Strings Attached (13 page)

‘Cluck cluck Mother Hen. Isn’t it about time you had some kids, then you might stop worrying about your little brother so much,’ Adam spoke.

‘Kids? Me? I wouldn’t know what to do with one. I mean do I cover them in breadcrumbs? Or drizzle them with oil?’ George answered with a laugh.

‘Just kidding Sis, I like all the fussing really.’

‘Yes, well you take care and phone me once in a while will you? Even if it’s to tell me how drunk you are or how many hours of study you haven’t done,’ George ordered him.

‘Will do. See you,’ Adam replied.

‘Happy now?’ Heather’s voice spoke as she came back on the line.

‘Not really, he’s had a car accident. What’s to be happy about?’ George answered.

‘Yes and the accident may not have happened if he hadn’t been driving through the night, too tired after you made him be a waiter at a party,’ Heather snapped.

‘So it’s my fault,’ George said with a heavy sigh.

‘Fatigue was a factor in the accident, yes.’

‘Why do you still hate me so much? I mean how long is this going to go on for Mum? What exactly did I do?’ George wanted to know.

‘You know what you did, you let us down,’ Heather retorted.

‘I made one mistake. People do make mistakes you know. It doesn’t mean they have to go on paying for them forever.’

‘Goodbye Georgina, I’ll let you know when we’re back home,’ Heather spoke and she ended the call.

George hung up the phone and Marisa and Helen hurriedly recommenced their work, pretending not to have heard the conversation.

‘Is Adam OK?’ Helen asked when George had hurriedly turned back to making pastry.

‘Yeah, I think so,’ she answered.

Her heart was still palpitating, but now she had spoken to Adam she felt better than she had at the beginning of the conversation. He was in hospital but it could have been so much worse.

‘Why don’t you go upstairs and have a lie down? Marisa and I can cope here and you can’t have had much sleep last night - on Tracey’s sofa. It was Tracey wasn’t it? Your friend,’ Helen said.

‘Yes it was,’ George replied, sensing the tone of her voice.

‘Well go and catch up on some sleep now. I can finish the pastry and do the chicken and garlic parcels and Marisa can do the sandwiches for the WI. You do look terrible. She looks terrible doesn’t she Marisa?’ Helen said.

‘Dog rough,’ Marisa replied without looking up.

‘Thanks, both of you,’ George answered.

‘Go on, shoo! And I don’t want to see you back down here until well after lunch,’ Helen ordered.

‘OK,’ George replied.

She didn’t have the energy to contest the idea and the thought of a couple of hours with her head on her own pillow was literally pulling her up the stairs. Sometimes you just had to give in. Like last night.

The show
that night
had been awesome, but more importantly she was in the room
now
and she looked amazing. A white shirt and black skirt had never been so appealing. Not that he wanted to look at it on her; he’d much rather it was spread across his hotel suite, like she had been.

His palms were itching, he was nervous. He wanted her again but he had rules. You didn’t go there twice. Once was testing the water, a little fun on the side, no harm done, twice indicated intent. But this wasn’t just about the sex, he wished to God it was. No, this went a whole lot deeper. He walked over to join Michael.

‘My dear I missed you last night. What did you think you were doing hiding away in the bowels of
the Hexagon
? Surely your staff should have been beavering away in the background, while you shone out here with your delicious concoctions,’ Michael exclaimed as George brought another platter into the buzzing after-show party that night.

‘Ah well, I was preening and perfecting and those details could only be attended to by the creator,’ George replied swiftly, offering the plate of food to him.

‘What do we have here?’ Michael asked, picking up a pastry parcel and scrutinised it.

‘Chicken and garlic with honey overtones,’ George informed him.

‘Honey overtones! My dear, you are starting to speak my language. Oh! Oh! I have officially died and am feasting at Paradise’s table. These are special I tell you! Delicious!’ Michael exclaimed, chewing the food and enjoying every bite.

‘Michael you’re my biggest fan. I’ve never known anyone enjoy my food quite so much,’ George told him.

‘I definitely want to vie for the title of super fan, these are excellent.’

George had been avoiding even looking in Quinn’s direction all night and had made sure she was always standing near a large group when handing out food. Now, here he was, stood next to Michael, eating one of her parcels and looking straight at her, bringing back all the memories she had of the night before. She had kissed every inch of him; he had kissed every inch of her. They’d had sex over and over again. At first, fast and passionate, then much slower and more sensual, and the final time she had cried out his name when she came. She couldn’t stop looking at his lips as he ate, remembering how they tasted, recalling what they’d done to her.

‘Isn’t she wonderful? I can’t tell you how glad I am the original caterers pulled out,’ Michael said with a big smile.

‘I’m with you. So, how are we fixed for Manchester?’ Quinn asked.

‘In what department my man?’ Michael enquired.

‘The catering department,’ Quinn said, looking at George.

‘Well we’ve got a local catering firm. I can’t remember their name off hand, not something nice and punchy like Finger Food. Proba
bly something really dull like Sally’s Sandwiches
,’ Michael said with a guffaw.

‘Cancel them,’ Quinn ordered ‘I want George.’

‘Oh what a marvellous idea! I love it! Yes! Perfect!’ Michael exclaimed excitedly, clapping his hands together.

‘I’m sorry. I’ve got other commitments and Manchester’s a bit of a commute to be honest,’ George answered hurriedly.

‘Darling! You wouldn’t have to commute, would she Quinn? We would put you up in a hotel, get you some staff to boss around, all the ingredients you need, whatever you wanted.’

‘Sorry, I’ve got long
-
standing bookings and they’re people who’ve put a lot of business my way,’ George answered firmly.

‘I’ve put a lot of business your way,’ Quinn retorted almost angrily.

‘Yes, I know, I realise th
at and I’m very grateful but...
’ George started.

‘Five thousand pounds a night and you can bring your team,’ Quinn stated.

George held onto her breath as much as she could. Five thousand pounds was about three times the amount she would get from the bookings she had and that was just for one night. She knew he was in Manchester for four nights. She was ashamed to admit, she knew his whole UK tour itinerary now, thanks to Marisa and
Star Life
magazine.

He was looking at her, undressing her with his eyes, a slight smile on his lips. It was hard enough to resist him now, she didn’t know if she could bear another four nights. And despite him making her feel like no other man had in years, it was going nowhere.

‘I’m sorry, I’ll have to decline. Excuse me,’ she said and she turned her back on Quinn and Michael and made her way back to the kitchen as quickly as she could.

He was so angry he had trashed his dressing room. He’d also had Belch up against the wall by the collar of his leather jacket. Now, he was halfway through his sixth bottle of lager, on top of all he had drunk at the party. How dare she turn him down? What was wrong with her? She’d been keen enough to take her clothes off last night. Once couldn’t be enough for her! He was Quinn Blake! People didn’t say no to him. He was shaking again. What was wrong with him? He should put a stop to this and go and find another distraction. He could go to the casino with some of the other guys, or a club. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He knew she wanted him, so why had she said no?

‘Ready to go?’ Michael asked, opening the dressing room door and popping his head around it.

‘No, I’m not and since when did you come in here without knocking?’ Quinn blasted.

‘Oh, well, I apologise my man, a thousand pardons and
...
’ Michael started, taken aback but trying his best to hide it.

‘Shut up Michael for Christ’s sake!’ Quinn ordered, sucking in a breath.

This was her fault. George Fraser, the woman who was taking him over and not giving a damn about it.

By 3.00am
the Hexagon
conference room was empty and George was collecting up the final plates. It had been a busy night, all the food had gone and guests had been particularly complimentary about the canapés.

As she prepared to go back to the kitchen to pack up the last of the stuff, her phone vibrated as a text message came through.

She looked at it and saw it was from Adam.

Mum n dad drivin me mad - cant sleep - food terrible send canapés x

George smiled and was about to text a reply when the swing doors banged open and Quinn marched into the room, a thunderous expression on his face.

‘How dare you!’ he greeted, striding up to her.

‘How dare I what?’ George replied, standing her ground and looking at him.

‘How dare you refuse to come to Manchester, in front of Michael!’ Quinn yelled.

‘How dare I?! How dare you put me in that position!’ George exclaimed angrily.

‘It was just a catering job,’ Quinn said, standing opposite her, so close it was a little unnerving.

‘No it wasn’t,’ George snapped back.

Quinn just kept his gaze focussed on her, staring at her as if he was daring her to look away. George swallowed, knowing what was going to happen next.

His lips crashed against hers a second later and he was holding her so tightly she thought the breath was going to leave her body entirely. She melted into him, like she did every time they were together and only let go when she just had to stop to take in air.

‘Quinn...
’ she began as he moved his lips down to her neck and began lightly kissing her shoulder blade.

He didn’t reply. She could feel the tip of his tongue brushing against her collarbone.

‘Quinn...
’ she repeated, trying not to shiver as his hot breath warmed her entire insides.

His fingers were at the buttons of her shirt now and she was perilously close to letting him carry on.

‘Quinn,’ she said firmly.

Finally he stopped, and brought his head back up to look at her.

‘We can’t keep on doing this. I won’t be that girl,’ George told him seriously.

Quinn just gazed at her, his eyes shining with emotion and then he took a step back from her and held onto her hand, his fingers softly caressing hers.

His whole persona had altered and for a moment he looked completely fragile, not the self-assured, confident individual she was getting used to seeing at close quarters.

He opened his mouth as if to speak but then closed it again and swallowed poignantly.

He squeezed George’s hand and she saw his eyes well up with tears. All of a sudden he looked like a different person, someone with the weight of the world on his shoulders. The change in him shocked her. He looked lost, like he didn’t know what to do next.

‘This is stupid, come on,’ George spoke, squeezing his hand and leading him towards the door.

Twelve

This was insane behaviour. He felt sick and there were tears in his eyes. Tears for crying out loud! He was losing it big time. He needed to stop this and he needed to stop it now. He should just let go of her hand and head off to the nearest hot spot where he could lose himself in any woman he fancied, or didn’t fancy. But he couldn’t. He wanted to talk to her; he wanted her to talk to him. He wanted to hear all about mixing fillings for wraps and the intricacies of pastry. He wanted to hear anything that came out of her mouth and then hold it close to his and part those full lips with his tongue. Shit, he was weak! He couldn’t let her see that, he couldn’t instigate conversation, that wasn’t what men like him did. Was it possible though, that Quinn Blake had an Achilles heel? And that it was her? She was creeping under his skin and he had no idea what was going to happen next. Could he tell her how he felt? Should he tell her she had swept into his life and taken the Earth from under him?

She clambered up onto the railing and held out two beers to Quinn. He took them, put them down and grabbed hold of her arms, hoisting her up onto the roof.