached with his clipboard, grinning as he kept track of the gear. He looked like he was amused by her efforts.

“What’s so funny?” She wiped her brow, unable to hide the irritation in her voice.

“The other boys are busting their asses trying to keep up with you.” Gaffer chuckled from behind her as she started rolling up more patch cords. “Damn, Kin, I’m so glad I hired you. The crew’s never worked so hard.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy.” She inclined her head toward Quinn, who was still standing there frowning at her. “He certainly isn’t.” She tried to hide her glum tone. What the hell was he doing here? Why wasn’t he on the bus with his groupies?

Gaffer followed her gaze and laughed again before bending down and lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone. “Yeah, he really didn’t want a pretty gal like you on the road. I had to scare him with the possibility of a sexual harassment and discrimination lawsuit to get him on board.”

“You did what?” she practically wheezed as her throat locked up in humiliation. Christ, no wonder Quinn was pissed. Nobody should be coerced like that.

“Yup.” He nodded proudly. “He wasn’t happy. Either way, it doesn’t matter how he feels about it. Except for the drum and guitar techs, the band has no say in who I hire.”

“Um, I better get these loaded up.” Looping the coils of cords over her shoulder, she strode off to the truck before she did something stupid. Like punching the road manager.

Tossing the cords in the corner of the compartment with the rest, she darted around to the side of the cab and leaned against it. Burying her face in her hands, she muffled a growl. Gaffer was wrong. The band should have a say in who handled their equipment and who they had to be stuck with on the bus. The fact that they’d been all but blackmailed into taking her on made her gut twist in humiliation. Here she was thinking the band agreed to her being a roadie because she did a good job when Gaffer gave her a shot. Her arms dropped to her sides in resignation. She was such an idiot.

“You okay?” Quinn’s voice made her jump with a startled yip.

Irritated with the girly noise she’d made, she snapped, “No, I’m pissed. I thought I was hired after I proved myself on the job that first night, not because you were scared of a fucking lawsuit.”

“Well, what else would you expect?” His tone was infuriatingly reasonable, as if he were talking to a child throwing a tantrum.

She spread her hands wide in the universal “duh” gesture. “I don’t know, maybe having a job based on my own merits?” Her eyes suddenly prickled with unshed tears. It wasn’t fair. Would her gender always prevent her from being seen as a capable human being? Shoulders slumped in defeat, she bit off her tirade. ”You don’t have to deal with my unwanted presence any more. I’m packing my stuff and I’ll be out of here as soon as I can get a ride to the nearest bus station.”

Blinking back the tears, she turned away from him before she did something unforgivably girly like crying in front of him.

Quinn seized her arm and pulled her closer. “No.”

“Excuse me?” Outrage at his aggressive behavior coupled with heat at his touch churned her belly with conflicting emotions.

He withdrew his hand like he’d been burned. “I’m sorry. I mean, please don’t leave because of that. You really are here now on your own merits. You did prove yourself. Gaffer says you’re doing a good job. He doesn’t want to lose you.”

“Yeah, but you do.” She didn’t know why she said that out loud. The last thing she wanted was a pity party. Despite that logic, her mouth continued to run away from her. “You’ve made it perfectly clear that you don’t want me here. And I don’t want to be inconveniencing someone I’ve looked up to for so many years.”

He raised a brow but didn’t bother denying the fact. “It didn’t seem to bother you before.”

“Well, maybe I’m tired of you standing around, glaring at me all the time.” She frowned up at him. And tempting me with the urge to walk up to you and kiss you.

Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not glaring, and I really do appreciate the work you do. I just have other concerns.” He looked like he would elaborate, but then he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, it doesn’t matter how I or the rest of the band feels about it. We have no say on the hiring and firing of our road crew. That’s Gaffer’s call.”

“Yeah, he reminded me of that.”

He laughed at her words, a husky, velvety sound that made her tremble with renewed desire. “Yeah, he enjoys reminding everyone of that. So I don’t want to hear another word about you ditching us without Gaffer’s say-so.” Reaching out awkwardly, he smacked her lightly on the back like she really was one of the guys. “Now let’s head out. It’s time for the fun part of the job.”

“What’s the fun part?” she asked dizzily, knocked off balance by his sudden kindness and charm.

“The party. There’s a couple cold kegs waiting for us in a reserved area of the campground.” He gave her another one of those smiles that turned her belly inside out and headed off to finish the meet and greet with his fans.

Kinley watched the muscles in his broad back moving beneath his shirt as he walked away. Now that he was speaking to her with respect, talking to her like she was a person, it was even harder to view him in a solely professional manner.

She reached into her pocket to call Kat, and laughed when her phone rang the second her hand closed over it. Obviously her friend was dying to find out how things were going.

“Hi Kat,” she answered.

The voice that replied made her regret not checking the caller ID first. “What is this I hear about you taking off with some hotshot band?”

“Hi Dad,” she said weakly.

“Did you get tired of your silly Internet thing and decide to become a groupie for real?” he continued his tirade.

“Dad—”

“What would your mother think, squandering her inheritance—?”

“Dad!” she shouted, flinching at the mention of her mom. “I’m not a groupie. I got a job as a roadie.”

“A roadie?” His scorn permeated the airwaves. “Don’t tell me you’re going back to grunt work. Damn it, I don’t see why you can’t get a decent job as a secretary. I told you my company would give you a shot. Or better yet, find a husband and settle down. You’re not getting any younger.”

“I’m twenty-three.”

“Your mother was eighteen,” he protested, as if this fact proved his point. “And I keep telling you, if you’re that desperate for money, you are welcome to come back home. God knows I need help around the house, especially when your brothers come home on breaks from school.”

Oh no, not this again. “Good-bye, Dad.” Kinley pressed the end-call button so hard her phone creaked in protest.

Her hands shook so much that she had to fumble to get it back in her pocket. She made a beeline for the tour bus, needing a drink like never before.

Nothing she did would be good enough for dear old dad. Because she was never going to compare to her mother—that perfect epitome of womanhood. To hear him talk, Sarah Black was a saint. What didn’t help is that Kinley’s memories of her mom made her inclined to agree.

Mom always had a serene smile, never a hair out of place, and she smelled like jasmine. Dinner was on the table at six every night, and even though she worked constantly to keep the house immaculate, she always found time to kiss wounds, help with homework, and sing lullabies to Kinley and her brothers.

Kinley was eleven when a car accident claimed her mother’s life. Though she was struck nearly comatose with grief, she grew to almost loathe her mom, as her father demanded that Kinley take over that role. Suddenly there were diapers to change, meals to cook, beers to fetch, and endless chores.

She would have run away from home if she hadn’t met Kat in a school-mandated support group for kids who’d lost parents. Kat’s stepdad had died from smoke inhalation after pulling his wife and daughter out of their burning house. First the girls bonded through mutual grief. Then, when Kat invited her over after school, they bonded over music. The day Kinley first heard heavy metal was immortalized in her memory.

They’d sprawled on Kat’s bed, which was simply a mattress on the floor, and sifted through her stepdad’s music collection, one of the few things to survive the fire.

“Listen to these guys.” Kat pulled out a CD featuring a skeleton in a tuxedo standing near a nuclear warhead. Megadeth was emblazoned on the cover. The moment she pushed play, Kinley was entranced at the symphonic guitars, the snarling vocals, the pounding drums, the throbbing bass, and the harmonious savagery of each song.

The euphoria settled so heavily in her soul that when she got home and her father screamed at her because dinner was late, she only nodded placidly and started a casserole, humming “Peace Sells” as she cooked.

From that day on, music became her escape. It saved her from impotent rage and soul crushing despair countless times, like when she’d asked if her brothers could help with the chores and Dad had scoffed, insisting that taking care of the house was woman’s work. Or the time he refused to let her go see Pantera with Kat because that wasn’t something fit for a lady.

Lady and girl became bad words to Kinley. She spent hours locked in her room, blaring her favorite bands and playing air guitar until the futile rage ebbed away. Eventually, she and Kat got real guitars, fully intending to become the next big metal band.

Each night, she prayed to God to turn her into a boy, even more fervently when her body changed and the blood flowed.

That particular prayer ebbed away when, at the age of sixteen, Kat snuck Kinley away to her first concert—and she laid eyes on the front man of the opening band. The moment she beheld Quinn’s godlike beauty and heard his rich and powerful voice, hot and cold shivers raced up her spine, and her belly swirled with the strangest warmth. She stared at him, enraptured, until he left the stage. Even then she had trouble focusing on the headlining band.

“What’s wrong with you?” Kat had asked after the show as Kinley walked in a daze to the concessions stand where T-shirts and posters were being sold. “Ah,” she said as Kinley bought a wall poster of Quinn Mayne.

Hormones may have won out, she thought grimly later as she gazed at the poster on her wall and practiced her guitar chords, but at least they didn’t stop her from focusing on her dreams. If anything, Quinn functioned as an imaginary muse. Having a girlish crush on him at least was safe.

That former sentiment pulled Kinley from her reminiscing. It wasn’t safe anymore.

Her gaze found Quinn in the crowd. Dressed in a ratty King Diamond T-shirt and ripped jeans, he still managed to look godlike. Her belly turned over like she was sixteen again. It wasn’t fair.

Before anyone caught her staring, Kinley grabbed another beer and pulled out her phone to call Kat. She needed to chew her partner out for spilling the beans to Dad. A smile tugged her lips. And she had to tell Kat all about the Gorge show.

Chapter Six

The party at the Gorge campground was a hedonistic affair. Bonfires blazed, booze flowed, beautiful women, barely clothed and eager to please, flocked to the bands and crews, and drugs were available for the asking.

For some reason Quinn couldn’t seem to take his usual pleasure in the rock star debauchery. The sense of ennui that had been nagging at him became a living, haunting thing, along with a sense of something else, some need that refused to define itself in his mind.

Quinn disengaged himself from a pair of bombshells who could have been a guaranteed threesome as Kinley once more caught his eye.

She’d been milling around the outskirts of the party for awhile, looking out of place and somewhat lonely. For a brief time, she’d stand near a group of people, soaking in the conversation with inquisitive interest, only to wander off when no one invited her to contribute.

He’d seen this dynamic before. If a woman wasn’t an industry professional or the wife of a band member, they were seen as objects of pleasure for the band and crew.

For those who hadn’t noticed Kinley’s crew badge, she’d be seen as a groupie with a surprising lack of makeup and too much clothing. For the ones who did, she still remained an outsider. After all, they couldn’t really discuss all the nice tits in the crowd with a woman, especially one who worked circles around half of them. Still, that didn’t stop a few from making advances, which she coolly rebuffed.

At least she hadn’t beaten anyone up yet. His half smile faded. Maybe she wasn’t the rabble rouser he’d taken her for. How far did Harry provoke her? How long did she have to put up with his shit before being forced to fight back?

His little sister couldn’t have fought back. Not against that many. No one could have, not even Kinley. That thought grew even more disturbing as he watched her retreat into the shadows.

Someone had to keep an eye on her, for her own good.

Quinn found her, beer in hand, talking on the phone in a quiet corner. The conversation simultaneously softened and animated her features. Gone was the diligent automaton with the stiff upper lip and defensive posture. In its place was a beautiful woman, rife with enthusiasm interspersed with glints of mischief.

Something the person on the phone said made her smile. And then she laughed, an uninhibited, joyous sound that sent chords of longing thrumming through his soul.

Who was she talking to? Who had elicited such liveliness from this serious creature? A friend, relative—or a boyfriend?

Thoughts of the latter gave him an odd twinge of discomfort. Oh hell, was he jealous? She was an employee, for Christ’s sake. Quinn ran a hand through his hair. No, he thought as he watched her put away her phone and go back to skirting the edges of the party. He just felt sorry for her.

It wouldn’t hurt to give her some company. He grabbed two more beers from the cooler before heading in her direction.

Kinley must have been lost in thought because she jumped when he approached.

“Quinn. What’s up?”

“Not much. How are you enjoying the party?”

“It’s amazing. I think the bonfires make it rowdier than the usual.”

“How many have you been to?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

“Five. The last four were for interviews for Metalness, but the first was back when I was sixteen and won backstage passes to Megadeth.”

“That had to have been awesome! I love Megadeth! What was it like?”

The corner of her mouth lifted in bemusement. “What do you mean? You opened for them during Thrashfest. Surely you’ve met them.”

“Yeah, but not at sixteen when my goal in life was to learn their riffs.” And to keep his family from starving. “So what was it like?” he asked again.

“Not quite the orgy this is, but still an eye opener. It was cool to meet the band and hang out with them like regular guys.” Her gaze grew distant with nostalgia. “It was then that I realized I wasn’t content with just being a fan. I wanted to…to be part of that world.”

The longing in her voice found a familiar chord in his heart, reminding him how he’d felt the first time he picked up a guitar. He decided to give her the most helpful advice possible. “Without skills above grunt work, you might have a tough time getting another roadie job after the tour.” His next words came unbidden. “Want me to show you how to tune a guitar? If you pick that up, you’ll be a more valuable employee.”

“Right now?” Her eyes seemed to glow in the firelight. “S-sure, that would be great.”

Quinn fetched his acoustic and the electric tuner from the bus along with two camping chairs. Kinley set the chairs next to a nearby fire.

He showed her how to hook up the tuner and then plucked a string. “Okay, the E string is a little flat, just as I expected. See how the tuner needle is pointed a little to the right?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded in agreement. Something in her gaze made it seem like she was humoring him.

Watching her long fingers, scraped up from hard work, wrap around the tuner, he couldn’t help wanting her to grip something else. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What the hell was wrong with him? He should have let Kinley walk away from the job—dejected but safe. The tour would have been so much more peaceful if he had. But the heartbreaking longing in her eyes, coupled with the fact that she was truly one hell of a worker, made him ignore all practicality.

“Now just barely turn the E peg counterclockwise…just like that!” He couldn’t hide his surprise. Most people took several tries to get it right.

Phil approached them, his face scrunched up in a disconcerting combination of suspicion and accusation. “Why are you showing her how to tune a guitar? She’s not replacing me, is she?”

I wish, Quinn thought. Phil was an obnoxious bastard, and barely mediocre. Instead, Quinn winked at Kinley before replying with what had become the slogan of the night. “No, that’s Gaffer’s call.”

Kinley laughed, a deep, throaty sound that made him stir with desire.

Phil, not getting the joke, frowned even more. He seemed extra fidgety tonight, crossing and uncrossing his arms and picking at a zit on his chin.

Quinn sighed. “I’m just giving her another useful skill.”

“I don’t see why a grunt needs to learn how to tune a guitar, or why she gets to have private lessons from you.” Phil’s voice switched from petulant to sleazy as his gaze raked down Kinley’s form. “Unless maybe—”

Gaffer seized the guitar tech’s shoulder. “You’ve been acting twitchier than normal all night. What are you on and who gave it to you?”

“Nothing!” He pulled away, looking like a twelve-year-old caught skipping school.

The road manager was implacable. “Go back to the bus until you come down. We’ll talk later.”

“Meth?” Quinn asked, unable to hide his dismay.

Gaffer nodded. “Pretty sure. I saw him hanging out with the house light crew and they looked spun as tops.”

“Find out if it was his first time. If it wasn’t…” Quinn didn’t need to finish the sentence. Tweekers weren’t allowed on his crew. Curt’s coke habit was enough to deal with.

“I’ll do my best, though it’s hard to tell with Phil.”

Quinn rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it. That guy is moodier than a—” He broke off, realizing Kinley wouldn’t appreciate the sexist analogy.

“Than a what?” she asked with a raised brow.

“Than a stockbroker going through a midlife crisis,” he improvised quickly.

Gaffer chuckled. “That’s a good one! I like that.”

Quinn looked up sharply. “You’re still here?”

The road manager gave Quinn a strange look before nodding at Kinley, looking abnormally satisfied. “I wanted to see how my new employee is working out. Besides, I think Phil needs some quiet time before I tear his ass.”

Perfectly logical, but for some reason, Quinn resented the old man’s presence. Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to teaching in front of an audience.

He shrugged and returned his attention to Kinley’s lesson. “Anyway, work your way down the strings and do the same thing. Clockwise if the tuner registers the note too sharp and counterclockwise if it’s flat.”

Nodding, she returned her attention to the guitar and tuner. Her mouth twisted in intense concentration as she finished tuning his guitar with deft skill. Gaffer nodded in admiration as he watched. Quinn felt an unexpected surge of pride at his pupil’s performance.

“How’s that?” she asked as she plucked each string and the tuner registered each note dead on.

“Damn perfect,” Quinn told her, impressed. “You’re a helluva quick learner.” Did she play guitar?

She beamed. “Thanks! Do I do it the same way for every guitar?”

Or maybe not. Even beginners knew the answer to that. Besides, if she knew how to play, she would have said so, wouldn’t she?

“No, there’s a different way for every type.” He took back his guitar, cradling the Fender Stratocaster with reverence. It had been his dream guitar since he was thirteen, and even after owning it for nearly a decade, he still feared he’d wake up broke and empty-handed.

Shaking his head to clear it, he pointed at the headstock. “See how the pegs are all on the same side? Well, with guitars that have them on both sides, you adjust the bottom strings the opposite way.”

“That makes sense.” She nodded, more enthusiastic than normal. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Yes, a ton of things. But now I need a cigarette.” He rose and handed her the guitar. “I'll be back in a few.”

He hid a smile as disappointment flashed across her features before she composed herself. Holding the guitar with as much care as he did, she packed it carefully in his case and carried it back to the truck.

“Damn, she’s a quick learner,” he said as Gaffer headed off to follow her.

Gaffer glanced at him over his shoulder, smirked, and kept walking.

Quinn shook his head as he took his smokes and lighter out of his pocket. What was up with Gaffer? He acted like he knew something Quinn didn’t. Quinn’s brows drew together. He didn’t like secrets.

Chapter Seven

As the Portland arena’s seats filled with Viciöus fans, Kinley stepped behind the large stack of speaker cabinets on stage left and rubbed her aching shoulders. Making sure no one was watching, she leaned until her back popped with a satisfying crack. She’d worked her ass off all week, but she’d die before letting anyone know she was tired. Not when she’d made it this far.

One of the other roadies came around the corner just as she finished stretching. “Show’s about to start, Kin.”

The lights dimmed and all thoughts fled as the band mounted the stage.

Kinley watched rapt with awe as they played barely ten feet from her. Despite this being the third show she’d helped set up, the thrill of being this close to her favorite band hadn’t worn off. The roar of the crowd and the pumping energy of the music made her pulse race, or maybe it was Quinn’s presence.

Though she’d been on the road with him for a week, she’d hardly spoken to him since the party after the Gorge gig, so the giddy effect of seeing him had yet to wear off. Neither had the not-unpleasant tingle in her spine whenever she sensed his gaze upon her.

God, being so close to him gave her wicked dreams. One would think that hanging out with him at the party would humanize him in her mind, fade her hero-worship a bit. But seeing him as a person had the opposite effect. Seeing him laugh and smile, hearing the low melodious cadence of his voice, the earnest look in his eyes as he spoke to her, the subtle spice of his cologne, the feel of his warm hand—

Gaffer tapped her on the shoulder, jolting her out of her reverie. “I know it’s awesome to watch, but your job ain’t out here.”

She wiped the dopey smile off her face and hurried backstage. As she took her place next to the rest of the road crew, most of them gave her welcoming smiles with no sign of scorn. Satisfaction swelled through her being, banishing her sore muscles. She had proven herself. She was in.

Well, not with Phil. There’d been a misogynistic prick or two on every job site she’d worked on. Concrete workers and framers were the worst. Phil had nothing on those asshats. But every time she was working near him, Phil would give her a smug look and play blistering but off-key solos on Quinn’s and Curt’s guitars—as if to taunt her with the fact that she couldn’t touch them. Petty as it was, that got to her. She wished she could yank those glorious instruments out of his incompetent hands and show him how they were meant to be played.

So naturally, she was torn between laughter and pity when he broke a string on Curt’s B.C. Rich just before sound check earlier and was chewed out by the guitarist so bad the poor kid’s ears turned red. Biting her cheeks to hold back a chuckle, she’d darted away before Phil found out she’d witnessed his humiliation.

Aside from that incident, the show had gone off without a hitch. But it was still too soon to thank the metal gods. In less than twenty minutes, Razor Productions was going to be interviewing Viciöus for their upcoming documentary on thrash metal. The road crew had to ensure there were no fuck-ups.

“So, what are we loading first?” Kinley asked after they had hauled everything off the stage.

“Just the light equipment and most of the amps for now.” Phil’s voice was imperious. Obviously he was still grumpy about his tongue-lashing from Curt. Hell, maybe he was even still mad Quinn had singled her out for a tuning lesson. “The gear’s going into the green room. It’s gotta get hooked up again in case they want footage of the band jammin’.” He gave her an evil smile. “Why don’t you take care of that part?”

Gaffer snorted. “Don’t be an ass, Phil. That’s at least a four-man job. You take the amps and Todd and I will take care of the bass and drums.” He gave Kinley an inscrutable look. “You grab the guitars and I’ll put you in charge of guarding the room.”

“Guard duty.” Phil snickered.

Gaffer chuckled along with him before giving Kinley another odd look.

At first she thought the road manager was testing her again. It was a lot of weight to carry and a long way to the room. But Phil seemed to be the only one annoyed that Kinley wasn’t panting with exhaustion. His scowl deepened when she had both guitars hooked up and tuned before he had the last amp placed.

“Here, I’ll hook that one up.” She gave him a smirk. It was childish, but he’d been a prick since she started.

He snapped a retort but Kinley didn’t hear. She had Quinn’s Stratocaster cradled in her arms. It was almost a shame he played rhythm. This thing could wail if given a chance…

“We’ll leave you alone here.” Gaffer interrupted her musical fantasies. “Remember: No one but us or the band gets through the door until you’re relieved. Clear?”

Kinley nodded as her fingers lightly stroked the fine varnish on the Fender’s neck.

Gaffer’s expression softened. “We’re locking the doors and only Quinn and I have keys. So unless there’s a break in, your knuckles should be safe.”

Phil snorted. “Have fun being locked in, sweet cakes.”

She smiled angelically and spoke into the microphone for emphasis. “Have fun freezing your ass off loading equipment, pumpkin tits.”

Gaffer laughed as he shoved a scowling Phil off. He gave her another unreadable smile before the door closed and the lock clicked into place, leaving her alone.

What was Gaffer getting at with those strange looks and knowing smiles? Was he giving her a chance to prove herself at guard duty? The brief glow was killed by cold practicality. Or was he just trying to keep her out of the way so she didn’t embarrass the band during the filming?

She frowned. Likely it was the latter. Her chin lifted. Well, if this was a punishment, it wasn’t a bad one. She had at least an hour alone with the gear of her favorite band. She once again held Quinn’s Fender Stratocaster in her arms. Its polished weight filled her with nostalgic longing.

It had been torture feigning ignorance during her lesson with Quinn.

She struck a C chord and closed her eyes in bliss at the soaring note. What would a Megadeth song sound like on this? Biting her lip, she darted a guilty glance at the door before striking another chord. There was only one way to find out.

***

Quinn bid the interviewer and film crew good-bye, then met Gaffer, Phil, and Joe at the door, as the rest of the band took off for the bus and the beer cooler.

He yawned. “I’m glad that’s over. Thank Christ they didn’t want to do one of those fake jam sessions.”

Gaffer nodded as they started down the hall. “Yeah, but I had everything set up just in case.” He jingled a set of keys. “And I placed the room under guard.”

Before Quinn could reply, an intricate set of riffs teased his ears. He frowned. “Someone’s playing my guitar…and doing a damn good job with it.” He quickened his pace, following the music. The others trailed behind.

Irritation boiled through him that someone had dared touch his Fender without permission. The first suspect would have been Phil, but aside from the fact that Phil was walking behind him, whoever was playing was far more talented. Was Lefty messing around with it? The riffs didn’t match the guy’s style. In fact, it sounded like…

He blinked in disbelief. “It sounds like he’s playing Megadeth.”

“You don’t like Megadeth?” Gaffer asked with a note of concern.

Quinn shook his head. “What? No, they’re great. It just sounds strange coming from my Fender. Who did you say was watching the room?”

A chuckle sounded behind him as he reached the door. “You’ll see.”

Gaffer tossed him the keys, and as he turned the lock, the guitar hit an impossible crescendo of shredding riffs—and a powerful, feminine voice rang out.

Quinn’s eyes widened as he opened the door to the sight of his roadie wielding his guitar like a seasoned veteran. Kinley’s eyes were closed in apparent bliss as she sang the chorus in a rich, velvety voice. Her fingers danced across the Stratocaster’s frets with a perfect blend of fluid grace and controlled fury.

“Holy shit,” Phil breathed behind him, his hostility momentarily forgotten.

“Shhh,” Quinn admonished, not wanting to miss a second of Kinley’s performance.

Goosebumps prickled up his arms. She was a professional, he realized with awe. It wasn’t just her mind-blowing skill in playing the guitar or her practiced singing voice. Hell, her voice wasn’t even that special. She had presence, a presence that only came from experience performing in front of an audience. That much was obvious in every line of her body.

This was the source of her hunger: the music itself, not merely dwelling on the fringes of the business. She was part of it. It poured from her in a font of unchecked passion. He felt like he was seeing her first the first time. Her soul was bared to him and she was completely alive.

Just as she struck the last chord, Kinley’s eyes opened, widening as she met his gaze. Startled, she nearly dropped his guitar. Quinn’s heart stopped and didn’t resume beating until she steadied her grip on his most cherished instrument.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, cheeks crimson. “I just wanted to play. Are they going to be filming you now?”

“No, our part of the documentary is done. They’re interviewing Bleeding Vengeance.” He shook his head, unable to tear his gaze from her. “Kinley, where’d you learn to play and sing like that?” His voice came out harsher than he intended, revealing his sudden ire at the realization that she’d deliberately kept this secret from him.

Her blush deepened, but she ignored his question. “I’d better load up the gear.”

With astounding speed, she unhooked his guitar and carefully placed it back in its case, then hurriedly wrapped the amp chords. It was a sloppy job, nothing like her usual meticulousness. Quinn leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, watching her loop the cords over her shoulder, heft his guitar case with one hand, and reach for his microphone stand with the other. Did she really think she could escape so easily?

“Phil, give Kin a hand,” Gaffer ordered as he hefted an amp. The road manager gave Quinn another smug smile.

He’d known all along that Kinley could play, but how? Quinn vowed to find out.

Seizing the microphone stand from her grasp, Quinn leaned down to whisper in her ear. The green-apple shampoo she used, coupled with the sweat of hard work, made her smell like spiced cider. “After the gear is loaded, you will join me at the hotel. We need to talk.”

That delightful blush returned as she stepped back, holding his guitar case like a shield. “I…um…really have to work on my website.”

“Yes, your website.” He smiled wickedly and once more stepped closer, enjoying this little game of cat and mouse. “I still owe you an interview, don’t I?”

Kinley’s eyes widened and her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips. Quinn bit back a groan of desire.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good, it’s settled then.” Before he succumbed to the urge to pull her into his arms and claim those lush lips, Quinn took the microphone stand and followed Gaffer out of the room.

Catching up with the road manager, Quinn glanced over at him. “How did you know?”

“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.”

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.

He watched her shrug in indifference as Lefty abandoned her to join Curt and the blonde. Glorious long legs stretched as she rose from her seat. Goddamn, she was beautiful. Quinn couldn’t manage even a pang of remorse for interrupting her interview.

He approached her, feeling like a kid at a chaperoned dance. “Want me to grab you another beer?”

Kinley shook her head. “I gotta head back to the bus to edit these interviews.”

“Damn, you never quit working, do you?” His tone came out sharper than he intended. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

The understanding in her gaze nearly undid him. “Don’t worry about it.” Her cheeks pinkened as she looked down at the floor. “Um…have a good night.”

Quinn’s fists clenched at his sides as he watched her blush. Did she know how close he’d come to kissing her earlier? How close he was now?

“You too, Kinley.” Before he could make the mistake of a lifetime, he left the party and retreated to his room.

Despite the solitude and quiet, Quinn found little peace. The shower was still wet, bringing an image of Kinley’s lithe form to the forefront of his mind. He groaned as his cock hardened. This was not the right time to let lust overtake him and she was not the right person to be lusting after. Still, as he turned on the hot spray and washed his hair, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, wanting her.

Quinn frowned as he turned off the water and toweled off. Kinley was an employee, damn it. And an employee who’d kept secrets from him. Why had she been so ashamed of being in a tribute band? With her obvious talent, they couldn’t have been bad.

Thrumming with curiosity, he pulled out his laptop and looked up all-girl Megadeth tribute bands. Kinley’s wasn’t that hard to find. They’d called themselves the Megadames. Cute. There were even a few videos.

Despite the poor video and sound quality, Kinley’s and Katana’s talent was mind-blowingly apparent. Katana was even better than Kinley. She added unique embellishments to the lead solos while Kinley imitated the original riffs perfectly. The bassist and drummer were adequate, but the other two clearly carried the show. Chills ran down his spine as Kinley sang “Holy Wars.” Who would have thought Megadeth could sound so beautiful? Awe filled him as they came to the dueling guitar segment of “Hangar 18.”

Quinn shook his head. Kinley didn’t belong chained to a computer, running a fan website. And her friend Kat didn’t either. His frown deepened. Furthermore, Kinley definitely didn’t deserve a roadie’s life of drudgery, crammed in the stinking back of a tour bus. And subjected to bullying by assholes like Phil.

He still hated the idea of her being back there with those guys.

He turned off his computer and flopped onto the bed with a sigh. Something would have to be done about her, but what?

A vision of Kinley’s deft handling of his Fender superimposed over a memory of Curt cussing out Phil over yet another broken guitar string. A solution became clear.

Chapter Nine

Kinley closed her laptop and leaned back in her bunk with a yawn. Being back on the road was already proving to be frustrating. They were halfway through a grueling, two-day drive to the next gig. Already Kinley’s coworkers were grumbling about boredom and lack of female companionship. She caught them leering at her, even the ones who’d previously treated her with indifference. Kinley wasn’t flattered by the attention. It had nothing to do with how she looked and everything to do with the fact that she was the only one with tits available—not that she had much of those.

When the bus parked at a rest stop, she was tempted not to shower. Maybe if she stank as badly as they did, they’d back off. But the stupid girl within her couldn’t bear the thought of being repulsive to Quinn.

Digging out a towel, a change of clothes, and her toiletries, Kinley headed to the concrete restroom, praying that this rest stop had showers. The last one didn’t and she’d had to make do with the rusty sink. She’d been feeling grimy ever since.

A prayer of thanks crossed her lips when she saw the sign pointing to the showers. Locking the door, she sighed in appreciation at the clean facility and new tile floors. A moan of pure bliss escaped her when she stepped under the spray. The water wasn’t as hot as she’d prefer, but it was still enough to get her clean and ease a measure of the tension in her aching muscles.

She remained under the spray until the water cooled, then reluctantly dressed and towel dried her hair before heading back to the bus. The roadies had gathered outside around a fire pit by the picnic tables, stretching their legs and passing a bottle of whiskey around.

Joe beckoned her. “Want some hair of the dog?”

She shook her head and continued on. She was still a little hungover from the Portland party.

Exhaustion sank deeper into her muscles with every step. She collapsed on her bunk. Sleep sucked her under the moment she pulled the covers over her head.

Dreams of shredding guitars, bright lights, and Quinn’s smile danced through her mind until suddenly a heavy weight settled on her chest, jerking her awake.

Phil lay on top of her, breathing noxious, cheap whiskey fumes in her face.

“Oops,” he said, not sounding the least bit shameful. “Wrong bunk. But since I’m here…” His pelvis pressed against hers as he leaned forward to kiss her.

Frantically, Kinley seized his face, stopping his mouth’s descent. “I think you should find the right bunk.”

“Jesus, I was just trying to be nice,” he slurred, drooling on her fingers and still not moving.

“Get off me!” She tried to push him off, but her other hand was trapped under the covers.

“What the hell is going on here?” Quinn demanded as he strode into the back area of the bus with Gaffer at his heels.

Phil’s eyes widened and he bolted off her like she was a hot coal. “We were just having a little fun.”

Quinn’s blazing gaze met Kinley’s, savage and unfamiliar. “Were you having fun?” he growled.

She shook her head, though he didn’t seem to be looking entirely at her. His eyes darted around as if tracking unseen threats, his lips compressed in a grim line and his fists clenched white-knuckled at his sides.

Oblivious to the unleashed fury in the room, Phil continued to blabber. “That’s ’cuz she a cold bi—”

“Pack your stuff, Kinley.” Quinn cut him off, those fiery, alien eyes never leaving hers.

“What?” Is he going to kick me off the tour because of that asshole?

“You’re moving up front with us,” he said in cold command.

Phil laughed. “You’ve been demoted to groupie status.”

Kinley made a fist and darted forward, fully intending to break his nose, but Quinn grabbed her at the last second, holding her back. Part of her wanted to jerk out of his grasp and give Phil the beating he’d had coming since the day she started. Another part wanted to melt against Quinn’s hot, firm body. So she remained rigid.

“No,” Quinn replied in a dangerous, silky voice. “She’s been promoted to guitar tech. I need her up with us so Curt and I can tell her what we expect from her.”

“But that’s my job!” Phil whined. “And I never got to sleep up front. You just want her up there to be your little whore.”

“And you,” Quinn continued, ignoring his protest, “are now demoted to her position.”

Phil sputtered in incoherent rage. “What the fuck! You can’t—”

“No, but I can and I’d already made the decision last night,” Gaffer said in a voice that dared him to argue. “I just let Quinn deliver the news.”

Phil’s shoulders slumped as his bravado vanished. “B-but why?”

Quinn rounded on him with a snarl, pointing an accusing finger. “You’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass since Kinley started. We’ve all seen it. Viciöus is supposed to be a team, if not a family. Lately, you seemed to have forgotten that.”

“But—”

“Another word from you and Kinley has full permission to lay your ass out. So shut the fuck up, and let her pack her stuff.” He spared her a brief glance, green eyes blazing, before he closed the door. “You have five minutes.”

Gaffer crossed his arms over his chest and waited while Kinley packed. Phil obeyed Quinn and kept his mouth shut, but the blazing hatred in his eyes assured Kinley that this was far from over.

She had bigger concerns right now. In moments, she’d be in the front of the bus with the band, with Quinn. And she’d just gotten the biggest promotion of her life. Guitar tech for Viciöus.

Her heart pounded and her fingers trembled as she packed, repeating a silent litany in her mind. Please God, don’t let me blow this.

***

Quinn paced through the narrow walkway in the front of the bus, a red haze still overlaying his vision.

“So you gave her Phil’s job?” Curt said, rising sleepily from his bunk. “If she can do the job, that’s cool, but it would have been nice to have been consulted first.”

“I tried to tell you, but you were off with Lefty and some girls.”

“Oh, okay.” He rubbed his eyes and scratched his head. “But why is she moving up here with us?”

“Phil was on top of her.” Quinn nearly spat the words like bitter poison as the memory of his former guitar tech poised over Kinley was superimposed by the memory of his former band mates on top of his baby sister.

All my fault. He rubbed his temples as a crimson field of rage washed over his mind.

“What the fuck?” His drummer’s voice pulled him back to the present. “He doesn’t even like her. Why would he—”

“It didn’t look like an act of liking.”

Before he could say more, Kinley opened the partition and stepped into the VIP section of the bus.

Thankfully, Curtis changed the subject. “So, I hear you’re gonna be our new guitar tech.”

Kinley shrugged, the nonchalant gesture spoiled by her trembling hands. She was still shaken up by the bastard. Quinn fought back the urge to pull her into his arms and vow he’d never let anyone touch her again.

The guitarist smiled through half-lidded eyes. “At least I hear you can shred.” He blinked and sat up, reaching for his guitar. “Lemme give ya some pointers.”

“Um, guys,” Tony interrupted. “Where’s she supposed to sleep?”

Kinley shot them all an anxious glance and took a step back.

Oh shit. Quinn hadn’t thought that part through.

Thankfully Gaffer saved the situation. “She’s taking my bunk and I’ll take her old one. It seems I need to keep a better eye on the crew.” With that, he grabbed his backpack and headed to the back of the bus.

Everyone sighed with relief that another complication had been avoided, though part of Quinn wished the road manager had kept his mouth shut, that he could have announced that Kinley would be sleeping in his bunk. Instead he nodded as if that had been his idea in the first place.

As Kinley walked past him carrying her duffel bag and laptop case to Gaffer’s bunk, Quinn was struck by how vulnerable she looked. He could tell from her crimson cheeks and the white-knuckled grip on her bag that she was embarrassed by the turn of events, and maybe even intimidated by the proximity of the band who, except for him, had little interaction with her until now.

He shot his band mates a challenging glance. If any of them said anything to increase her discomfort, he would…

His clenched fists relaxed as he saw that Brand had already fallen back asleep, a pillow over his head. Curt still watched her curiously, but showed no signs of lechery or hostility. Tony gave her an encouraging smile before going back to texting his wife.

Quinn looked over at Kinley. She’d climbed into the bunk and had been watching him. Quickly, she looked away, rolling over to face the wall.

Now Curt was studying him. Quinn raised a brow and attempted to stare his guitarist down. “What?”

Curt shook his head and smiled. “Nothing, man. Nothing at all.”

It seemed that Quinn was the only one reacting to his roadie’s new sleeping arrangements. He frowned and flopped down in his own bunk, determined to maintain the same disinterest as the others.

Turning his attention to the window, he tried to focus on the stars and rolling landscape around them, but Kinley’s presence permeated his consciousness, seeming to fill the cabin with teasing heat. He picked out the sound of her soft, even breathing over the others and wondered how she’d sound gasping in pleasure.

It took an eternity to fall asleep.

The next morning, Quinn awoke with the biggest, most agonizing hard-on imaginable. He rolled onto his back, listening to the patter of rain against the bus walls and the muted hum of tires on pavement, willing the sounds to ease him back to slumber. Unfortunately, his lower half refused to be subdued.

Guilt gnawed his gut. Sure, he had protected her from the crew by bringing her up here, but that didn’t stop him from wanting her as well.

Unwittingly, Kinley expounded his torture when she rose from her bunk, giving him a tantalizing view of her exquisite body.

Her tank top had ridden up in her sleep, exposing her smooth, creamy bare back. He bit back a groan. The agony intensified when she returned from the bathroom. She’d fixed her top, but now he could see her hardened nipples through the thin fabric.

She met his gaze with a blush and a half-smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” He looked away before she could see his rabid hunger.

Kinley paced nervously in front of the bunk for a moment before slowly perching on the edge. “So, what are we supposed to do today?”

“You can start by handing me my cigarettes.” Quinn looked down, making sure the blanket hid, well, everything. There was no way he’d be able to get out of this bed for awhile, not without exposing his predicament.

She blinked at his abrupt tone, but grabbed his pack of Camels, a lighter, and an empty beer can for him to use as an ashtray. As he lit up, she fired up her laptop and went back to work on her site.

“Your interview was a success,” she remarked, voice slightly quavering. “It’s only been up since last night and already the comments section has exploded.”

Quinn took a deep drag of his cigarette. “Nice.”

He didn’t give a damn about the site right now. It took every bit of his will not to yank Kinley into his arms and make love to her, audience be damned.

The nauseating sound of Curt snorting his morning line of coke echoed through the cabin, doing much to dull the mood. “Curt’s up.”

Kinley’s lip curled in revulsion. “Ewww.”

Tony rolled out of his bunk, scratching his balls as he lumbered to the driver’s compartment to request a coffee stop. That sight killed the physical remains of his desire.

“Wake and bake?” Brand offered, passing his pipe to Quinn.

He took a hit, hoping the weed would calm his nerves.

When he passed the pipe to Kinley, she shook her head and returned to her laptop. “No thanks. I gotta keep a clear head when I’m working. Besides, that stuff makes me too giggly.”

Quinn raised a brow. “Giggly? You? I’d like to see that.” She was far too serious.

Her cheeks once more turned an adorable pink. Suddenly, Quinn realized something. Kinley blushed a lot around him. Was it possible that this electric attraction wasn’t one-sided? Did she want him as much as he wanted her? All of his guilt for lusting after her vanished at the prospect, replaced by speculation.

Sure, mixing sex with the job was not the best idea. But Kinley was special. He’d never met a woman like her. Could it work between them? As the bus stopped and everyone folded their bunks back into bench seats, he wondered if he should find out. Either way, he was determined to pull her from her shell and get to know her better.

Yet, right now, all she cared about was work.

Munching on a doughnut, she sat next to Curt at the table. “When do my lessons start?”

Curt grinned. “Anytime you want ’em to, babe.” He wiggled his hips like a bad Elvis impersonator. “I could show you all sorts of tricks.”

Quinn gave him a dark look. “She means learning her duties as a guitar tech.” He turned to Kinley. “Do you know how to play any of our songs?”

“Hell yeah.” She took a sip of her coffee and rattled off nearly half their catalogue. Somehow that didn’t surprise him in the least.

“We keep our acoustic guitars up in the overhead compartment,” Quinn explained, trying to mask his eagerness to hear her play again. “Brand could bust out his bass if you need him to provide backing rhythm.”

Curt was already up, grabbing the instruments. “I’m down to jam.”

Quinn took the guitars, handing Curt’s to Kinley. “First, I want to see what she knows.” He began the rhythm section of one of their hits, impressed when she came in with the lead melody right on cue.

He tested her for a few more songs, and though Kinley was obviously eager to please, he could tell she was nervous around him. She messed up the chords almost every time their eyes met. Eying her shaking hands, Quinn frowned. She’d have to get over that. And why was she so nervous anyway?

“Okay, now Curt can explain what you’ll be doing for us during the shows.” As he left her alone with the guitarist—though still keeping an eye on her— he pulled out his phone and looked up her site again. She hadn’t broken her promise and said anything online about touring with them, had she?

Unobtrusively, he settled in the lounge area next to the other guys, pretending to watch them play video games on the Xbox as he perused Kinley’s site. A small sigh of relief escaped him as he checked her recent posts.

She still hadn’t said a word about working for them. Not even a hint. Admiration filled him. From her excited chatter to her friend over the phone, it had to have been tough for her to keep from spilling the news on her site.

He glanced at her again, admiring the shiny gleam of her hair as she bent her head to Curt in rapt attention.

Unlike the others, with their greasy hair and faces covered with days-old stubble, she was immaculate. At first he’d been amused by her efforts to keep up with hygiene on the road, but now he felt reluctant respect. Showers could be few and far between for the road crew, so she had to have been innovative and determined to get that silken mass of hair cleaned in a truck stop bathroom.

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 indifferent, 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?

All thoughts ceased as he went back to work on her hair. Her scalp tingled pleasurably at the sensual ministrations of his fingers sliding across her scalp and the nape of her neck. Kinley’s shoulders relaxed and it was all she could do not to lean back against his chest and moan in ecstasy.

Too soon it was over.

Quinn shifted on the bunk and pulled the covers back before getting into the bed. “Well, are you ready to turn in?” He sounded as nervous as she felt.

“I-I guess so.” She winced at her stammer. Though it was twice as wide as her old bunk in the back, Quinn’s bed seemed smaller.

Quickly, she climbed in next to Quinn, shaking so much from nervousness and excitement that the mattress springs squeaked. There was no way he didn’t feel it.

He sighed and brushed his hair out of his face. “There’s nothing to worry about, Kinley. I’m not going to try to mess around with you—and even if I would, I don’t fuck in public.”

Curt let out a high-pitched giggle. “Prudey McPrude…”

“Okay, there is something to worry about,” Quinn added, rolling his eyes. “From this end of the bus, you’ll probably end up seeing way more of Curt’s bare ass than you’d like.”

“Oh,” she said dryly, fluffing her pillow. “Joy.”

He chuckled and rolled over to face the wall, keeping his promise to behave like a gentleman.

Kinley lay stiff as a board, fighting the urge to snuggle up against him. Her mind raced like a marathon runner. He already said he wouldn’t touch me. He’s not interested. Besides, he’s right about not wanting a public display. Be cool and go the fuck to sleep.

Just as her eyelids finally grew heavy and she began to relax, Quinn rolled over and whispered, “Kinley?”

“Yeah?” She shivered at his nearness.

His voice radiated awkwardness. “If…um…if I have a natural reaction to this situation in my sleep, just push me away, okay?”

A natural reaction? Kinley frowned. What— Oh God, he means a boner.

“Okay,” she murmured. How the hell am I supposed to sleep after hearing that?

As his breathing smoothed out into the even rhythm of sleep, her mind resumed its skittering dialogue. What did he mean “a natural reaction”? Did he mean just because there’s a female next to him—or does he find me attractive? The giddy girl within reveled at the prospect, but she quashed that inner imp. This is just a job, she chanted silently, willing herself to relax. Must stay professional, must stay professional, must stay—

Suddenly, he rolled over. His arm came down around her waist and his hard length ground into her backside. Kinley bit her lip to hold back the moan. Unbidden, her hips squirmed to get him closer to the source of her hot desire. But just as quickly as it started, Quinn roused, muttered a sleepy apology, and rolled back to face the wall once more.

Kinley let out the deep breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her core throbbed in need to be filled. She bit her lip to keep a moan from escaping. Never before had she desired a man so much. But for all intents and purposes, she was lusting after her boss.

I am so screwed.

Chapter Eleven

Las Vegas was sunny, warm, and full of striking sights and buzzing activity. Kinley wanted to puke. Why the hell had she drunk so much last night? This hangover would only make tonight more difficult.

Choking down aspirin, antacid, and stale crackers abated the worst of her misery, yet nothing could touch the anxiety gnawing her gut.

After sharing such personal things with Quinn last night and then waking up in his arms, there was no way she would be able to view him as just a colleague. Not after feeling his hard chest against her back and his even harder—

She broke off the thought with a tremor of desire.

“Don’t worry, Kin,” Gaffer remarked as they arrived at the concert venue. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

She looked up sharply, heart in her throat. Does he know I’m crushing on Quinn? “What do you mean?” She struggled to sound casual.

“I mean, Quinn’s not gonna freak out if his guitar’s out of tune. No one gets it right the first time. He’ll just fix it before the show and give you a lecture.” He glanced around at the rest of the crew and lowered his voice. “God knows Phil’s had enough of those from him.”

It took all of her effort not to grin in relief. He’d been talking about her first day as guitar tech. Her grin faded as fresh anxiety about her new job sank in.

“What if I drop it?” If that happened, she’d probably be fired.

Gaffer chuckled. “Honey, if we thought for a second that you’d be clumsy with the gear, you wouldn’t have gotten the job. So buck up, and let’s get this sound check ready.”

Taking a deep breath, she followed him and the other roadies to where they were unloading the equipment. Phil brushed past her, giving her a pointed glare, but he mercifully continued on with his job—which used to be her job. She sighed and helped haul speaker cabinets so she could unload the guitars. Though she was delighted with the promotion, things were going to be awkward.

As if to cement the point, Jim waggled his eyebrows as they lifted the first speaker cabinet. “I heard you were snuggling with the Vox this morning.”

“Did you see how fucking small those bunks are?” She kept her voice level, praying she wasn’t blushing. “We were jammed in like sardines.”

The roadie winked. “Yeah, I bet it’s a reeeeeal tight fit.”

Kinley rolled her eyes but laughed with the rest of the crew. She hadn’t done anything with Quinn, and they all knew it. As long as she joked along with the rest of them, maybe they’d never suspect how badly she did want to do things with Quinn.

Once everything was loaded on the stage, she reverently opened Quinn’s guitar case. Please, God, don’t let me fuck this up. She hooked up the Stratocaster and repeated the prayer before closing her eyes and testing the strings. The second treble string seemed a little loose so she tightened it up slightly.

All thoughts and worries fled as the instrument took over her focus. Fully immersed, she didn’t notice Quinn leaning against the speaker cabinets until she finished adjusting the last pickup.

Shivers raced across her flesh at the heat in his gaze. He’d been looking at her differently since they’d bunked together. If he weren’t a drop-dead-sexy rock star with his pick of countless women, she’d almost dare to think it was a look of interest.

He slowly stalked toward her. She held her breath as he lifted his guitar and played a few chords, inspecting her work.

“It’s perfect.” His fingers brushed hers as he handed back the Stratocaster. “Thank you.”

“Uh-huh,” she mumbled, still reeling at the electric shock of his touch.

His lips curved in a decadent, mysterious smile as if they shared a secret. The memory of his body pressed against hers, brief as it was, flooded her senses. Heat and moisture pooled between her thighs. “Well, I, uh, better get back to the sidelines. H-have a good show.”

Quinn’s gaze raked across her once more before the stage lights dimmed and the crowd roared. Tony’s drums reverberated like thunder, heralding the opening of the set. The light crew worked their magic, bathing Viciöus in metal glory.

Her breath caught as she watched him. With his powerful voice, savage guitar riffs, and phenomenal stage presence, he was like a god among mortals. Shaking her head, she pulled herself from the hypnotic awe and surveyed the stage. She was there to manage problems, not ogle Quinn like a starstruck groupie.

Sure enough, Curt tripped over his guitar cord and unplugged his amp. Heart pounding with urgency, Kinley scrambled on stage, hunching over to be unobtrusive. Quinn continued to face the crowd and play as if nothing happened, though he backed up as if to shield her.

Unbidden, her gaze strayed to his backside. Damn, he had a nice ass. And she was mere inches away from squeezing it. Kinley clenched her fists, resisting temptation, and returned to the task at hand.

As she plugged the cord back in, Quinn turned her way…and smiled. Her heart turned over in her chest and it took a concerted effort to remember to breathe and get off the stage before the crowd noticed her.

“Good job, Kin,” Gaffer whispered. “You handled that like an old pro.”

“Thanks,” she muttered. A pro wouldn’t be swooning from the Vox’s smile—or thinking of groping his ass.

Somehow she managed to pull herself together in time to hand him his double-necked twelve-string in time for the encore.

The backstage meet and greet was a different story. After the gear was loaded back in the trucks, she had the dubious pleasure of watching a bunch of skanks gush all over Quinn while he signed their tits. A harsh, gravely noise reached her ears below the level of their squeals. She was grinding her teeth. He’s not mine. Why should I give a fuck?

Even worse was the fact that part of her wished she were in that line.

Before her face betrayed her outrage and confusion, she fled to the bus. The driver leaned against the vehicle, eyeing her indifferently as he smoked a cigar. Kinley went inside to the bunk she’d shared with Quinn. A tremor shook her core as she smelled his scent on the comforter. Last night he’d held her in his arms. The memory filled her with dizzying warmth. Maybe…

She shook her head, quashing the ridiculous hope that his actions meant something. He’d been drunk and probably acting out of habit. Acting like he would if a lucky groupie had been invited on the bus. The thought of groupies momentarily made her queasy.

Shaking her head, she pulled his acoustic from the overhead compartment. Might as well practice while she waited.

Just as she found her bliss in the music, the bus door swung open and the band and crew piled in.

Quinn plopped next to her on the bunk, his presence making her flesh tingle. “Hey, don’t stop. That sounds really good.”

Not daring to meet his gaze lest she fuck up a riff, she released her breath and continued playing. The bus rolled into motion, heading to a hotel. She nearly missed a note as the worry that had been plaguing since this morning once more reared its head. Where would she sleep tonight? Would she be alone up front in Gaffer’s bunk? How would the crew react to that?

Quinn answered the question as soon as she finished the song.

When the bus pulled up at the hotel, he grabbed his backpack. “Come on, Kinley. We got you a room.”

Her heart lodged in her throat. “But the crew sleeps in the bus,” she said lamely.

“From the way Phil’s been acting, I don’t want you alone with him. So get your bag and let’s go.” His voice forbade argument.

Kinley bristled at his dictatorial tone, even as she complied. “So what, you’re my boss now? I’d think this would be Gaffer’s decision.”

“It was.” A triumphant smirk curved his lips. “He says the crew has been easier to deal with since you’ve moved out of their quarters.” The smirk faded, replaced by an unreadable yet serious expression. “Anyway, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Something about his tone of voice tore the retort from her lips. “Okay.”

On shaking legs, she followed him into the hotel. Thankfully, no shrieking fans lay in wait in the lobby. At the desk, he collected two key cards.

So she wouldn’t be sharing a room with him.

Waves of alternating relief and regret washed over her. Kinley fought back the regret. Who did she think she was? Why the hell would Quinn want her when he could have anyone? Besides, getting involved with him would kill all the respect she’d earned from the band and crew.

As he beckoned her to follow him to his room, worry curdled in her belly. What exactly did he want to talk to talk to her about? Had she unknowingly fucked up?

The door closed behind them with an ominous click. Her anxiety magnified as Quinn flipped on the light and immediately turned to face her, green eyes intent.

“You have a crush on me, don’t you, Kinley?” His voice was low and silken.

The breath whooshed out of her body.

“What?” she managed to squeak. Oh God, did she say something in her sleep? Or did he catch her checking him out one too many times?

“I’ve been reading your blog. The early entries were especially interesting. Namely, the one about me.” He stalked closer to her, a mischievous smile playing across his lips as he quoted, “‘I wish he’d replace that microphone with my—’”

“Oh my God!” Face burning in humiliation, Kinley stepped back, reaching for the door.

The knob slipped in her sweating grasp. She longed to disappear on the spot. She’d forgotten about that old post—she never imagined he’d read it.

Quinn continued to stand there. That smile sent shivers down her spine.

“It was just your public image, you know?” she stammered, trying to give a logical and less embarrassing explanation. “I mean, you’re gorgeous and talented and charming. A girl would be crazy not to admire that. But it can’t be a real crush because I didn’t even know you.”

He raised a brow and stepped closer. “You know me now.”

“In a professional sense.” His presence sent electric heat pulsing through her, making it hard to speak. “Not in, you know, that way.”

He took one more step closer until only inches remained between their bodies. He raised his arms and placed his hands on the door, holding her captive. “That’s a shame, because there’s something I’ve been wondering since I first saw you.”

“W-what?” she whispered, melting from the heat radiating from his body.

“If you’d hit me if I did this.” He bent lower, and with intoxicating gentleness, brushed his lips across hers.

Desire flared through her body at the feather-light contact. Kinley arched forward, craving more. Unable to resist any longer, her hands sought him, splaying across his chest, reveling in his hot, hard, muscled form.

Quinn released the door and pulled her into his arms, deepening the kiss. His tongue teased the corners of her mouth, pleading for entry. Kinley was only too willing to oblige. Her fingers tangled in his thick, dark hair, a low moan escaping her as she opened for him. His hips gyrated against hers, his insistent hardness pressing to her core.

A knock sounded at the door.

Quinn dragged his mouth from hers with a groan, but didn’t release her. “What?”

Tony’s voice echoed through the wood. “Bleeding Vengeance is down at the party. Klement wants to hear what happened with Phil.”

“I’ll be down soon,” Quinn growled. His grip tightened on her in obvious reluctance to let her go.

As the drummer’s footsteps faded, Quinn sighed and released her. Kinley stumbled back against the door, gasping. For the longest time he stared at her with such savage hunger that chills rushed through her form.

Breath as ragged as hers, he finally spoke. “If you want to continue this discussion, come back here.” He pulled his spare key card from his pocket. “If not, you can go to your own room and I won’t bother you again.”

With a shaking hand, she took the card. The thin piece of electromagnetic plastic seemed to burn her.

In a seemingly offhand manner, he added, “You should come down, too.”

“Why?” All she wanted was to pull him back into her arms and finish what they started. Or at least retreat to her room and relive that kiss.

“Everyone’s going, so it would seem strange if you didn’t show up. And”—he leaned forward and lowered his voice to an intimate growl—“I would like a chance to try my powers of persuasion. I know this is unprofessional, but damn it, I want you. I think I want you more than any woman I’ve ever wanted in my life.”

Heart pounding, body trembling, and mind racing, Kinley could only nod. Before she completely lost her mind and threw herself back in his arms, she grabbed her bag and fled.

Once she found her own room, she bolted inside, slumping against the door and forcing herself to take deep breaths. Quinn Mayne, lead singer of Viciöus, had just kissed her, had just invited her to return to his hotel room to continue a “discussion” that would end with her naked in his arms.

What if sleeping with Quinn undid all her efforts to be respected? What if she lost her position as guitar tech? What if she was demoted to groupie status?

But God, she wanted him. And he wanted her. A fresh bolt of heat pulsed between her thighs.

“This is a bad idea,” she whispered to herself.

Despite that fact, she found herself rifling through the depths of her backpack, pulling out her cleanest jeans and nicest shirt.

After a shower and meticulous shave, Kinley dried her hair, dressed, and went to work on her makeup. Her hands reached back to begin her usual braid. Shaking her head at her reflection, she dropped them. She’d wear her hair down tonight.

The woman in the mirror was a stranger, but she looked pretty damn good. Kinley nodded in approval and grabbed her phone, wallet, and Quinn’s keycard.

The moment she arrived at the party, Quinn’s gaze snapped to hers as if drawn there by a magnetic current. An alien, primitive satisfaction rose within her at his reaction.

His words echoed in her memory. I want you. I think I want you more than any woman I’ve ever wanted in my life.

As if to prove the point, he lifted a strawberry from the fruit tray. Still holding her gaze, his tongue darted out to caress the ripe fruit before his sensuous lips wrapped around it. Heat flooded her core and she bit back a moan of longing. Quinn gave her a knowing smile, licking berry juice from his fingers.

Quinn and Klement returned to their conversation, and Kinley retreated before her response to him became visible. Her lust was unprofessional, impractical, and could ruin everything she’d worked for these past few weeks. But every fiber of her being longed to feel that wicked mouth on her body.

Phil sneered as she passed by. “Holy shit, you actually are a female.”

Without glancing at him, Kinley gave him the finger and continued on to the beer cooler. Though her laptop case should have been lighter without her computer, the knowledge that Quinn’s keycard was inside made the bag seem dauntingly heavy.

Would she risk her dignity for a night in his arms?

Chapter Twelve

It took all Quinn’s willpower to stop himself from following Kinley’s retreat with his eyes.

Klement’s voice pierced the fog of desire. “So MetalKin is your guitar tech now?”

“Huh?” It took him a moment to realize that Klement was referring to Kinley’s online identity. “Oh, yeah. She is. I’m sorry it didn’t work out with your nephew.”

“He’s not my nephew. He’s my sister’s by marriage. And I’m sorry he turned out to be a douche.”

Quinn hid a grin at the bassist’s reluctance to claim Phil. “Don’t worry about it. He’s not the first to cause problems.”

Apparently Phil had whined to Klement about his demotion. Quinn set the bassist straight on the situation, explaining Phil’s constant shortcomings and ineptitude with his duties and his surly attitude. He glossed over the episode with Kinley, but his fists clenched at the memory.

“So are you going to send him home?”

“As much as I’d like to, Gaffer says it’s too late in the tour to find a replacement and we need all the hands we can get to set up for the gigs.”

“Well, maybe he’ll pull his head out of his ass long enough to get a mediocre reference.” Klement ran a hand through his Nordic blond hair and returned to the subject at hand. “So how’d Kinley end up as your guitar tech? Come to think of it, how did she come to work for you in the first place?”

Quinn sighed and pulled his smokes from his pocket. If he didn’t leave the room soon, he wouldn’t be able to hide his feelings. “It’s a long story. Care to join me outside?”

“All right.” The bassist fixed him with a stern look. “But you gotta quit those things soon or you’ll ruin your voice.”

Once outside, Klement listened to the story, eyes wide with astonishment. When Quinn finished, he shook his head. “Let me get this straight. She got hired by beating the shit out of your security guy and then she got promoted to your guitar tech after you found out she can shred?”

Quinn nodded, suddenly uncomfortable. It sounded even more ridiculous coming from Klement’s mouth.

His friend wasn’t finished. “I can’t help but wonder, is she really that good, or does this have more to do with you having the hots for her?”

“At this point, both.” Crossing his arms defensively, he couldn’t help but add, “She truly is good. Check out videos of the Megadames online and you’ll understand why I promoted her.”

“I’ve seen them,” Klement said with an odd half-smile. “Even with the poor audio and visual quality, I can tell that they’re cute and talented.”

Quinn’s eyes widened. “You’ve seen them? But when…” He knew the guy spent a lot of time on his computers, but even so, the chance of him running across such obscure footage was unlikely.

“I don’t remember.” Avoiding Quinn’s gaze, Klement waved a dismissive hand and headed inside.

Klement was lying, Quinn knew that much, but he had no idea why. Crushing out his cigarette, he followed his friend back to the party. Immediately he scanned the crowd, searching for Kinley. Her husky laugh reached his ears before he spotted her in the corner, talking with Gaffer. She tipped back her bottle of Michelob and her eyes met his. Everyone else fell away under her dark, smoky gaze.

Quinn’s mouth went dry. I want you, he told her with his gaze before turning away. He couldn’t wait any longer. He needed to find out whether or not she’d accept his invitation. Hell, he needed her to accept it. He needed to feel her in his arms, to taste and touch every inch of her body.

“I’m heading up to my room,” he called over his shoulder.

Klement chuckled behind him. “Good luck with that.”

Once there, Quinn paced the bland, sterile area, fighting an absurd urge to get some flowers and candles. He stopped for a moment and shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him? Kinley might see that as a bit over the top. Also, what if he missed her arrival? If she even showed up.

He frowned. Kinley would come—in more ways than one. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, he knew it. Why else would she have worn her hair down and put on makeup? And damn, she looked hot tonight. He couldn’t wait to peel off her clothes and kiss his way down her lithe body, taking extra time on her long, lean legs.

The room grew warm. Quinn pulled off his shirt and attempted to relax on the bed, counting the minutes before Kinley would join him. Of course, with his raging hard-on, relaxation was beyond impossible.

He glanced at the clock. The minutes seemed to be ticking away damn slowly. What if she wasn’t coming? He couldn’t fault her for having the common sense to avoid mixing business and pleasure.

If she did show up, if they did experience the night he’d been fantasizing about since the day he met her, it’d be impossible to treat her like a mere employee afterward. Hell, if she didn’t come tonight, he’d also have a difficult time.

Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. The former would be far more worth it. Quinn sighed and checked the time, wondering when he’d have his answer.

The red numbers on the cheap bedside alarm clock seemed to mock him.

***

Kinley’s chest heaved with nervous, shallow breaths as she stood at the door to room 217. Heart pounding, she raised her fist and knocked softly. There was no way in hell she’d be brazen enough to use the keycard and walk right in.

Before her hand drew back to knock louder, the door opened to reveal Quinn leaning against the frame. “I thought you weren’t going to show.”

She bit back a gasp. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

“I didn’t know if I was either.” Her words faltered as the sight of his bare chest and rippling muscles distracted her. “I mean, this isn’t a good idea.”

His brow arched and the corner of his mouth rose in a wicked smile. “You can’t possibly know that until we find out.”

Before she could form a reply, he pulled her inside and closed the door, claiming her lips in a devouring kiss. Kinley tangled her fingers in his silken hair, caught in his seductive spell.

Slowly, he guided her closer to the bed, hands sliding down the fabric of her top, then lower to her jeans. As he gripped the waistband, he looked up at her, a silent question in his eyes.

Biting her lip, Kinley willed her jumbled thoughts in order just long enough to ask the deciding question. “Protection?”

Instead of cringing or blowing her off like she feared, he nodded placidly. “Of course.”

“O-okay then.” Tentatively, she caressed his cheek with her fingertips, making sure he was real.

With excruciating gentleness, Quinn pulled her shirt up and over her head in a whisper of satin. Tossing the garment aside, he swept her entire body with his turbulent green gaze. She tried not to shrink back and cover herself, despite her bra. She had nothing on those centerfold-looking chicks who mobbed him nightly.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered with husky reverence.

Normally, Kinley would have scoffed at such a statement, but the rough caress of his voice gave her pause. It was pointless to negate him at a moment like this.

“You are,” she breathed, trailing her fingers across his chest, circling his firm nipples.

Quinn pulled her back into his arms, claiming her lips once more. As his tongue delved into her mouth, he carefully unhooked her bra. His hands slid around her ribcage as he removed the garment, covering her breasts in feather-light caresses.

When he broke the kiss, Kinley let out a small whimper of protest that became a moan of pleasure as Quinn nibbled at her neck, occasionally licking her earlobe. She gasped in surprised bliss as he lowered his head and kissed her breasts, swirling his tongue around her nipples. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer as he sank lower to kiss her belly. Moisture flooded her core.

Once he reached her pelvis, she sucked in a nervous breath, expecting him to remove her pants, but he continued lower. Lavishing kisses down her trembling thighs, Quinn removed her boots before unbuttoning her jeans.

As she stepped out of them, he rose to his feet and met her gaze. “Am I moving too fast?”

In answer, she unbuttoned his pants and carefully pulled down the zipper so she wouldn’t snag something important. The rough sound heightened the clarity of the moment. As the denim fell past his hips revealing his muscled legs and enormous erection, Kinley’s eyes widened.

Quinn Mayne went commando. Who knew? She bit back a giggle.

All thoughts vanished when he gently removed her panties and sank to his knees. The sight of him kneeling before her made her breath catch in her throat. His tongue delved between her thighs, licking her clit like it was forbidden fruit. Kinley’s knees turned to water and she nearly fell.

He grasped her hips, steadying her. “Lie back on the bed,” he murmured against her labia. The vibration of his voice made the sensitive nerve endings sing.

A fresh pulse of moisture flared between her legs as she obeyed. Kinley thrashed on the bed under his sensual ministrations. Licking, nibbling, and sucking, he tormented her female center with waves of overwhelming ecstasy.

Just as she was on the brink of climax, Quinn lifted his head. “As much as I’d like to bring you all the way, this time I want you to come when I’m inside you.”

Rising up over her like a demigod, he reached over to the end table and grabbed a condom. He’d already been prepared. Kinley felt another warm surge of relief that he’d taken such consideration.

As he rolled the condom over his cock, she felt a tremor of trepidation at his size. “Please be gentle,” she whispered.

Quinn nodded and gathered her into his arms, softly kissing her lips. Slowly, he guided himself to her entrance, moving his hard length in teasing circles across her hot, wet center. Kinley squirmed beneath him, eager to feel him inside her. Still, when he began to slide into her slick heat, she stiffened at the stretching pressure.

He froze above her. “You’re not a—”

“Virgin?” She shook her head with a light laugh. “No, but I’m not a skank either, so as I said, it’s been awhile—and you’re very large.”

Quinn’s low chuckle was the epitome of masculine arrogance. Holding her tighter, he deepened his kisses and slowly worked his cock inside her. His gentleness remained until the last, when, unable to restrain himself, he thrust in all the way, melding their bodies into one.

His growl of pleasure matched her moan. For a moment they remained still, savoring the intoxicating pleasure of the union. Then Quinn’s hips began a slow, hypnotic dance and Kinley undulated beneath him, matching his rhythm.

The last vestige of her discomfort faded as her body flared to life with pleasure. Quinn’s thrusts grew deeper and harder, though he maintained a slow, drugging tempo. Kinley cried out against his lips, and his tongue plunged inside as if tasting the sound.

Her nails dug into his back as her hips bucked against his, urging him to go faster, deeper. But Quinn continued to taunt her, deepening his kiss, the slow deep thrusts of his tongue mimicking his movements below.

Kinley moaned, feeling herself tighten further around his cock, electrical pulses flickering through her core. He was so deep inside her that his pelvis ground against her clit. If this went on any more—

The orgasm ripped through her with the intensity of a lightning strike. Quinn swallowed her first cry then broke the kiss to rise up above her. He quickened his thrusts, pounding into her as she rode the intensifying waves of her climax.

A low groan escaped him as he pulsated within her, multiplying her pleasure. Kinley bit his shoulder to muffle her scream as Quinn shuddered within her, gasping at his own climax.

For an eternity, they lay trembling in each other’s arms.

“Wow,” Quinn whispered.

Overcome with the magnitude of their lovemaking, she could only manage a faint, “Uh-huh.”

As he rose from the bed and headed to the bathroom to clean up, Kinley’s mind spun with awe. She’d just had the most mind-blowing sex with her favorite rock star. The realization was beyond surreal. And what would come next? Panic fluttered through her heart as all of her previous worries returned.

Was this a one night stand? Would he ask her to leave the room now? Or would he want to continue this affair? Was it an affair? Was she his new groupie? Or was she his girlfriend? Would she still keep her job?

Oblivious to her mental turmoil, Quinn emerged from the bathroom, reached into the mini fridge, which was full of expensive hotel commodities, and tossed her a bottle of water. Kinley caught it gratefully and took a big swig. As he opened his own bottle and chugged it down, she couldn’t stop staring at his naked muscled form, at the beads of sweat adorning his chest and belly like diamonds.

Setting his water on the nightstand, he lifted the covers and crawled into bed, immediately pulling her into his arms.

“At last I get to sleep naked with you,” he said drowsily.

Kinley tried to relax against him, forcing her worries away for now. For awhile, she was tranquilized by Quinn’s warm, soothing embrace. But once his breathing evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep, her unease returned.

He felt too wonderful, too perfect, too safe to be true. Sure, he’d been interested in her tonight—he’d made her feel like the most cherished woman alive. But how would he be in the morning, now that he got what he wanted?

Her father had warned her about letting a guy get her out of her clothes. He’d think she was a slut and he’d abandon her the moment she “put out.” Since Kinley had proven him wrong on pretty much everything else, at the start of her junior year in high school, she hopped into bed with the first guy who showed interest in her.

Aside from the fact that sex was a painful, awkward experience, Kinley discovered that her father had been right. The guy dumped her like yesterday’s garbage and told the entire school how easy she was. She’d reeled from the shock of his abrupt about-face. When Quinn rolled over and released his grip on her, she took it as an omen. Unwilling to give him a chance to rebuff her, Kinley fled back to her own room.

Chapter Thirteen

Quinn awoke to sunlight streaming through the curtains. Birds chirped outside the window, promising a beautiful day. A satisfied smile curved his lips. No day could match the beauty of last night. That had to have been the best sex he’d ever had.

God, she’d been so tight. It was surprising she hadn’t been a virgin. An odd twinge of regret struck him that he hadn’t been her first. He shook his head. Why the hell did he care? Besides, it wasn’t just Kinley’s tightness that had made last night so wonderful. There was also her taste, her touch, her soft skin, her smell. His cock hardened at the memory.

Quinn rolled over, reaching for Kinley, ready to make a new one. His hand found an empty mattress.

Immediately he sat up, rubbing the last bit of sleep from his eyes. “What the hell?”

She was gone. A quick glance at the dark bathroom confirmed it. She’d returned to her room while he’d slept. So she’d had her favorite rock star and now she was done?

His fists clenched in anger, warring with stung pride. “Not even a kiss good-bye.”

Good-bye. A worse thought crossed his mind. What if sleeping with him had somehow spooked her and she’d left? Quinn threw off the covers and yanked on his jeans and shirt, not bothering with shoes. He had to know if she was still here—and if she was, he needed to have a serious talk about running off in the middle of the night.

As he strode down the corridor to Kinley’s room, a housekeeper pushed her cart aside, giving him a wide berth. When he reached his destination, Quinn paused, took a deep breath, and ran his fingers through his wild hair, hoping to look less feral.

But he couldn’t keep from knocking sharply.

Kinley opened the door, blinking owlishly up at him. “Wha’ you doin’?” she asked in a sleepy voice.

He crossed his arms over his chest, unable to hide his irritation. “I just wanted to know why you snuck out of my bed like a—”

Her eyes widened as she visibly awakened. “Shhh! Don’t let anyone see you!” Before he could reply, she grabbed his arm and yanked him into the room. “Look, I’m sorry about that. Let me make coffee first and I’ll explain.”

Quinn nodded and shut the door, watching her shuffle over to the coffeepot. All she wore was a long T-shirt that completely exposed those long, sexy legs. He glimpsed her panties as she bent over to pick up a sugar packet she’d dropped on the floor. He bit back a groan.

“What if it hadn’t been me at the door?” he ventured, his ire rising at the thought. “What if it’d been one of the other guys?”

Kinley shrugged and opened up one of the tiny hotel coffee packets. “I would have told them to put their eyes back in their head. If not, I can fight without pants.”

“Okay then.” Damn, her boldness was hot. But it could get her in trouble. The rich aroma of brewing coffee woke up his protective instincts. Clenching his fists, he added, “If any of them makes a move on you, I’ll kick his ass.”

To his irritation, she shook her head. “I can fight my own battles, Quinn.”

“Yeah, but—”

“But what? Do you think you own me now?” Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

“No, I just…” He shook his head and sighed. “Never mind. So why’d you sneak away last night?”

Kinley took a deep breath, pouring the coffee into those God-awful Styrofoam hotel cups. “Well, for starters, I didn’t want anyone to know.”

“And second?” he prodded as she handed him his cup.

Her cheeks pinkened, giving him another rare, delightful glimpse of her girlish side. “Well, I didn’t really know what the protocol was. I still don’t know anything. Was it a one-night stand leading to me getting kicked out of bed first thing in the morning?” She paced in front of him, oblivious to how delicious she looked. “Or is it a casual fling? Or friends with benefits? Or is it—” Her blush deepened and she broke off, unable to speculate further.

“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 time 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 grow 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.

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 knowledge 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.

Just before she reached the hotel, a hand clapped on her shoulder.

Kinley spun around with a startled squeak.

Phil sneered down at her. “What’s in the bag?”

Terror punched her in the gut. Of all the people to catch her buying lingerie, it had to be this one. Clutching the bag tighter, she gave him a reply guaranteed to make him back off. “Tampons.”

Sure enough, his mouth turned down in a scowl of disgust and he took a step back, as if she carried a toxic substance. Before Kinley could savor her triumph, Phil leaned forward, eyeing her with abject hatred.

She met his stare. “What is your problem?”

“You don’t belong on the road with us,” he snarled. “This is a man’s job.”

Her patience vanished. “If that’s the case, what does it mean that I’m doing better at it than you?”

His face turned white as curdled milk. “You better watch your ass, bitch.”

Chapter Sixteen

Quinn’s breath caught when he opened his door to a goddess. A nervous goddess dressed to kill in a shimmering, low-necked, purple dress and silver sandals. Her hair fell loose down her back in a silken ebony waterfall.

“Is it too much?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

She looked so sexy and adorable he wanted to yank her into his room and throw her on the bed. But he’d promised her a date. So instead, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“You look amazing.”

She put a hand on the sleeve of his suit jacket. “So do you.”

By mutual consent, they left the hotel and walked across the street to a nearby Italian restaurant. The smell of garlic seemed to ooze from the walls.

Kinley inhaled appreciatively. “I love garlic.”

The food was fantastic, but Quinn hardly noticed. He was too enraptured with the experience. There he was, staring at a beautiful woman across a secluded, candlelit table, just like any normal guy on any normal date. He couldn’t stop smiling as he watched Kinley devour her first taste of osso buco. He’d recommended it because he’d noticed how much she liked steak. Her fearful expression at the price made him smile. It felt good to spoil her.

“I should hate you for this,” she said as she scooped the last bit of tender veal into her mouth.

He took another bite of his own. “Why?”

She laughed. “Because I don’t know if I can go back to a plain old steak again.”

Stay with me and you won’t have to, he wanted to say. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and smiled. “This is nice. No rushing, no smelly road crew, no screaming fans. Just a good meal and a gorgeous date.” Though he wouldn’t give up his life in music for anything, moments like these were as rare as shooting stars.

Her cheeks pinkened but she nodded and sipped her wine. “It is nice to have a break.”

For once they didn’t talk about music. They didn’t even talk about the tenuous conditions of their relationship. To his surprise, Kinley’s favorite movie was Harold & Maude, a dark comedy from the seventies about a young man falling in love with an older woman.

“I loved that one!” he exclaimed in wonder. Most people he knew hadn’t even heard of it. “But the ending is sad.”

With dark, contemplative eyes, she shook her head. “I used to think it had a sad ending, but now I realize that it was happy. Maude’s death wasn’t sad—it was on her terms. And before she left him, she taught Harold how to actually live.”

God, he loved her mind. “That’s an excellent point. Makes me want to watch it again.”

“I have a copy on my laptop,” she offered.

“Maybe we can cuddle in bed and watch it. That is, after I’m done worshiping every inch of your body.” He licked his lips, watching her. “I love making you blush.”

When the server brought the check, every cell in Quinn’s being cringed in reluctance to leave this oasis. But once Kinley stood and he glimpsed her long, long legs beneath the glittering material of her dress, his reluctance was replaced with anticipation to take her to another destination.

Unfortunately, Kinley had other ideas.

“We better make an appearance at the party, or people might suspect. And I gotta get out of this dress.”

Quinn nuzzled her neck, relishing the soft heat of her skin. “I’ll help you out of that dress.”

“Later.” To his disbelief, she smacked him on the butt.

Before he could retaliate, she dashed across the street to the hotel. Sighing, Quinn followed. Instead of going up to his room, he joined the party, which was already in full swing in one of the conference rooms. Immediately he was swarmed by fans and colleagues.

Grabbing a beer from the ice bucket, he did his best to be sociable and not search the room for Kinley. She emerged soon afterward dressed in jeans and T-shirt, her hair returned to its customary braid. If they were both dressed up, their connection would be obvious. Still, it irked him to see her back in her work clothes.

Quinn frowned at the memory of Kinley wrapping up patch cords, hauling amps, and meticulously cleaning his guitar strings. It didn’t feel right, having her work for him any more. Not when she was his girlfriend. Instead of this drudgery, she should be relaxing at the spa or shopping or…something.

He sighed. She’d never go for that. At least she did a better job than Phil.

As if reading his mind, the lead guitarist from Bleeding Vengeance commented from behind him, “That’s one hell of a guitar tech you got there. I’d love to steal her from you.”

Quinn fought back a growl. “Fuck you, Lefty.”

Lefty chuckled and left for the beer cooler.

It was almost worse at these parties, watching the members of Bleeding Vengeance as well as his own guys ogling her. Quinn ground his teeth. If it weren’t for Kinley’s plea for secrecy, he’d pull her into his arms and stake his claim. Then he’d politely inform every male present that if they touched her, they’d lose a hand.

Oblivious to Quinn’s protective eye, Kinley laughed off Roderick’s and Cliff’s flirting, focusing on her interview with them. It soon dissolved into the traditional debate on who was the superior band, Megadeth or Metallica, even though everyone knew it was a moot point since neither band would have existed without the other.

Klement walked by with an impish grin and said something that made Kinley erupt into a tirade of points extolling the virtues of her favorite. Quinn shook his head. Klement loved a good debate and he always knew which buttons to press to rile up an opponent. Kinley’s response seemed to meet Klement’s approval since he nodded.

“Now don’t put anything about those bands in our interview or the comments section will be all about them instead of us,” Klement told her.

Kinley nodded and then she and Cliff shifted the conversation to the subject of favorite songs and albums. Klement strode over to Quinn. At six and a half feet tall, he towered over everyone.

“How goes?” he asked, sipping a bottle of some exotic brand of ale.

“What do you think of her?” Quinn couldn’t help asking.

The bassist scratched his chin. “I think there’s a lot more between you two than the job, but that’s none of my business. I will say that her defensive attitude and constant feeling that she has something to prove could cause problems.”

His blue-green eyes surveyed the crowd as if analyzing every detail. His narrow lips turned down in a frown of disgust as he watched Lefty beckon Curtis from the beer cooler to, mostly likely, do a line or two.

Quinn shook his head. “What are we going to do about those two?”

Klement sighed. “I don’t know about Curt, but ever since Lefty hocked his Gibson for dope I’ve been wanting to fire his ass. Cliff and Rod likely won’t listen until he starts hocking their gear as well.”

“Curt hasn’t hocked anything as far as I know, but if he doesn’t get his ass in rehab, I’m sure that’ll come next.”

“Let’s hope not. Curt’s an amazing player, and so is Lefty. But when your addiction is so bad that you’ll sell the means of your career to get your fix, talent isn’t gonna save you.” He suddenly smiled. “Speaking of fixes, wanna puff?”

“Not at the moment.” Quinn frowned. “Isn’t it a little hypocritical of you to be talking about them, given your own hobbies?”

Klement laughed. “Not at all. For one thing, I think I have ADHD and weed keeps me focused and won’t kill me if I smoke too much. For another, I grow my own. And even if I didn’t, I’d never hock my gear.”

Quinn shook his head as the bassist sauntered off to smoke down someone else. Quinn returned his attention to Kinley, wondering when they could slip away together—and when Roderick would quit staring at her chest.

Pulling out his phone, he texted her: We’ve been ignoring each other long enough. Go up to the room and I’ll meet you there in a few.

For the first time in hours, she looked up at him, eyes wide and tremulous. He could read the doubt in her face.

With a wicked smile, he texted: I’m going to make you come more than twice.

She read the message and a rosy blush suffused her face.

Quinn chuckled as she replied, Promise?

Maybe this could be fun. Then again… He frowned as Kinley said her good-byes and Roderick asked if they could join her. This secrecy was getting old fast.

Still, he forced himself to wait five minutes before leaving the party and going up to the room. It felt like an hour.

The sight of Kinley reclining on the bed in a decadent, black satin negligee made him suck in a breath. She looked like an elaborate gift laid out for him and only him.

Unbuttoning his shirt, he allowed his gaze to caress every inch of her luscious body. “Waiting for this nearly drove me crazy.”

She eyed his chest with obvious hunger. “I know. It was hard to act casual and professional around you.” She peeked at him shyly beneath long lashes. “Actually, it always was.”

“Tell me about it. It was damn near impossible not to beat the shit out of all those guys hitting on you.” He fought back a growl at the thought and removed his jeans. “You know, if you weren’t so hung up on keeping this a secret, they’d quit trying to get in your pants.”

Kinley snorted. “‘Those guys’ are your colleagues. You’ve known them a lot longer than me. Stop being so overprotective. I can take care of myself. Besides”—she stretched languidly on the bed like a cat—“I’m not wearing any pants.”

Hardening at her words, he climbed onto the bed, bracing his arms on either side of her stain-clad body. Primal satisfaction filled him in a rush. Sinking down to cover her body with his, he claimed her lips in a long, lingering kiss.

Trailing his lips across her cheek, along her jaw, and down to that sweet spot below her ear, he whispered, “But you are wearing this sexy nightie, and I intend to get under it.”

Kinley trembled beneath him as he ground his erection against her hot center in emphasis. Quinn slowly worked his way down her body, hands sliding across the satin, cupping her soft breasts and squeezing them gently before moving down to grasp her hips.

He gazed up at her with a pleased smile. “No panties? Very good.”

Quinn feathered soft kisses along her inner thighs, savoring Kinley’s little whimpers every time he drew closer to her center. Still, he continued to torment her, keeping his mouth only a breath from where she wanted it.

Kinley moaned and squirmed, but he held firm on her hips. The musky scent of her arousal flooded his senses like an aphrodisiac. Quinn couldn’t wait to taste her sweetness, but he kept up a little longer, enjoying the sensual anticipation.

“Please…please…” she panted, voice wild with delirium.

It was the moment he’d waited for. Softly, he brought his lips to the edge of her labia, tasting her wetness with a light flick of his tongue. Kinley bucked in his grip with a soft cry that grew louder when he took all of her plump heat into his mouth, sucking gently. God, she was so wet. He licked her up and down before curling his tongue along her clit like it was a ripe berry.

Quinn felt her orgasm against his lips. Her core flashed with heat and her flesh began to quiver beneath his mouth. Kinley cried his name and thrashed wildly beneath his grasp. Holding her still, he continued to ravage her, savoring the delicious sounds of her pleasure.

Only when he was half insane with lust did he stop and retrieve a condom. “Turn over,” he growled. “On your hands and knees.”

Still gasping, Kinley obeyed, presenting him with the most tantalizing ass he’d ever seen. Quinn took a moment to caress that soft round flesh before positioning the head of his cock at her entrance, teasing the plump wet folds in slow circles. Slowly, he guided himself inside her, sucking in a breath at the impossibly tight heat.

Once he’d filled her completely, Quinn threw back his head and groaned. He could feel her pulsating around him, shock waves still reverberating from the climax he’d given her with his tongue. Unable to hold back any longer, he seized her hips and thrust hard and deep. Another low cry escaped her lips as she spread her legs wider, body begging for more.

Nearly blinded by the haze of desire, he continued to ruthlessly pound inside her, taking her, claiming her for his own. Reaching one hand around her hip, his fingers found her clit and he stroked her in rhythm with his thrusts until he felt her tighten and spasm once more.

Quinn rode wave after wave of her orgasm, allowing it to overtake his senses before his body joined hers. His own climax ripped through him with electrifying clarity, tearing a primal low cry from his lips. Yet still he took her with frenzied savagery until they collapsed in a sweating, gasping tangle.

“Oh my God,” Kinley managed on a shuddering breath.

Carefully Quinn rolled off of her onto his back, struggling to catch his own breath. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No…I…wow.” Her voice was laden with age-old feminine satisfaction.

“Good.” He removed the condom, tossed it in the wastebasket and grabbed another from the end table. “Take off your nightgown. I’m not finished with you yet.”

Chapter Seventeen

Kinley awoke to someone pounding on the door. Beside her, Quinn groaned in irritation and rolled out of bed, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of his ass before he yanked his pants on. They’d never gotten around to watching a movie.

“Who is it?” he called in a voice that boded ill for one who dared disturb him.

“It’s Gaffer. I got some bad news.” The road manager’s voice sounded ominous.

Gaffer? The thought of the boss catching her in bed with Quinn hit Kinley like a bucket of ice water.

“Oh shit,” she muttered under her breath as she scrambled out of bed, grabbed her clothes, and fled into the bathroom, closing the door before Quinn crossed the room to let Gaffer inside.

As she jerked on her shirt, she heard Quinn open the door. She froze at Gaffer’s solemn words: “Lefty’s dead.”

Kinley’s heart stopped. The air around her turned thin and cold. She sank to her knees and slapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her gasp. Maybe she was still dreaming. Please, let this be a dream.

“Dead?” Quinn’s voice sounded choked. “How?”

“Cocaine overdose, how else? I hate to say it, but I saw that coming from a mile off.” There was a moment of silence before Gaffer’s heavy footsteps lumbered closer and he knocked on the bathroom door. “You may as well come out, Kin. You ain’t fooling me.”

She sighed and emerged. In the face of such tragedy, her secret, or lack thereof, didn’t matter. It would later, but the fact of Lefty’s death mitigated all else.

As if in agreement, Quinn pulled her into his arms, brushing a kiss on the top of her head. “Does Curt know yet?”

Gaffer’s face contorted in pain. “Yeah, Curt woke up next to him and found him that way. He’s completely freaking out. I had to have the guys restrain him and haul him out to the bus before the hotel called security.”

Kinley covered her mouth. Poor Curt. Lefty was his best friend. He had to be going through hell. She couldn’t imagine such pain. If she lost Kat… She buried her face in Quinn’s chest, unable to complete the thought.

“Oh my God.” Quinn ran a hand through his hair, face pale with shock and grief. “What are we going to do now?”

“The show still has to go on, at least on our end.” Gaffer shrugged. “So the first thing we need to do is get the hell out of here before the press shows up. Then I guess we’re going to have to find another band to fill in for Bleeding Vengeance for the rest of the tour.”

Quinn nodded, visibly struggling for composure. “And tomorrow’s gig?”

“We’ll talk about that later.” Gaffer patted him on the shoulder. “Right now we need to move.”

With shaking hands, Kinley finished dressing and packed up her stuff. On their way out to the bus, reporters waited with microphones and cameras. Quinn ignored them all, clinging to Kinley’s hand with a death grip, pulling her with him.

As soon as they were inside, the bus peeled out of the parking lot as if fleeing the grim reaper’s scythe. Kinley took in everyone’s hollow gazes and the sight of Curt curled up on his bunk, bawling his eyes out. She almost burst into tears as well. She glanced at Quinn and he answered her silent question with a nod.

Slowly, she made her way to Curt and began to rub his back in slow, soothing circles just as she’d done when her little brothers had had a nightmare. Unfortunately for Curt, this nightmare would never end. His friend was never coming back. The guitarist blinked at her, eyes bloodshot from cocaine and tears.

Without warning, he threw himself into her arms with such force she nearly toppled over. A grown man was different from a little boy, but not as much as she’d expected. Clinging to her like she was the only solid thing in the universe, he laid his head on her shoulder and cried until he ran out of breath.

The rest of the band and crew surrounded Curt in a protective circle. Some of the guys stared at Kinley as if they hadn’t seen her before. Which made sense, since she’d never given the impression that she was capable of comforting. Kinley ignored the scrutiny and hugged Curt tighter.

Afterward, he pulled away with a watery sigh. “Thanks, Kin.”

“Anytime.” She squeezed his hand.

Everyone remained silent as Gaffer paced through the bus making phone calls.

Brand broke the mournful hush with the dreaded question: “What are we doing about tomorrow’s gig?”

“I don’t know.” Quinn sighed. He looked like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Kinley longed to go to him and pull him into her arms. “I think we should go on. It’s not fair to the fans to lose the whole show but…” He shrugged helplessly and looked pointedly at Curt’s huddled form.

Sensing the scrutiny, Curt looked up sharply. “The show will go on. Lefty would have wanted it that way. But you’re going to have to do it without me.”

“Curt—” Tony began.

The guitarist waved him off with a shaky hand. “I need to get my ass in rehab now. The bus is going to drop me off at the train station on the way to the gig. Kinley can take over for me until…until I’m better. She knows our songs better than anyone I’ve ever met.” Meeting Kinley’s gaze, his eyes burned with feverish intensity. “Can you do that for me, Kin?”

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she nodded in spite of her doubts that she could take his place. Would Gaffer and the rest of the band allow it? As if in answer, they all nodded, though some of the road crew frowned—especially Phil.

“I’ll do the best I can,” she answered, voice quavering.

“What kind of bullshit is this?” Phil demanded. “If anyone should step in for Curt, it should be me. I’ve been guitar tech for this band longer than that bitch.”

So fast it was almost frightening, Curt leapt from his seat and punched the roadie in the face. “Get the fuck out of my sight before I beat the shit out of you.”

Hold his bleeding nose, Phil fired back, but his retort was muffled and unintelligible.

Curt drew back his fist to hit him again, but Gaffer charged forward and stood between them.

Grasping Phil by the shoulder, the road manager snarled, “If we didn’t need a guitar tech so bad, I’d fire your ass right now. And if I hear one word against Kinley again, I’ll fire you anyway. Now get the hell out of here and be grateful you got your old job back. And try to fix that attitude. Curt just lost his best friend and we all lost one of our own.”

Phil slinked off to the back of the bus, slamming the partition door so hard that one section jolted out of its roller.

Joe shook his head. “Jesus. What the fuck is wrong with that guy?”

Curt retreated back to his bunk, wrapping a blanket over his shoulders, all of his avenging fury depleted. Despite shivering like he had hypothermia, the guitarist smiled. “You’re a good woman, Kin. I’m sorry for all you’ve had to put up with from Phil and I’m sorry about the times I was an ass.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She smiled back. “You were just doing your job.”

He laughed, then broke into a coughing fit. When he recovered, he blew his nose and shook his head. “If you hadn’t been here, we would have been screwed.” He lowered his voice. “There’s no way in hell I would have let Phil stand in for me. He could never nail even half my riffs.”

“Not to mention the fact that he’s a drama llama,” Tony added.

Brand laughed lightly. “Who knew that letting this chick kick Harry’s ass would end up saving our tour?”

The rest of the band looked at her and nodded in solemn agreement. Quinn was the first to hold out his hand. It was a formal gesture compared to their previous intimacy, but it fit the moment. “Welcome to Viciöus, Kinley.”

She placed her trembling hand in his and squeezed. Brand and Tony followed suit. Quinn passed out beers and they drank a toast.

Just like that, she was part of the band. Kinley struggled to smile. Her deepest dream had come true, but it tasted like ashes in her mouth.

***

When the bus arrived at the gig, Kinley got up to join the crew. Quinn grabbed her arm and pulled her back down. “That’s not your job anymore.”

Her face turned bright red as the others laughed. “Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’re all strained tonight.”

And wasn’t that the truth. His own hands wouldn’t stop shaking. His senses had been operating in shell-shock mode since Gaffer told him that Lefty had died. And my last words to him were, “Fuck you, Lefty.” His heart ached with regret and remorse at the thought. Before he lost it and started crying like Curt, he returned his focus to the matter at hand.

He couldn’t bring himself to be angry at Curt for abandoning them in the middle of the tour. The guy would be useless in his grief-stricken state, and if he didn’t get clean, he could end up like Lefty.

Still, it was quite a bomb to drop on the band—and on Kinley. They’d be lucky to get through a single song without fucking up, much less a whole set.

Crossing his arms over his chest to hide his shaking, he faced his band and forced a confident tone. “We can do this. For Curt, for Lefty, for Bleeding Vengeance, and for the fans, we have to do this.” Finally starting to believe his own words, Quinn stood and met their gazes one by one. “We’re going to get on that stage and thrash like never before. We’re going to live up to our name. Got it?”

Brand and Kinley nodded solemnly.

“Damn right!” Tony shouted, surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eye.

Steeling their nerves, they passed around a joint while waiting for it to be time for the sound check. Kinley declined to smoke and instead settled for a second beer.

Quinn grabbed a duffel bag and tossed Kinley her backpack. “Time to get rolling.”

Once security escorted them to the dressing rooms, Kinley whipped her face around to look at Quinn in horror. “What should I wear?”

He grinned. “Your autographed Bleeding Vengeance shirt, of course. And those jeans with the studs on the sides. The ones that make your ass look spectacular.”

She gave him a coy smile, but her mood quickly changed. “You really shouldn’t say things like that.”

His smile faded. “What do you mean?”

“People will find out about…well, us.”

Oh God, not this again. “Would that be so bad?”

“Yes!” Kinley’s voice rang with fear and frustration. “Especially now that I’m standing in for Curt. If it gets out that we’re, um, involved, people will think it’s just because of that.”

“But Curt is the one who asked you to take his place.”

Her lips curled in a bitter smirk. “Do you think anyone would believe that if they knew I’m fucking you?”

He sighed. “No. But don’t you think it’s time to stop caring so much about what other people think?”

She lifted her chin. “This isn’t just about me—it’s about the band. I don’t want you guys to suffer because of me. Losing Curt, even temporarily, is bad enough for your career.”

Torn between being touched at her genuine concern for the band and reluctant acceptance of her logic, he spread his arms helplessly. “Fine, we’ll keep it under wraps a little longer.”

Checking to make sure no one was looking, he seized her shoulders and pulled her towards him, claiming her mouth in a fiery kiss. He willed his embrace to convey all of his yearning and need for her. When he withdrew, he was gratified to see her gasping with desire. “But eventually the truth will come out.”

She nodded stiffly and fled to the dressing room.

Cursing under his breath, he strode into his own dressing room and resisted the urge to punch the wall. This tour was becoming a clusterfuck of epic proportions. First they’d lost Lefty, and hence lost their opening band, then they lost their own guitarist, who, yes, needed to get help, but who couldn’t have sought it at a worse time. And now they had a semi-experienced woman stepping into Curt’s shoes. A woman who would indeed be subject to scorn if word got out she was sharing the singer’s bed. A woman who made him so happy, he wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

Quinn was still cursing the sexist hypocrisy of the music industry when they gathered on the stage for sound check.

Though her eyes were unnaturally wide and Quinn detected a fine tremor in her arms and legs, Kinley managed to display a modicum of confidence as she crossed the stage and lifted Curt’s B.C. Rich from its stand, meticulously double-checking the tuning. Sure enough, Phil didn’t have it right, but that was probably deliberate.

Although he’d kept his mouth shut ever since Curt nailed him, it was patently obvious Phil loathed having to work for the woman he’d bullied these past few weeks. Quinn would have taken more satisfaction at that twist if it hadn’t been orchestrated by tragedy.

When the instrument was to her satisfaction, Kinley turned to face the band. “I just realized that I’ve never officially played with you guys before.”

Tony shrugged. “That’s what the sound checks for. You can do this, Kin.” With that, he tapped on the cymbals and began drumming the beat for “Vanquished,” one of their most popular songs. Kinley began the shredding intro just as Quinn and Brand chimed in with the rhythm.

For her first time, and with frayed nerves at that, Kinley didn’t do half bad. There was nothing Joe couldn’t fix with the mixing, anyway. Curt had made a good call.

With no opening band before them, they only had a few moments to wait while the arena filled with fans. In light of the tragedy, the noise from the crowd was subdued.

Once they got their cue, Viciöus mounted the stage.

Fighting the lump in his throat, Quinn surveyed the anxious fans before approaching the microphone. “Thank you all for coming tonight. Bleeding Vengeance sends their love and regret for not being able to play.” He took a deep breath. “Tonight we honor the memory of Lefty Swanson. To our regret, Curt is not here, as he is mourning his best friend. We’re proud to introduce Kinley Black, who’s filling in for him until he’s recovered.”

As the spotlight highlighted her, he met Kinley’s gaze and smiled. “Watch out—this woman can shred.”

A few people booed. Kinley flinched before straightening her shoulders and smiling to those who applauded. Then she took Quinn’s cue and began the intricate intro to one of their most popular songs. The applause increased once she proved herself capable of matching Curt’s riffs. As Brand and Tony began the bass and drum rhythms, Quinn struck the first chord on his guitar and began to sing.

For the most part, the show went smoothly. Except for an unfortunate C-sharp during a solo, Kinley’s performance was nearly perfect, and she brought her own unique energy in full force. Joining her at the edge of the stage for the dueling guitar solo, he couldn’t hold back his wonder. Playing with her felt so natural, as if she had been meant to jam with him right from the start.

And most of the crowd seemed to be accepting her. Pride and relief rushed through him at that. He’d been afraid they’d bash her out of loyalty to Curt. True, there were a few surly faces, but the cheers from the rest overcame those objectors, especially when the band finished the encore, a Bleeding Vengeance cover, and took their bows.

Backstage at the meet and greet, Quinn couldn’t hide his proud smile as Kinley conversed with fans and even signed a few autographs. She’d handled everything so well. His heart swelled in admiration, remembering, too, how she’d held Curt in her arms through his grief.

Then, just before he checked into rehab, she’d recorded his announcement for his fans at his request and, after that, had gone straight to work on a memorial post for Lefty. And then, she’d practiced all their songs for hours until he’d taken the guitar away in fear that her fingers would bleed.

She’d done so much and worked so hard for the band. Quinn only wished he had her to himself more often.

Chapter Eighteen

Kinley huddled under an umbrella, freezing her ass off in a black dress as she stood with Quinn in the cemetery. Awe and grief warred within her as the members of Bleeding Vengeance said a few last words before their guitarist would be interred. All of the Big Six in thrash metal had attended Lefty’s funeral, along with several other well-known acts. Kinley knew that the heavy metal industry was a close-knit community, but seeing the evidence took her breath away.

A crowd of fans stood outside the wrought-iron gates, solemnly holding banners and posters of the departed guitarist. A few religious crazies picketed the east side of the graveyard, spewing accusations that Lefty and everyone involved with metal were worshippers of Satan. They were quickly driven back by a group of mean-looking bikers.

She’d expected a metal funeral to be a spectacle, yet this surpassed her expectations. As her gaze swept across scores of legends who had adorned the posters on her bedroom walls, she was struck again by those warring emotions.

Looking up at Quinn, she said quietly, “It’s so surreal. I barely knew Lefty, though I’ve been listening to Bleeding Vengeance since their first album. And Kat cried when I told her he died. She’s idolized him for years, just like tons of other people. But none of us ever really knew him.” She blinked back tears. “A lot of people here were his friends and family. They knew him. And they are suffering more than any of his fans can possibly imagine.”

“Don’t underrate your sorrow, Kinley.” He squeezed her hand. “The loss of the music that inspired you is a wound that will always ache. I was just a kid when Freddie Mercury died, and I even though I never met the guy, that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

His understanding warmed her in spite of the chilling rain. Though she knew it was a bad idea, she let him keep hold of her hand.

God, I could fall in love with this man.

Kinley tamped down the dangerous thought and forced a teasing smile. “I never would have pegged you for a Queen fan.” However, it made sense, given his theatrical singing style.

Curtis approached them, wiping tears from his face. “I still can’t believe my best friend’s gone.” He’d temporarily checked out of the rehab clinic to attend the funeral. Kinley ached for him and all the suffering he had to be going through. The guy looked like he’d lost twenty pounds.

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, knowing there was nothing she could say to heal his hurt. “How are you holding up?”

“It’s the worst kind of hell.” His mouth turned down in a scowl, not wanting to continue on the subject of battling his addiction. “What about you? How are you handling being my stand-in?”

Kinley sighed. “Well, I’m not you, so a lot of your fans are disappointed. Most have been cool, though. Other than that, I think I’m doing okay. At least I haven’t fucked up a set yet.”

“But are you enjoying it?” The intensity of his gaze revealed the importance of her answer.

“Oh hell yes.” Quickly she added, “But I can’t wait for you to come back.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious! I may be able to play well, but I have absolutely no creative ability when it comes to writing music. I’m just a good mimic and I’m fine with that.” She met his eyes and straightened her shoulders. “Viciöus needs you back to write new material, so I hope you get better soon.”

Curtis regarded her with wide eyes. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“You’re good people, Kin.” He hugged her and gave Lefty’s grave another mournful glance. “I better head back to the clinic. I’ll return some other time to leave flowers when the place isn’t overrun with a circus. Lefty would have laughed at this—” His voice broke in a choked sob. “I gotta get out of here.”

The guitarist fled just in time. Before Kinley could blink, she and the rest of the band were mobbed by reporters expecting them to give beautiful sound bites about Lefty for their magazines and websites.

The remaining members of both Bleeding Vengeance and Viciöus expressed their heartfelt grief at the loss of such a brilliant colleague. To Kinley’s surprise, Cliff burst into tears. But when the reporters started asking about Curt’s absence, both bands clammed up, giving evasive answers. Quinn coolly told them to check out Metalness.com for the guitarist’s own statement.

Before any in the media could recognize Kinley or inquire about her new position in the band, Quinn shunted them off and led his group away. The crowd around them slowly trailed out of the cemetery, sharing whispered condolences and recriminations. Kinley received respectful nods from Bleeding Vengeance and guys from other bands. Plenty continued to give her censorious looks for being a girl in a boys’ club, but she took comfort in the fact that so many were beginning to welcome her into the world she’d always dreamed of joining.

A handsome, older man with long, curly brown hair and blue eyes approached them. Kinley squinted. There was something familiar about him. When he closed the distance, she gasped. It was Dante Deity, one of the forefathers of metal, a freakin’ god.

To her relief, even Quinn and Tony were in awe of him. They practically stammered when he offered his condolences and then announced that his band would be finishing the tour with Viciöus.

“You can’t open for us,” Quinn sputtered. “I mean, we opened for you, two years ago.”

Dante chuckled and favored him with an ethereal smile. “Come on now. It would be ridiculous if you stopped being the headliner mid-tour. It’s bad enough you had to cancel a show for the funeral. Let’s just do our best to cheer up the fans.”

Quinn recovered himself and straightened his shoulders. “I can’t thank you enough, man.”

“Anytime. I know you’d do the same for me.” He gave Quinn a high five then looked at Kinley. “Is this the new guitarist I heard about?”

Quinn nodded. “Kinley Black. Owner of Metalness.com.” He pushed her forward gently.

Kinley almost fell. “I’m only standing in for Curt,” she said lamely.

Deity bestowed that ethereal smile on her. He was only a few inches taller than her, but as far as she was concerned, he was a giant. He shook her hand. “As fellow stand-ins, we’ll have to do our best for Viciöus and their fans. But I know we’ll rock it, right?”

“Right,” she whispered.

“I’ll see you guys in Saint Paul.” He walked off and she stared at her hand, unable to believe she’d gotten a handshake and a pep talk from Dante Deity.

The get-together after the graveside service was anything but solemn. In an enraged defiance of death, the drinking, noise, and revelry eclipsed any normal party. Overwhelmed by the chaos, Kinley felt a wave of gratitude when Quinn snuck her back to his hotel room early.

Lying in his arms watching Harold & Maude, she rested her head on his shoulder and released a contented sigh. She’d never known she could be this comfortable with a man. That she could share her body and affection with someone and he wouldn’t treat her as an inferior afterwards.

For the first time in her life, she didn’t hate her femininity. The respect and admiration in Quinn’s eyes when he looked at her made her feel proud of her appearance. The protective way he held her made her feel safe, like she didn’t have to face the world alone. And the way he made love to her made her feel like he was genuinely making love, not just fucking a convenient hole, like her past boyfriends.

It can’t be this perfect forever, her inner voice taunted. He’s going to drop your ass as soon as the tour’s done, or he’s going to turn out just like all the other misogynistic pricks you’ve dated and break your heart.

Both prospects made her heart freeze in dread, yet she couldn’t bring herself to regret snatching this brief period of happiness. Especially when Quinn’s fingers tangled in her hair to pull her up for a kiss.

***

Rain pattered against the windows of the tour bus as they headed for the show in Fort Lauderdale. Quinn only half listened while Gaffer went over changes to the tour. Only thirteen shows and six weeks remained.

He leaned back against the wall, feeling like he was staring into a rapidly approaching void. What would happen with Kinley after the tour? She lived almost four hundred miles from him. Would it be out of line to ask her to move to Seattle? Between the struggles and joy of working with her and maintaining their relationship, he hadn’t dared ruin their brief moments of bliss by bringing up the future. And, to be honest, he was scared shitless even thinking of it. Scared of the prospect of losing her.

Ever since Kinley came into his life, everything in his world seemed to have more meaning. Her courage and determination to do her best motivated him to do the same. Her passion and dedication for the music renewed his own. The endless touring and traveling from gig to gig once more gave him excitement and a sense of purpose. Most of all, her very presence gave him something to look forward to, something to cherish.

Gaffer’s voice cut through his musing. “Quinn? Have you heard a fucking word I’ve said?”

His eyes never left Kinley, who was practicing on Curt’s acoustic and patently ignoring the groupies on the bus. “Yeah, you said Deity’s gonna be twenty minutes late to the gig.”

Gaffer followed his gaze. “You’ve got it for her bad, don’t you?”

Unable to deny it, Quinn nodded and crossed his arms. “I want her to stay on with us.”

“Stay on with the band or just with you?” The road manager raised a brow.

His teeth clenched before he answered honestly, “Both.”

Gaffer sighed. “Some of the guys here wonder if you’re thinking with your dick—but I agree. She’s a hard worker and a damn fine guitar player, but Curt will be back eventually.” He cracked open a beer and lowered his voice. “I don’t know if we can keep her as a guitar tech since she lives so far away. We’ll just have to take it up with her, discuss her options. Maybe she could work in the studio for the next album. It’s not my department, but who knows?”

“Maybe that’ll work.”

Gaffer’s idea gave him hope. However, the road manager’s earlier words had Quinn frowning in irritation. “If I was thinking with my dick, I would have asked her out rather than agreeing to let you hire her.” He scowled at his band mates and road crew, though he couldn’t blame them for their thoughts. Lowering his voice, he continued, “And I wouldn’t have bothered trying to keep our relationship secret. Hell, she’s still insisting that we act professional in public, though everyone probably knows what’s going on between us.”

Gaffer nodded and inclined his head toward Brand, who had a groupie writhing in his lap. “And I bet it’s driving you crazy.”

He couldn’t hide his glum tone. “A little.”

Quinn watched Kinley glance up and roll her eyes at Brand as his giggling companion ducked her head under the covers, leaving little doubt as to her intention. He wouldn’t mind receiving the same attention from Kinley, though not in front of everyone.

The road manager smirked. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think she’s just as irritated when the chicks climb all over you after the gigs.”

He stroked his chin, suddenly speculative. “Is she now?”

A slow smile spread across Quinn’s lips as his gaze swept over his girlfriend. Kinley was his and it was time to end this ridiculous secrecy. Time for the world to know that she belonged to him.

Chapter Nineteen

When Viciöus arrived at the Louisville gig for the load-in, Phil headed over to start hooking up her gear. Kinley frowned. That had been her job and she still hadn’t gotten used to not doing it anymore. Stubbornly, she unpacked the guitar herself. Though Phil had kept his word to Gaffer and had treated her civilly since she joined the band, Kinley couldn’t bring herself to trust him.

Quinn gave her a crooked smile and shook his head as he walked by, hauling an amp. The sight of him doing the work himself was strange. The fact that he was her boyfriend was even more surreal.

Quinn returned hefting another amp. Her belly fluttered at the way his muscles flexed.

“Can I help you with that?”

For a moment he looked like he’d refuse, but then he nodded. “Sure. You know, one of the guys called you ‘Mighty Mouse’ on your first day with us.”

She chuckled. She’d been a grunt then and now she was part of the band—well, temporarily. What would happen when Curt came back? Would Quinn allow her to go back to being his guitar tech? Or was her job only good for this tour? Kinley realized they’d never discussed the duration of her position—or this relationship.

Lacking the courage to bring it up now, she changed the subject. “How are ticket sales?” She prayed they hadn’t suffered too much because a woman had taken Curt’s place.

“Much better since we got Deity to step in.” Quinn grinned. “We were lucky to get him when we did. He’s due to start his own tour in two months.”

Kinley nodded. She still couldn’t believe Dante had agreed to help them out. He even let her interview him a few weeks ago. He’d been the most polished, intelligent subject she’d ever had. Apparently he was a total bookworm and had a thing for medieval history. And he was a complete workaholic. While everyone else was partying, he was working on a song, reading, or organizing one or another of his many charity projects.

When she and Quinn finished loading the amp, he pulled her into his arms and took her lips in a soul-searing kiss. “I can’t wait until this gig is over with. I’m dying to get you alone.”

She nodded, speechless with desire. Their hands touched briefly before they headed to the dressing rooms.

Just when she’d finished touching up her lipstick, Kinley’s phone rang. A Bleeding Vengeance song trilled, signaling it was Kat. Another pang of guilt twisted her gut—she hadn’t called her friend since Lefty’s death.

Kat practically shrieked over the phone. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you’re now the lead guitarist for Viciöus and dating Quinn Mayne?”

Oh fuck. It seemed there was no reprieve after all.

“Who told you we’re dating?” she asked defensively.

“Today’s article on Rocktalk featured a picture of you all dressed up together over a candlelit dinner!” Kat snarled. “Not only did you not tell your own best friend about this, but I had to read about it on one of our rival sites? What the fuck, Kin?”

“Marianne…” Realization sank in. “That bitch must have followed us to the restaurant after she interviewed Quinn.”

“Who?”

“The night Lefty died, Marianne from Rocktalk had an interview with Quinn and afterward she got all over him.” Kinley’s fist clenched at the memory of that skank pawing her man. “He turned her down and we went out to dinner. She must have snuck into the restaurant to take pictures.”

For a moment, her best friend reacted in outraged solidarity. “Dude, that’s fucked up! And did you read Rocktalk’s post on Lefty? They sensationalized the hell out of it, like it was entertainment and not tragedy.” Then betrayal crept back into her tone as she returned to the topic at hand. “Still, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it only started recently, and I haven’t had any privacy since I went on the road. As for me being their stand-in guitarist, after Lefty died, things got hectic.” Kinley scanned the corridor of the backstage area, making sure she was still alone. “And, really, I didn’t want anyone to know there was anything going on between Quinn and I. At least not yet.”

“Not even your best friend?” Kat replied in a wounded voice.

Remorse coupled with frustration made Kinley shout out in desperation, “I didn’t tell you what was going on because I don’t know what is going on. I know that doesn’t make any sense, but I really don’t know! I don’t know if this is serious, or if I’m just an elevated groupie, or what this means for my career. And God knows what’s going to happen after the tour’s over. And now that I’m part of the band, and now that it’s out that Quinn and I are a couple, everyone’s going to be thinking I’m another Yoko Ono.”

Kat snorted before her voice softened. “No, it makes total sense, coming from you. You always worry too much about what people think and about your mythical ‘guy card’ getting revoked because you have feelings like any other human being. Just tell me everything from the beginning.”

Kinley took a deep breath and poured out the entire tale of her and Quinn’s rollercoaster courtship. When she finished, a measure of invisible weight lifted from her shoulders.

“Wow,” Kat said quietly. “Do you love him?”

Kinley’s heart clenched. “I think so.”

“Then enjoy yourself,” her best friend commanded. “Fuck everyone else. Just live in the moment and I’ll try not to be too jealous that you’re living the dream and dating a rock star.”

“Thanks, Kat. And I am sorry for not telling you sooner.”

“It’s fine. I understand how you are. But I still had to yell at you a bit.” Her tone shifted suddenly. “Now that I got that off my chest, I have some news for you. I broke up with Richard.”

Kinley couldn’t stop a huge grin from spreading across her face. It was about time Kat got rid of that skeezy, controlling prick. Even though she wanted to congratulate her friend, she tried to sound sympathetic. “Really? When? What happened?”

“He hit me,” Kat said quietly.

A red haze obscured Kinley’s vision. “What the fuck? I swear, when I get back home, I’m going to beat his ass.”

Kat managed a weak laugh. “I love that you didn’t ask like everyone else what I said or did to provoke him.”

“That’s because there’s nothing that would justify him treating you like that,” Kinley snarled. A long time ago, Kat had confessed that her real father had beaten on her and her mother until he went to jail for it. It was too bad Kat’s stepdad died in that fire. Kinley knew he wouldn’t have let Richard touch his stepdaughter. “Did you file a restraining order?”

“I did after he wouldn’t quit coming by my house and harassing my mom when I was at work.”

“Good.”

“I gotta go. Mom got back from the video store and we’re going to pop popcorn and watch Kill Bill and First Wives’ Club.”

Kinley laughed at the combination. “Give her a hug for me, okay?”

After hanging up, she joined the band backstage, tapping her foot to Deity’s music coming from the stage. Her reassurance from Kat’s pep talk faded as she saw the crew passing around the latest issue of Rocktalk.

Phil looked positively gleeful as Brand cursed. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell us you were banging the guitarist? Now everyone’s saying that’s why we hired her.”

Tony looked at Brand, head cocked to the side. “How did you not know? It’s been obvious before they even knew it.”

“Curt’s the one who asked her to step in,” Quinn reiterated. “Not me.”

The bassist whirled on him with a glare. “And I didn’t see you arguing against it, or at least pointing out the conflict of interest.”

“I didn’t argue against it because she’s a damn good guitar player. All of you must agree because not one of you had a problem with it either.” Quinn stepped closer, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “And there’s no conflict of interest. What Kinley and I do offstage is our own business.”

“Then why keep it secret?”

“It’s what Kinley wanted.”

All eyes darted to her and it was all she could do not to flinch from the scrutiny. “I didn’t want anyone to know because I knew this shit was going to happen. I want to be judged by my merits, not by who I’m sleeping with.”

Before anyone else could speak, Gaffer held up a hand. “Enough squabbling. It’s almost time to go on stage. Remember: The show is all that matters, not this petty bullshit.”

Kinley’s stomach pitched at the thought of going before thousands of people who might have read the article. When Deity and his band finished their encore and passed her on their way backstage, her legs turned to lead.

Quinn took her hand and gently pulled her forward. “This doesn’t change anything. We still have a show to do.”

They filed onto the darkened stage and Kinley concentrated on strapping her guitar over her shoulder and going over the set list in her mind. The lights came on before she was ready, blinding her with the piercing brightness. She blinked at the crowd. Their roar echoed in her ears. She saw angry faces, glaring at her with abject hatred. Some held signs saying, Bring back Curt.

Quinn took the mike and greeted the crowd. Blood pounded in Kinley’s ears as someone in the audience pointed at her and shrieked, “Yoko!”

Tony began the drum sequence to the first song. Her fingers went numb, unable to find the strings to do her part. Brand stepped over to her side and began strumming his bass. He eyed her intently, conveying a silent message. The crowd didn’t matter. The article didn’t matter. The arguments within the band didn’t matter. Only the music was important.

Her fingers regained their grip on the fret and she struck the opening chord…two seconds too late. Brand nodded anyway, head banging next to her as she began the shredding riffs.

The crowd cheered, the joy of hearing a favorite song eclipsing who was playing it. Quinn gave her an encouraging smile before his rich voice poured out the powerful lyrics. Kinley closed her eyes and surrendered herself to the music.

Still, tension rode her spine every time someone booed, nearly making her mess up again. She breathed a prayer of thanks when the set was finished.

The minute they arrived backstage, Quinn was swarmed by adoring fans. A few glared at Kinley and exchanged hostile murmurs. She forced a smile and stepped back to hang out with Tony.

The drummer lifted his gaze from the poster he was autographing and grinned. “You played well tonight. I still can’t believe you nailed the solo for “Contrition.” That one’s complicated.”

Brand joined them. “I’m sorry I blew up earlier. I was just caught off guard and felt stupid for not knowing what was going on. You really can shred—Curt was right to ask you to stand in for him.”

“Thanks.” The apology meant the world to her. Unbidden, her gaze strayed back to Quinn. A giggling bleached blonde stroked his bicep and whispered something in his ear. Kinley’s fists clenched.

The bassist raised a brow. “You know, if you went and sat on his lap, that’d shut ’em down.” He frowned and scratched his chin. “Or it would backfire and we’d have a cat fight. That could be entertaining.”

“Yeah right.” She made a derisive snort despite the fact that she wanted to do just that.

Two guys approached her with shy smiles and complimented her playing. Her heart warmed at this evidence that not everyone hated her. One of them appeared to be about sixteen, his blush so bright his ears were red. When the older one flirted with her, Kinley noticed Quinn glaring at them. Pointedly, she frowned at his groupies.

His eyes hardened. The blonde attempted to climb onto his lap. Quinn blocked her by grabbing his acoustic guitar. An incredible, heartrending melody poured from the strings. His rich voice permeated the room, singing a ballad that was softer than the typical Viciöus song.

As he sang, he stared at Kinley intently, making it apparent to all that he was singing to her. Goosebumps rose all over her while her belly fluttered at the passion of his voice, the heat in his gaze.

The message was clear. Now that their relationship had been made public, he was through with making a pretense at secrecy. Jubilation and fear warred within at his dare. If I walk away, I’ll be publicly rejecting him. If I go to him, my heart and reputation will be on the line.

Her heart made the decision. Throat tight, Kinley’s legs slowly carried her toward him.

The groupies followed Quinn’s gaze to Kinley. The blonde scowled but her friends stepped back and placed their hands over their hearts, cooing at the sweet gesture.

The boys who were flirting with her backed away like puppies with their tails between their legs. By the time Quinn finished the song, she stood inches from him. Her fingers itched to caress his face.

Not dropping his gaze, Quinn set the guitar down and pulled her into his arms. She nearly melted when his lips met hers in a soul-searing kiss. The rest of the world faded from her awareness. A low moan built in her throat as she tangled her fingers in his hair.

Applause broke out among their audience. Kinley’s face burned at the scrutiny but she didn’t let go of Quinn. When he broke the embrace, he took her hand and led her over to the rest of the band so they could depart.

“Whore,” Phil whispered as they passed him.

Revulsion curdled her in gut at the word. But it was quickly banished when Quinn hugged Kinley from behind. “Let’s head to the bus early, before anyone else shows up. Then maybe we can…” He nipped her ear playfully.

Immediate arousal pooled between her thighs as Kinley leaned back against his warm, solid form. In that moment, all of her worries and insecurities swept away like nocturnal insects fleeing the dawn.

Here, in Quinn’s arms, she gave herself up to the pleasure of the moment. Now was all that mattered. Taking his hand, she allowed him to lead her outside to the bus, thinking only of his hands on her body.

When Kinley and Quinn entered the bus, they couldn’t hold back frustrated groans at the sight of the sound techs playing cards. No privacy for them tonight.

The rest of the guys arrived shortly afterward and they set off on the road to the next city. As they cracked open beers and recapped the gig, Quinn put his arm around her and pulled her close, refusing to let her go.

His determined stare dared the other guys to criticize their now-public relationship. Kinley pressed closer to him, taking comfort in his strength as she surveyed the band and road crew.

Copies of Rocktalk were passed around as they all checked various rock websites for the public’s reaction to the article. Kinley cringed at the accusation that Quinn had kicked Curt out of the band and hired her because she was his girlfriend. Even worse were the predictions that she’d cause the band to break up.

“Oh fuck, this is a disaster,” she groaned. “Maybe you guys should just find someone else.”

“That would be a terrible move,” Gaffer said, looking up from his laptop. “Even bad publicity is good publicity. Ticket sales have gone up. Hell, the next three gigs are sold out.”

Brand’s frown faded at such good news. “Sweet!”

“And check this out.” Quinn handed Tony his phone. “A lot of sites are praising our progressiveness in hiring a woman guitarist. Our female fans are over the moon.”

Brand took the phone from the drummer and scrolled down the comments. He snorted suddenly. “And some of them are calling you two ‘Quinnley.’”

“Oh God.” Kinley pretended to gag. “That’s disgusting.”

Tony laughed. “Aw, c’mon. It’s cute.”

“Shut up.” Quinn snatched his phone back and turned back to Kinley. “You see? Everything’s going to be fine.”

Maybe everything will work out after all, her heart dared to believe. As added proof, once she and Quinn went to bed, he held her all night long, stroking her back until she finally fell asleep.

***

By the time they reached Atlanta, sexual tension hung so thick in the air she nearly sobbed in relief when the bus reached the hotel.

Thunder rumbled above gathering dark clouds as they crossed the hotel parking lot. Quinn’s face lit up in euphoric joy. “I love summer storms.” Grabbing her bag, he started to jog. “Come on, Kinley. I don’t want to miss it!”

Caught up in his enthusiasm, she chased him into the hotel. Once they reached their room, he threw down the bags, seized her hand, and pulled her back out again. In the elevator the boyish grin on his face made her heart turn over. Gripping her hand, Quinn raced through the lobby and straight out the door, past perplexed guests and hopeful fans.

Immediately she could smell the ozone of the forthcoming storm as the distant rumble of thunder vibrated in her ears. A gentle rain fell along with the accelerating breeze.

“This way!” He led her into a little park next to the hotel. Due to the rain, the picturesque place was abandoned, bringing an intimate atmosphere full of promise.

Releasing her hand, Quinn spread his arms, leaned back, and closed his eyes. His body appeared to soak in the thunder, lightning, and rain like a divine elixir. “Isn’t this awesome?”

“Yes.” Awestruck at his unabashed joy, she could hardly manage to speak.

Suddenly, the boyish expression left his face to be replaced by a naughty gleam in his eyes as he studied a secluded grove of trees. They were beautiful trees, creating a canopy of outstretched branches covered in crimson flowers.

Quinn bent down and licked her earlobe, whispering, “Have you ever made love in the rain, Kinley?”

“No.” Desire pulsed between her thighs, warring with caution. “What if someone sees?”

In answer, he claimed her lips in a ruthless, devouring kiss that left her gasping. “Then they’ll get one hell of a show.”

Desire winning out, Kinley took his hand and followed him under the canopy of trees. Tangling her fingers in his wet hair, she pulled him down for another kiss. The taste of his lips mingled with the warm rain. Thunder rumbled closer, resonating through her body, invoking something primitive deep in her soul. Lightning flashed in his eyes, making him look savage.

Carefully, he peeled off her wet shirt and unhooked her bra. With a wicked smile he bent down and licked the rain from her breasts. The thunder echoed his low growl; the lighting illuminated his face. His eyes closed in sensual bliss as his mouth closed over her nipple. He licked and sucked each one in turn until they were puckered and swollen.

Kinley moaned and reached for his shirt, tugging at the sodden cloth, knuckles grazing his hot, hard stomach. With a knowing laugh, he pulled the drenched shirt over his head. Her heart thudded at the sight of his breathtaking physique.

Rivulets of water trickled down his broad chest and heavily muscled abs. Her hands splayed across that magnificent expanse, caressing every inch. Hungrily, she licked the rain off his silken skin, making him chuckle as her tongue swept across the line of muscle above his hip.

“Hey, that tickles.” His laughter didn’t match the feral hunger in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, not in the least apologetic as she unbuttoned his jeans.

Quinn cursed as he worked the wet denim down his hips, releasing his massive cock. Kinley returned his wicked smile and sank to her knees. Her hands gripped the base of his shaft as her mouth closed over his length. His breath hitched as her tongue circled his swollen head.

His hands gripped her hair, firmly guiding, yet not forcing her ministrations. For some reason, the hint of gentle force made Kinley wetter. Her cunt throbbed with heat as she took him even deeper into her mouth. He was too large for her to deep throat, so she compensated by undulating her tongue against the sensitive flesh at the juncture between the top of his shaft and the ridges around the head of his cock.

Quinn groaned. “You’re going to make me come if you keep this up.”

He seized her arms and pulled her up. Immediately his hands dove down to unfasten her jeans. His fingers slipped down past the soaked fabric of her panties, playing across her slick labia, circling her clit until she was writhing.

“Please, Quinn,” she gasped, out of her mind with need. “I need you to fuck me.”

He arched a brow and slowly withdrew, pressing his finger on her throbbing clit one last time. “Then we’d better get naked.”

There was a moment of awkwardness as they struggled to take off their boots and damp jeans. Kinley cursed as her feet slipped in the grass and she nearly fell on her ass in the wet grass. Laughing, she regained her balance. For a moment, she shivered despite the warm rain. She’d never been naked outside before.

With a low chuckle, Quinn approached her, literally a walking wet dream. All of her misgivings fled. She sucked in a breath, mute at the sight of his lean muscled body enveloped in the muted sunlight. Gently, he moved her hands away, green eyes raking her body.

“You are so goddamned beautiful.” His mouth dipped down, tongue slipping between her lips to dance with hers. Breaking away the kiss, he commanded, “Hold on to me.” His hands slid down to cup her ass as he lifted her.

Kinley gasped and wrapped her legs around his hips, whimpering with raw need as the tip of his cock teased her entrance. In one harsh deep thrust, he plunged inside her wet heat. She couldn’t hold back her moan. Clinging to his shoulders, she gyrated her hips, guiding him deeper, making him touch her most secret places. His hard length permeated her awareness, the sensation of fullness and sexual completion overtaking her consciousness until she was so dizzy with ecstasy that her grip slid on his wet shoulders. Kinley reached up to grasp the tree branches.

His hips arched, penetrating her deeper. They simultaneously gasped in pleasure at the new leverage. Kinley cried out, feeling all of him inside her. The head of his cock found a throbbing place she’d never known existed, stoking an unprecedented fire within as the base of his shaft slid across her clit.

Her orgasm struck in tandem with a bolt of lightning, reverberating through her along with the thunder. Quinn growled as his cock pulsed inside her with his own climax, their bodies joining and transcending the storm.

Fingers numb, Kinley released the tree, gasping as euphoria hazed her consciousness. Quinn held her, panting as he gently lowered her to her feet. “Oh my God,” she gasped, awestruck at the phenomenon they’d shared. “I lo—” She clamped her mouth shut, feeling like she was just struck with a hammer.

“Hmm?” he inquired drowsily.

“We better head back. Getting back into these wet clothes is gonna be a bitch.”

Donning her panties and struggling back into her soaked jeans, Kinley’s heart threatened to pound itself out of her chest at the realization of what she’d almost said. I’m in love with Quinn Mayne. I’m so screwed.

Chapter Twenty

Quinn reluctantly pulled away from Kinley’s warm embrace as the alarm clock went off too damn early for his tastes. It couldn’t be helped. They had to get back in the bus in an hour if they hoped to make it on time to the next gig.

“Ungh…” Kinley groaned beside him.

He nodded sympathetically and climbed out of bed. “I know, but if you get up now we’ll have time for a quickie in the shower. It’ll be our last chance for a couple days.”

“Oh.” Her voice was low and sultry, and far more awake. “When you put it that way…”

An hour later, they met the band and crew in the lobby. Phil, of all people, approached them with a small smile and a cardboard drink carrier. “The hotel coffee sucks, so I made a run and got us something better.”

“Thanks.” Quinn tried to hide his surprise as he reached for a warm cup. Maybe Phil had finally gotten over his issues with Kinley.

“No!” Phil yanked the cup back, hissing as a few drops of hot liquid splattered on the back of his hand. “That one’s for Kinley.” His tone softened as he smiled and winked. “All the girls like chocolate, you know.”

“Ah, okay.” Understanding dawned. He must be trying to get on her good side in an attempt to keep his job. Good luck with that, he added silently and took the other cup.

Kinley raised a brow and took her coffee. “Um, thanks,” she muttered brusquely.

Apparently she’d arrived at the same conclusion. Still, she was polite enough to sip the drink and waited until he walked away before she grimaced.

“I don’t know what he ordered, but this isn’t much better than what we got here. But at least it’s caffeinated.” She gave him a drowsy smile that made him want to pull her back in his arms. “And I definitely need a lot after last night.”

Quinn chuckled and brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “Sorry I kept you up all night. But you can sleep on the bus.”

“No, I gotta work. I’m slacking on the site.” She took another big sip of coffee, mouth twisting in disgust at its flavor.

He shook his head but didn’t protest. He’d learned quickly that if he let her get her work done without interruptions, she’d be more receptive to his advances afterward. Taking a sip of his own drink, he also grimaced. The coffee tasted like it had been brewed last night and left on the burner until morning.

“Maybe I should ask Gaffer to lay off of Phil. He seems to be over his bitch-fit,” Quinn whispered as they got back in the bus.

Kinley smirked as she unpacked her laptop. “If he can be trusted not to fuck up my gear the second he thinks the heat’s off him.”

Exchanging glances of mutual suffering, they finished their beverages. Quinn lit a cigarette, hoping to mask the acrid flavor of burnt coffee beans.

A half hour later, Kinley closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.

“You okay?” he asked, feeling a pang of guilt for keeping her up so late last night. They didn’t get enough rest as it was.

She nodded, but winced at the movement. “I’m getting a bastard of a headache. Do one of you have a Tylenol or something?”

Tony tossed her a bottle of Aleve. “Damn, you better lie down, Kin. You don’t look so good.”

Quinn looked at her again. Her face was flushed and her hands shook as she fumbled with the medicine bottle. Alarm clenched his heart as her breath came in unnaturally shallow, hitching gasps.

As if in answer, her brown eyes met his, wide with panic. Her pupils were dilated. “Something’s wrong. I don’t feel good.”

With growing worry, he placed a hand on her forehead. “Oh my God, you’re burning up.” He turned and called up to the driver. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”

“No clue,” the driver yelled back.

“Quinn?” Kinley whimpered, voice beginning to slur. “My heart won’t quit jumping and I keep seeing shadows.”

She was shaking hard enough to vibrate the bunk. Her laptop slid and they both reached for it. As his hand steadied her wrist he felt her pulse thrumming in the rapid pace of a butterfly’s wings. “Holy shit.” His own pulse froze. “Call an ambulance!”

“But the gig,” someone protested.

“Fuck the gig!” Quinn roared, his panic rising. “Pull over and call an ambulance. Now!”

“Already on it,” Gaffer shouted back, phone in hand. “What do you think is wrong with her?”

Terror clawed his throat as he took her into his arms, her feverish skin burning through his shirt. “I don’t know.”

The bus pulled over at the next cross street and Gaffer gave the 911 dispatcher directions. Kinley thrashed in Quinn’s arms, muttering unintelligibly. She felt like a hot, vibrating coal, but he didn’t dare let her go.

“Somebody make me an icepack!” he ordered.

Brand raided the cooler and filled a plastic bag. Quinn took it gratefully and pressed the ice to Kinley’s blazing forehead. She made a small sound of relief, but her tremors continued.

After an agonizing eternity, the welcome sound of approaching sirens reached his ears. Band and crew cleared out of the way as the paramedics boarded the bus.

The medics ripped Kinley from Quinn’s arms, poking and prodding her with their devices while muttering back and forth in garbled medical speak. “Heart rate’s one-sixty. Fever is a hundred and four.”

Two more came in, carrying a portable gurney.

“What’s wrong with her?” Quinn demanded, hating his helplessness.

One of them eyed him with frigid scorn. “What did she take and how much?”

Quinn frowned in confusion. Did they think she was high? “I don’t know what you’re talking about. She didn’t take anything.” Something flickered at his consciousness, but before he could grasp the thought, Kinley whimpered again, blotting out his mind with a fresh flood of panic.

The EMT shook his head. “Sir, lying to us isn’t going to help her. I’m telling you, with her accelerated heart rate and dilated pupils, this woman is exhibiting all of the signs of a drug overdose. She could die if you don’t answer honestly. We need to know what she took so we can determine the proper treatment.”

“I am being honest with you.” Quinn bit back a snarl. Why were these idiots wasting time? They needed to quit interrogating him and help her. “Kinley doesn’t do drugs. She doesn’t even smoke weed.”

Phil approached the EMT, his eyes wide. “D-did you say she c-could die?”

The man rounded on him. “Do you know anything?”

The roadie’s lower lip trembled. Unbelievably, he started to cry. “I didn’t mean to hurt her! I only gave her a little bit.”

“What did you give her?” Gaffer growled.

Quinn froze. The coffee Phil got especially for Kinley. Phil had freaked out when Quinn almost drank it. He choked back a gasp in dawning horror. “What the hell did you put in her coffee?”

“Meth,” Phil sobbed. “I only wanted to give her enough that she’d be too messed up to play the show, so I could have a chance.” He ground the tears from his eyes with a shaking fist. “It should have been me, damn it. I was your guitar tech until she came along. It’s my job to step up, not some bitch just because she’s your girlfriend.” His shoulders slumped with a defeated sigh. “But honestly, Quinn, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

The EMTs looked at each other, nodded, and went back to work on Kinley. Her lashes fluttered against her ashen cheeks. “We gotta bring her in.”

Quinn lunged forward and slammed his fist into Phil’s face. “You twisted little fuck!”

“I didn’t mean it,” the roadie wailed. “I didn’t mean it!”

Blind with fury, Quinn raised his fist to hit Phil again, but Gaffer and Tony pulled him back.

“We’ll deal with Phil,” Gaffer said. “You take care of Kinley.”

Quinn’s furious gaze rested one last time on Phil. “If she dies, so do you.”

If she dies. The thought paralyzed him, tightening his throat until breathing was near impossible.

The paramedics strapped Kinley to the gurney with brisk efficiency. When they were lifting her up, her body began to twitch and convulse. She babbled in incoherent desperation. A fresh bolt of terror struck him.

“I’m coming too.” Quinn refused to let her out of his sight. “She’s my girlfriend.”

One of the medics looked like he was about to argue until the others nodded. “Fine, but you better stay out of the way.”

“I’ll call you with directions to the hospital,” he called over his shoulder as he followed the paramedics.

Once they loaded Kinley into the cramped ambulance, the EMTs hooked her up to an IV and attached a blood pressure cuff. She remained unresponsive, aside from a weak, pained moan that clenched Quinn’s heart.

God, let her live; please let her live. He kept up the silent litany all the way to the hospital, willing away the icy panic as the paramedics unloaded her from the ambulance and rushed her inside.

When Quinn tried to follow the gurney, the hospital staff barred his way, leaving him to fret in the waiting room. A few minutes later, a nurse approached to ask about Kinley’s next of kin, leaving him feeling even more helpless when he couldn’t answer.

He wouldn’t feel anything else until he was certain Kinley would survive.

Icy terror gripped his heart. Would she survive?

Gaffer and his band mates joined him in the waiting room.

The road manager put a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “I convinced Phil to turn himself in to the police. I told him he’d be safer in jail, where you can’t get to him.”

“He’ll never work in music again,” Tony commented, voice cold with hatred.

Brand nodded, his gaze hard as steel. “Amen to that. I can’t believe he’d sink to such a low, dirty trick.” Turning to Quinn, his brows drew together in concern. “How is she? Is she gonna live?”

“I don’t know yet.” Quinn’s fists clenched in helpless impotence.

Gaffer nodded in sympathy. “I already cancelled the gig and I’m working to reschedule it, but we’re going to head to San Antonio for the next one. Hopefully Kinley will recover in time for you both to meet us there. I’ve brought the W2 and job application that Kinley filled out when she started working for us, so maybe they can track down her next of kin through that.”

For a moment Quinn couldn’t speak, he was so overcome with gratitude. Throat dry, he choked out a weak thank you.

An hour later, he paced through the hospital corridor, fighting the urge to go all Viking berserker on the place. The woman he loved could die at any moment and there was nothing he could do about it.

The woman he loved. His pacing ceased and his body froze at the realization. He was in love with Kinley. He loved her so much his chest ached. What kind of stupid coward was he not to have realized it sooner?

He loved her courage, her strength, her hard work, and determination. He loved the way she wouldn’t take shit from anyone. He loved the way she’d cry at sad parts of movies and do everything in her power not to let anyone see. He loved her blissful smile when she played guitar, her tangible passion for music. He loved the way she still blushed around him and struggled to hide it.

Damn it, he loved her, pure and simple. She had to make it through this. He prayed to whoever was listening that Kinley would live. He swore to protect her from now on and keep her by his side.

The vow filled him with resolve. There was only one way to guarantee her safety and ensure they’d share their future together.

When Kinley recovered, he would ask her to marry him.

Chapter Twenty-One

Cold. Kinley was so cold. Though her muscles strained to curl up into the fetal position, she couldn’t move. Were her limbs encased in ice? She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy, maybe frozen shut.

Needles pierced every inch of her skin, pressing hard into the tender flesh of her forearms. Am I dead? Was hell cold instead of hot? Or maybe hell was a constant shift between extremes. Earlier, she’d been on fire, burning and parched. Now that heat was a distant memory in the face of this bone-aching cold.

Then there was that noise. A steady, monotonous beeping like a faraway alarm clock. A flare of hope came with the sound. Maybe she wasn’t dead. Maybe she was only trapped in a nightmare from which she could not escape. The beeping persisted, growing louder.

Could it be an alarm clock? If so, she had to get up or she’d be late. Late to what? The next gig? Was that today? If it was, then why wasn’t Quinn waking her up?

Because Quinn wasn’t here. The realization fell upon her like a stone in her belly. She ached from the absence of his body’s warmth next to hers. And why was she so cold? God, I need him so bad right now. She needed his warmth. Needed him to pull her from this nightmare and assure her everything would be okay.

Though her head throbbed with the effort, Kinley willed her trembling lips to move. Her ice-crusted lungs sucked in a piercing breath and she forced herself to exhale his name.

“Quinn?” Her throat ached and her teeth chattered unbearably but she redoubled her effort to make her voice work. “Quinn?” She managed a feeble whimper.

From far away, a voice answered, but it wasn’t him. Instead it was a woman, a stranger. “She’s awake. Will you go find Dr. Mellark?”

The sound of footsteps squeaked on a hard floor and slowly faded as the voice came closer. “Stay with us, Miss Black.”

She fought hard to open her eyes. Blinding light stabbed her skull, making her moan in pain, but she willed her vision to focus until she could discern the shape of a woman in scrubs leaning over her along with the IV in her arm and the heart monitor bleeping behind the nurse’s shoulder.

“Hospital?” Kinley croaked.

The nurse nodded. “That’s right. I’m sorry to say you suffered a near-lethal overdose of methamphetamine.”

Her mind went dizzy with confusion. “But I don’t…”

“From what I understand, someone put the drug in your coffee without your knowledge.” The nurse’s eyes glittered with sympathy and she squeezed Kinley’s hand. “That’s what your boyfriend told the EMTs.”

“Quinn?” Her heart filled with desperate longing.

“Yes, he’s here, and we’ll let him in as soon as the doctor is finished examining you.” Again came that comforting squeeze. “He’s handsome, by the way. He looks like a rock star.”

He is a rock star, Kinley tried to say, but blackness bled into her vision, drowning her in unconsciousness. It couldn’t have lasted long because when she awoke the doctor had arrived.

The older man smiled at her with kindly features as he checked her temperature. “I’m Dr. Mellark. How are you feeling Miss Black?”

“C-cold,” she managed.

He nodded, unperturbed. “Yes, we had to pack you in ice to get your temperature down.”

“Ice?” Her eyes widened with disbelief while shivering at the word.

He frowned in remorse. “It was the only thing we could do to save you.” The doctor continued to explain. They’d also pumped her stomach and shot her up with some crazy-named substance to bring her heart rate down. Kinley’s mind swam with disbelief. Phil had dosed her with meth. Her stomach growled, oblivious to her horror at such a sick betrayal.

Dr. Mellark smiled. “Ah, you’re hungry. That’s a good sign. Unfortunately, we’ll have to wait at least another hour before we try to get anything solid in you. Also, we have some forms for you to fill out.”

Kinley nodded. She didn’t feel hungry, no matter what her stomach said. She felt pissed. When I get out of here, I’m breaking Phil’s legs. She frowned. Likely Quinn had gotten to him first. Quinn. A fresh pang of longing struck her.

As if reading her mind, Dr. Mellark said, “I’m going to keep you here overnight for observation, but I think you should be released tomorrow. For now, your boyfriend wants to see you. Is that all right?”

“Yes, please.” Her voice came out pathetic and desperate, but she didn’t care.

Moments later, Quinn’s beloved form filled the doorway. Kinley’s heart caught in her throat at the lines of tension and worry etched in his face.

“How are you feeling?” His voice rumbled over her, deep and warm.

Torn between joy at his presence and humiliation at her bedraggled appearance, all she could do was lamely ask, “What about the gig?”

His brows drew together. “I don’t care about the gig. I care about you.” Gently, he took her hand in his warm grip and squeezed. “Again, how are you feeling?”

Kinley’s pulse rose, bleeping faster on the heart monitor. “I’m still sore and freezing my ass off, but the doctor said I’ll probably be able to leave here tomorrow and get back to work.”

“Did he actually say you could get back to work?” Quinn frowned, voice laden with doubt.

Her face heated. “Well, not exactly, but it’s what I intend to do.”

“You’re going to rest tomorrow,” he said sternly. “Then we’ll see.”

Lacking the strength to argue, she changed the subject. “They said Phil dosed me with meth.”

“Yes, and the son of a bitch is lucky I didn’t kill him.” His voice was a feral growl. “He turned himself in to the cops, so you won’t be seeing him again.”

“I can’t believe he did that. I knew he hated me, but still…” Kinley trailed off, mind swimming with hurt confusion. How could anyone do such a vile thing?

The force of Quinn’s grip, fierce with anger, was almost painful. “He was a fucked up little man.”

Exhaustion weighed down her limbs, making it difficult to speak. Just before she faded away into blackness, Kinley clenched Quinn’s hand. “Please don’t leave me.”

Quinn’s thumb caressed her knuckles. As sleep sucked her under, she thought she heard him answer, “Never.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Two weeks later

Quinn watched Kinley anxiously as she crossed the stage for her guitar solo. Though she seemed to have her strength back, she still looked a little pale. But her hands remained steady, fingers dashing expertly up and down the fret board as the fans cheered. Some of the tightness in his chest eased, only to be replaced by a nervous tremor in his stomach.

This was the last show of the tour and tonight, before the farewell party, he would ask Kinley to become his wife. Once she said yes, he’d finally be able to keep her safe by his side.

A tremor of anticipation nearly made him drop his guitar. It had taken every bit of his willpower to wait until she’d gotten her strength back. But the last couple weeks had been too stressful to even consider proposing to her.

The moment Kinley was discharged from the hospital, she and Quinn were bombarded with questions from news stations and metal magazines. They brushed all inquiries aside. Their official statement said simply that she’d been ill. That had seemed to placate the public, until some enterprising snoop dug up Phil’s arrest record, which revealed that the former guitar tech had been charged with attempted manslaughter.

An uproar ensued throughout their fan base, then spread to various tabloids and Internet sites. Outraged feminists flocked to Kinley’s “cause,” exposing and berating the rampant misogyny in the heavy metal industry. She was praised as a hero and survivor while Quinn and the rest of Viciöus were lauded for giving her a place in the band and for protecting her when one of their own “tried to murder her for succeeding in a man’s world.”

Pictures of her triumphantly playing guitar went viral along with images of her in Quinn’s arms. What had at first been a secret relationship was now touted as one of the most famous love stories in the history of metal. The sickeningly sweet nickname “Quinnley” spread. A few fans continued to reject the notion, warning that she’d just be another Yoko and break up the band, but even they were mostly silenced after hearing Kinley’s story—and hearing her play.

She continued to face questions regarding her position with Viciöus and her relationship with Quinn. To the frustration of all, she was vague regarding her future involvement with either, except to assure everyone that her position with the band was temporary and would only last until Curt returned. Her respect for Curt placated those who were not already won over by her sheer talent.

Record sales for the band skyrocketed along with concert ticket sales. Quinn had never before seen so many females in the audience. Kinley and Kat’s website also doubled its exposure and ad revenue.

As his gaze scanned the excited faces of their fans, he couldn’t help but be astounded that so much good had come from a near tragedy.

Striking the chords on his Fender, Quinn joined her in the solo. Her dark eyes met his, sending a bolt of exhilaration through his chest. He’d had a hell of a ride since he’d met Kinley and he only wanted the ride to continue.

Striking the final chord, she grinned at him and sketched a little bow, the sweet curves of her ass pointed enticingly in his direction. Quinn bit back a groan as a wave of hot lust engulfed him. He hadn’t just held off his proposal since her poisoning, he’d also refrained from making love to her. With the shadows under her eyes and her pale skin, she’d looked so fragile he was afraid to hurt her.

But tonight… He licked his lips in bated desire, not giving a shit if the audience noticed.

Oh yes, tonight he would have her—but gently.

***

Kinley followed Quinn up to the hotel room on quaking legs. He’d said he needed to talk to her and his eyes had burned with a solemn intensity she’d never seen before. It had to be about her job. The tour was over, and probably her time with him as well. She sucked in a shaky breath and straightened her spine. It was inevitable that she’d lose him. She’d always known it. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. She could handle this.

The throbbing ache in her heart begged to differ.

The door closed behind them with ominous finality. Quinn’s eyes blazed with determination as he looked at her.

White spots encroached on the edges of her vision. Oh God, this is it. He’s breaking up with me. This is the end. This is—

“Marry me.” The soft, tender command infused her senses.

Kinley swayed and almost fell. “What?” Her dizziness must be making her mind play tricks on her.

“Marry me,” Quinn repeated firmly. He pulled a small velvet box from his pocket and opened it to reveal a diamond ring in a filigreed silver setting.

She eyed the diamond as if she’d never seen one before, her mind swimming with surprise and confusion. Is this really happening? Kinley thought of the friends who’d faded from her life and abandoned their dreams not long after she’d returned the bridesmaid gowns from their weddings.

Another part of her conjured a tempting vision of herself bedecked in a white gown, carrying a bouquet of flowers, and walking down an aisle to meet Quinn. Shaking her head to banish her clouded judgment, she voiced her next thought. “But what then?”

Sure, she would be Quinn’s wife, but what else would she be?

He frowned, still holding out the ring. “What do you mean?”

“What about my job?” she asked, voice hollow as she shoved her hands in her pockets, resisting the urge to take the ring and see how it looked on her finger. She took a step back to avoid throwing herself in his arms.

He raised a brow. The arm holding out the ring began to lower. “What about it?”

“I mean, am I still working with the band? Will I still be your guitar tech when Curt comes back?” Uncertainty and shock crept into her voice. Will I still be a person?

“I’m asking you to be my wife.” Quinn frowned. “What does your job have to do with this?”

“What do you mean?” Kinley choked back a cry of frustration and betrayal at his obliviousness. “It has everything to do with it!”

“Okay, well then you’re fired,” he replied with narrowed eyes. “You won’t have to worry about it. And I won’t have to worry about you. You’ll be safe.”

Kinley recoiled as if he’d slapped her. He’d never given a damn about her work and her love for the music. He’d make her into a housemaid and a sex toy. He really was like all the other men.

“Fuck you!” she hissed through clenched teeth.

Her traitorous heart screamed at her to take it back, to throw herself into his arms and accept his proposal. Before it could win, she grabbed her bags and fled from the room.

“What the hell?” Quinn burst out behind her. “Kinley, wait.”

Ignoring his voice, she darted faster down the corridor, punching the elevator button as soon as she reached it.

“Kinley!” His footsteps sounded behind her and faded as the elevator doors closed.

She bolted from the hotel, leaving her heart behind.

***

Quinn slammed his fist on the closed elevator door. What the fuck just happened?

He’d put his heart on the line, asked her to become his other half, and all she cared about was her damned job. His blood ran cold. Had she only wanted to be in his life for the music and the hype? Had she never cared about the real him?

The ring became a burning weight in his grasp. Quinn put it in his pocket with a sigh and hit the elevator button. After the party, she had some explaining to do.

But once he arrived at the crowded celebration, it quickly became apparent she wasn’t there. He grabbed a beer and forced himself to wait.

“Where’s Kin?” Gaffer asked. “I just got off the phone with your producer and we might have a job for her.”

Quinn shook his head. “You haven’t seen her either?”

The road manager’s brows drew together in concern. “You sound worried. What happened?”

“I asked her to marry me and she told me to fuck off and she— Oh shit!” He slammed his beer down, heart wrenching at the memory. “She took her bags and left.” Yanking his phone from his pocket, he dialed her number, dread curling in his gut.

Of course there was no answer. With scant hope, he went back to their room, praying she’d be back. Swiping the keycard, he opened the door and heaved an agonized sigh at the empty room. Even her laptop case was gone—how did he miss her taking that too?

He tried calling her again. Again, there was no answer. Nor was there when he tried ten minutes later. She’d left him. She’d really left him.

Dejected, he returned to the party, remaining in view of the entrance and hoping against hope that she’d return.

Throat tight with despair, Quinn continued to drink and watch the door. His friends, colleagues, and band mates tried to approach him and ask about Kinley, but he was too numb with shock to talk about it. When the party trickled down to the dregs, he stumbled up to his hotel room, an insistent thought pounding in his skull like a jackhammer.

Why the hell had she freaked out when he proposed? Why had she obsessed so much about the job? All he’d wanted was to elevate her from that drudgery and treat her like a queen. He’d wanted to make it clear to her and all others that she was his, not a meaningless fling to be passed around when he was finished.

He’d never be finished with her. He loved her. He wanted to keep her safe.

Quinn slapped his palm on his forehead. “Oh shit!”

He’d never told her he loved her. He just asked—no, told her—to marry him…and then fired her. Surely she couldn’t have taken that part seriously. That would have been Gaffer’s call, not his. Hell, that fact had become an inside joke to them.

But not telling her how he felt? Oh yeah, that’s where he blew it. Women needed to hear that kind of thing, even tough-as-nails women like Kinley. To make matters worse, he hadn’t even gone down on one knee or given her flowers or anything. And pretending to fire her, even though there was nothing to fire her from as the tour was done—that couldn’t have helped.

I fucked up. I fucked up big time.

Heart clenching in agony, he dialed her number again, groaning in despair when it went straight to voicemail. He attempted to explain, but all that seemed to come out were drunken mumbles.

The next morning he dragged his hungover ass out of bed, made another futile call to Kinley, then booked the earliest flight back home. He had a lot of thinking to do.

The luxury condo in Seattle was usually an oasis of peace and quiet but now, without Kinley in his life, the place was a soulless tomb of loneliness. They’d had something special together, damn it. And he damn well knew she’d felt it too.

He had to talk to her, but she refused to answer his calls or emails. Quinn sighed in resignation. Fuck it. It looked like he would have to go to her.

Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his temples in frustration. He needed a way in.

After hours of pacing his apartment, he came up with a plan.

First, he called his producer and had a long talk about the direction of the next album. Then he called Klement.

The bassist answered on the sixth ring. “Hey Quinn, what’s up?”

“I’m calling in my favor.”

“Sure, what do you need?” Clattering computer keys echoed in the background.

“I hear you’re getting ready to look for a new guitarist.”

“Are you suggesting we take Kinley when Curt comes back?” He immediately sounded suspicious.

“No.” In that moment he realized that no matter what he’d said, he wanted Kinley to be his guitarist. His next words rang with more humility than he intended. “I want you to give Kinley’s friend a shot.”

Quinn closed his eyes, expecting mocking laughter or an outraged refusal. But Klement had promised he’d do “anything,” and Quinn would hold him to it.

“Are you referring to Katana James?” Klement’s voice reverberated with urgent interest, like it did when someone mentioned a new computer program or hybrid marijuana strain.

“Yeah, she was the lead guitarist in Kinley’s old band and—”

“Sure, I’ll give her a shot.”

Quinn’s jaw dropped at the ready acceptance. “You will?”

“Yeah, just tell her I’ll be calling her sometime next week. I’ll email some music files for her to listen to and work with.” Klement talked so fast it was almost impossible to understand him.

“I still have to track down her number,” he admitted sullenly.

“Doesn’t Kinley have it?”

Quinn sighed. “That’s the thing. Kinley left me and won’t answer my calls. I’m going to see if I can persuade Kat to let me talk to her.”

“Ah. That’s a good bribe,” he said so cheerfully Quinn wondered how many bowls the guy had smoked tonight.

“Well, Katana is a good guitarist,” Quinn countered defensively. Sure, it was a bribe, but the woman was talented and Bleeding Vengeance was in need of a lead guitarist. It wasn’t like he was asking them to audition a hack.

“I know,” Klement said. “Do you have a pen?”

“Gimme a sec.” Quinn rummaged through his junk drawer and found a pencil and an old receipt. “Okay.”

“Kat’s number is—”

Quinn blinked. “You have her number? How?”

“I do the tech support for Kat and Kinley’s website,” Klement explained. His voice hardened. “Don’t tell either of them.”

“Okay…” His mind spun at the insane coincidence. He knew the bassist was a computer geek, but Quinn had no idea he continued to do IT work. “But isn’t Kat going to figure it out? Your name isn’t exactly common.”

Klement laughed. “In the four years I’ve worked with them, they never bothered to learn it. Kinley always calls me ‘hey you’ and Kat calls me ‘IT Guy.’ I like working with Kat better.”

Comprehension dawned. “So that’s how you knew about their tribute band.”

“Yeah.” For a moment he sounded embarrassed. Then his tone lightened. “Now I’ll get to see if Kat does as well with our material as she did with Megadeth’s.”

A wave of gratitude engulfed Quinn. “Thanks so much for this.”

“Anytime. I owe you big time. I am so sorry for what Phil did.” Klement’s voice broke. “I feel like it’s my fault.”

“Don’t think like that. No one knew the kid was that messed up.”

“I know, but still…” The phone went silent awhile before he said, “Anyway, call Kat and work your deal. Hopefully you’ll get your girlfriend back and I’ll get a decent guitarist.” The bassist chuckled. “I think I’m getting the better end of the bargain. Kinley’s kinda prickly.” He hung up before Quinn could retort.

Holy shit. The geeky, seemingly asexual bassist had a thing for Kinley’s best friend. And under a secret identity, no less. At any other time he would have marveled about the insanity of it all, but now all he could think of was Kinley.

The dull ache in Quinn’s heart began to warm with hope as he dialed Katana James’s phone number.

“Hello?” she answered doubtfully, probably suspicious of an unfamiliar phone number.

“Hello, Kat. It’s Quinn.” He didn’t need to give his full name.

A sharp gasp pierced his eardrum, followed by a long stretch of silence. Finally, in a tremulous voice, she replied, “She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I know she doesn’t,” he said levelly, as if talking a crazy person off a bridge. “I called to talk to you.”

“Why?”

He could feel her suspicion through the phone.

“I’m sure you know that since Lefty passed away, Bleeding Vengeance is looking for a new recording guitarist. Kinley told me they’re your favorite band, so I’ll bet you know their songs.” Putting as much wheedling charm in his tone as possible, he continued. “I can get you an audition—if you’re interested.”

The phone remained mute for an eternity as she digested his words. “Of course I’m interested. But why would you do that for me?”

“Because you’re one hell of a guitar player. I’ve seen your videos.” Quinn took a breath, and made his move. “And because I need to know what spooked Kinley so badly that she won’t talk to me, not even to explain why she rejected my proposal. I think I’m at least owed that.”

Kat lived up to her nickname with an outraged growl. “That’s blackmail!”

He chuckled. “I prefer to call it a fair exchange.”

She grumbled once more but he could taste victory. “Kinley’s right. You really are an overbearing asshole.”

“Is that what she said?” His stomach churned. Suddenly he wasn’t feeling so good about his chances of fixing things between them.

Kat snorted. “You fired her and pretty much ordered her to marry you. What else would you expect?”

He bowed his head, engulfed in shame. “Yeah, I know that was low, but I didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t you?” she asked archly. “Didn’t you expect her to just submissively hang up her guitar, ditch her dreams, and cling to your arm in mindless adoration?”

The bad feeling worsened. “Why would she think something like that? Just because I don’t want her working as a roadie anymore doesn’t mean I want her to quit the music business.”

“Well, for one thing, Kin’s father was a sexist asshole who tried all her life to convince her that her place was in the kitchen.” Kat’s voice trembled in scarcely contained rage. “He was always berating her for not knowing her place. Slamming her for doing what he called ‘men’s work.’”

Quinn closed his eyes, biting back a curse. From what Kinley had told him about her father, he should have known better.

Kat continued. “And the fact that our band broke up because our bassist and drummer got married and quit to become happy housewives definitely threw salt in the wound.”

He’d heard about that too. Damn, it all made sense now. He couldn’t have handled his proposal any worse. “Shit, I would never be like that. Kinley’s a killer musician and she’s proved to be a major asset to my band. I’d never keep her from that gift. I was just being…overprotective.” His jaw clenched with the truth. Yes, overprotective. “I need to talk to her, Kat. Please.”

Kat sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kinley sighed and absently strummed her guitar, picking up a random melody to float with. She frowned. No, that wasn’t a random melody. She was playing a Viciöus song—again.

Damn it, will I ever be able to forget him?

Right now, it seemed doubtful. She was haunted by him every day. Reporters from metal magazines were still hounding her for interviews on her time with Viciöus and her near-death experience. They asked if she was still standing in for Curt. Why Quinn hadn’t disabused them of the notion, she had no clue. From what she’d heard, Curt was still in rehab and refusing interviews.

Everyone, it seemed, was curious about her relationship with the band.

Her best friend, naturally, had been even more relentless. When Kinley arrived home, physically and emotionally exhausted, Kat pitilessly demanded an explanation.

When Kinley finished her story, Kat’s eyes had been wide as saucers. “Let me get this straight: Quinn Mayne asked you to marry him and you said no?”

“Actually, I said, ‘Fuck you.’”

Kat’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t! Why?”

After Kinley explained, Kat bit her lip and nodded reluctantly. “Did you at least talk to him about it?”

“What’s the point?” Kinley slumped on the couch. “There’s no way he’d understand what he did to me. To force me to choose between my heart and my career—to lead me on all those months and make believe he wasn’t like that.” Her voice broke off in a choked sob. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

For a while, Kat eased off and left her alone while Kinley shut herself in her office and threw herself into her work. One bright spot of her time with Quinn was that the website had grown astronomically.

Another, more important benefit was that she’d finally regained the confidence to seriously get back into music. Longing to be back on stage before an audience swelled deeper within her soul every day. Already, Kat had written a few new songs and lined up auditions for a new bassist and drummer.

Now, if only she could just forget about Quinn. Every waking hour was filled with memories of his strength, his kindness, his smile. Every guitar riff she played, she wanted to show him. Every night, her dreams taunted her with his cataclysmic lovemaking.

Her heart leapt and her hands shook each time he called her. Kinley had to force her trembling hands behind her back in painful effort to resist answering. If she spoke to him, she’d be undone. The calls had finally stopped coming, so he, at least, must be moving on.

Fighting the ache in her heart, Kinley bent back to her guitar. She practiced with a Gibson. She doubted she’d ever be able to touch a Fender again. Playing a riff that Kat wrote, she vowed silently, I will forget him. I have to.

Just as she began to get lost in the melody, a knock sounded on her music room door, shattering the silence. Damn. I should have gotten my house key back from Kat.

“What?” she snapped.

Kat opened the door and peeked into the room with nervous, yet mischievous eyes. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Huh?”

The door opened all the way and Quinn strode in. The sight of him was a blow to the chest, rendering her breathless. An eternal silence stretched out, emphasized by the sound of Kat’s feet as she scurried away.

“So this was what you were hiding from me.” His gaze scanned her music room, eyeing the wall-to-wall guitars and collection of amps with an appreciative smile.

“Huh?” she murmured, still stunned at his presence in her house. Her hands reached down to adjust her dark blue sundress. She snatched them back.

He gestured at her music equipment. “When I was last here, you locked this door like you had some sort of crazy shrine in here.”

“Of course I locked it. There’s several thousands of dollars worth of equipment in here,” she replied defensively. Shaking her head in irritation that he’d distracted her, Kinley favored him with an icy glare. “What are you doing here?”

Quinn crossed his arms over his chest, dark green eyes foreboding and stormy. “You gave me no choice. I need to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing to say.” She cringed back in her chair, holding her guitar as if it were a shield that could protect heart.

Undaunted, he stepped closer. “I beg to differ. First, I need to apologize for being such an asshole. I wasn’t being serious about firing you. For one thing, the tour was over so the job was over. For another, I don’t even have the authority to do that and I thought you knew it.”

Part of her softened. Resolutely, she clung to her outrage. “Then why the hell—”

He cut her off and the first thread of anger crept into his tone. “Because it seemed like you cared more about the job than me. Also, I thought I was protecting you. After what Phil did”—his face contorted in pain—“all I could think about was making sure no one would hurt you again.”

“I don’t need to be protected. I need to work for my goals, to follow my dreams.” Kinley’s heart pounded in a quelling combination of anger and desire. “Why couldn’t you understand that?”

He placed his hand over hers, meeting her gaze with flaring intensity. “I do understand. But now you have to understand my issues—and why I didn’t want you working for us in the first place.”

Curiosity coupled with his imploring eyes made resistance impossible. “I’m listening.”

His gaze darkened with something aching and vulnerable. “I told you before that I practically raised my little sister on my own. What I didn’t tell you—or anyone but Gaffer—was that I failed miserably.”

The agony and self-loathing in his voice made her chest tight. “What do you mean?”

Quinn took a shuddering breath and looked at the floor, unable to face her. “By the time I was in high school, I was obsessed with creating the best band ever. I was going to make it, and I thought of nothing else. I’d formed my first band, and we were getting damn good.” He shivered, voice full of regret. “I neglected the hell out of Chrissy. I never paid attention to how pretty she’d become, or how vulnerable she was.”

Quinn hugged himself as if cold. “She was only thirteen when it happened. We were all at my place, partying and celebrating our first demo.” Slowly he came farther into the room. “I went on another beer run, and when I came back, they were all on her. They were…raping her. The drummer ran and the guitarist couldn’t pull me off of the bassist. Thank God Mom got home in time to call the police before I killed them. At least they all went to jail.”

“Oh my God.” Kinley gasped. “So you were afraid that a woman working with you would get raped?”

Quinn nodded and carefully sat in the chair opposite her as if afraid she’d throw him out. “Also, you’ve seen what pigs we can all be on the road. I wanted to protect you from that, even after I learned you can handle yourself.” His lips curled in a self-deprecating frown. “But what bothered me most was how much I wanted you for myself.”

She set her guitar aside, meeting his eyes. “But you aren’t like those assholes who…who hurt your sister. Surely you know that.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but that didn’t stop me from claiming you the moment I knew you had the slightest interest in me, even though I knew how hard it would be for you on the job.”

Transfixed by his turbulent eyes and the long, dark hair caressing his cheeks, Kinley couldn’t stop herself from rising from her chair, his name on her lips. “Quinn…”

“What I’m trying to say is that I love you—hell, I need you. Please come back to me. You don’t have to marry me, just come back.” He stood again only to sink to his knees, eyes large and pleading. “I really don’t want to keep you from following your dreams. I may get worried and overprotective at times, but I won’t stop you. I can’t say I want to see you working as a roadie again. I was thinking you could work in the studio. Or hell, I’ll even fire Curt if that’s what it’ll take to have you back.”

Kinley gasped. “You can’t fire Curt. You need him. I know he writes most of the lead riffs and besides, that would totally make me into a Yoko…” She trailed off as his words sank in. He loved her and supported her dreams. He loved her!

As if reading her mind, he said it again. “I love you, Kinley. Please come back to me.”

He wasn’t asking her to marry him this time. And from the fine tremors wracking every line of his body, she knew why. He was afraid to scare her off. Afraid that she didn’t return his feelings.

It seems like you care more about the job than me, he’d said.

Fighting past the lump in her throat, Kinley whispered, “I love you too, Quinn, and yes, I’ll come back to you. As for the marriage proposal, would you accept a maybe?”

Quinn rose from his knees to cup her face in his hands. One slid back to plunge into her hair. The other lightly caressed her cheek. “Oh Kinley.”

His lips came down on hers, ravaging her mouth like a man long starved. Kinley clung to him with equal ferocity.

When at last they broke away, his eyes took on a naughty gleam. “You know, you’ve never once sat on my lap.”

She snickered, but her cheeks heated as she gazed at the muscular thighs encased in black leather. “You know why. I didn’t want to be mistaken for a—”

He bent down and licked her earlobe, silencing her. “It can be fun if you let me show you how.” He seized her hands and pulled her toward him as he sat back down.

Needing no further encouragement, Kinley lifted her skirt and straddled him on the chair, moaning in desire as she felt his hardness pressing against her throbbing core. His hands clamped down on her hips, grinding her harder against his erection. A gasp tore from her throat. Slowly, his fingers slid up her dress to stroke her through the thin wet fabric of her panties.

Desperate with need, she wrestled with the button of his pants, writhing under the sweet torture of his erotic caress. Somehow he managed to help her and continue working his magic. He nibbled her neck, making her shiver.

She gripped the head of his cock, thumb sliding across the bead of moisture seeping from its tip. “God, Quinn, I need you inside of me now.”

Sliding her panties to the side, he filled her in one slow, deep thrust.

She came almost immediately, the orgasm ripping through her body like an explosion. Quinn growled low and gripped her hips, moving her up and down so hard and fast, she had to cling to his shoulders for support. Another moan tore from her throat as he reached her G-spot.

Pleasure pooled low in her body in a warm wave, intensifying in little electric pulses that grew with each thrust. The pulses built and overlapped until the shock waves of another climax ricocheted through her being. Quinn’s cock jolted inside her with his own orgasm.

His arms gathered her close, pressing her against his chest as they rode the aftershocks. Panting with sated exhaustion, she rested her head against his chest, listening to his pounding heart. When the wave of euphoria had dissipated enough for her to speak, Kinley raised her head from his chest.

“How did you convince Kat to let you in?” She blinked up at him and murmered, “She’s normally a loyal friend.”

Quinn chuckled at her teasing sternness. “I offered to hook her up with an audition with Bleeding Vengeance.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “Yeah, that would do it. But you know, if she lands the job, that messes things up more for me. We were supposed to start another band.”

“How are you going to find time for that?” Quinn flashed a smug smile. “You’re going to be too busy helping us record a new album. At the least, we need studio musicians. At the most, Curt was talking about how well we’d sound with an extra guitarist. Some bands have been doing that, and we like the effect. He doesn’t want you going to another band and becoming competition, and neither do I.”

Warmth flowed all the way to her toes. “Oh my God, you really meant it? You want me to work in the studio?”

He nodded. “It was my intention all long. And if I hadn’t been such an ass, I would have said so in the first place.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I’ll bet that cost us some time.”

“Well, let’s start making it up, shall we?” Quinn said, lowering his mouth to hers once more.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Formerly an auto-mechanic, Brooklyn Ann thrives on writing romance featuring unconventional heroines and the heroes who adore them. After writing historical paranormal romance in her critically acclaimed Scandals with Bite series and urban fantasy in her Brides of Prophecy novels, she now explores the chaotic realm of heavy metal music—a difficult world to find love in. She lives in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, with her son, her cat, and a 1980 Datsun 210.

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