His Rock & Roll Girl (Emerald City #2) Page 2

  He’d been wrong before, when she’d greeted him. Her looks were nothing compared to the way her face lit up when she started talking tech. That was the woman he remembered from college.

  His dick stirred again, straining against his jeans. It was true, he was only here for a few days, but spending time with her was going to be worth it. Even though their past needed to remain history, maybe when he flew out he could take some new memories with him.

  She faced him, face flushed with excitement. “Did you get all that?”

  “About half of it.” He returned her grin. “But I trust you on the rest. I’d really like to see where you film, though.”

  “Do you want to come back when the room is open?”

  He’d rather stick around, and see what they could get up to while he waited. Now that the idea was in his head, it wasn’t going away. He just wanted a little taste. Okay, he wanted more than a little. “Let’s head into your office. Discuss details. I’m really liking what I’m seeing.”

  She led him a few feet down the hall, into a room that glowed with her influence. It was the only wood he’d seen in the place. Mahogany stained desk, programming books lining the walls, and haphazard stacks of discs littering every available surface.

  She gestured for him to step inside, and followed. The moment they were both through, he rested his palm on the door to close it, placing her between him and the wall. His voice came out huskier than he expected. “I’m really liking what I’m seeing.” He dipped his head close, inhaling deeply. She smelled amazing too. He’d like the next twenty-four hours just to reacquaint himself with her nuances, and that would be just the appetizer.

  Chapter Three

  “Don’t you trust me, lover?” Quinn traced a finger down the side of Roz’s face.

  She didn’t want to be the jealous girlfriend. So what if she’d seen him with a teacher’s assistant, heads bowed? That didn’t mean anything. Except it was just another incident. Another chance for him to hide the truth in pretty words and reassurances. “I’d like to. I really would.”

  He brushed his lips over hers, the touch as light as a flower petal. “You know how I feel about you.”

  The kiss made her heart ache with longing, but she wasn’t going to get sucked into this again. “No, I don’t. That’s the problem. You won’t tell me. I can guess, I can make assumptions, but since you’ve never come out and said anything, I don’t know.”

  His brow furrowed. He didn’t pull away, but the seduction faded from his tone. “You’re saying you’ve got a problem with me? That you don’t want to be with me?”

  Why did he have to do this? If she didn’t agree with him, she was wrong. More aggravation shoved aside her affection. “No, Quinn. I’m saying exactly the opposite. I want to be with you. The actual you, not the guy who hides behind a mask.” The words spilled out, and she realized just how much she meant them. “Problem is, I don’t know who that is. You keep him hidden, along with whatever feelings you may or may not have for me.”

  Roz locked the memory away, burying all the hurt that went with it. Bastard hadn’t changed at all. Nothing he’d said since he walked in her front door this morning had been genuine. Except, the part of her she couldn’t ignore but which desperately wanted to insist he was struggling to hide his attraction, and not a deception.

  She focused on calming her hammering pulse, and failed. Tall, imposing, sexy as hell in those skintight jeans and a tattered T-shirt. The trademark blond mane that was almost as long as her own hair, and had been the inspiration for the band’s name. And completely arrogant.

  So why couldn’t she bring herself to duck under his arm, and put her desk between them? Everything, from his musk to the heat he radiated standing just a few inches away, short-circuited her thoughts. Her lips tingled. Would it be such a bad thing to close the distance between them?

  A knock filled the room, and her already racing heart almost leaped through her throat. She wanted to say a short prayer for the interruption, but her disappointment wouldn’t let her.

  “We’ve got a problem.” Her assistant, Chuck’s, voice muffled through the wood.

  She grabbed the re-emerging strands of her resolve, and wrapped herself in them. She rested a palm on Quinn’s chest, and pushed him back, ignoring the spark that raced between them and the firm muscle under her hand. “I’m so sorry. I need to take care of this. You’re welcome to wait in here. I can have reception bring you that drink.”

  The smile faded from his eyes, but his expression stayed neutral. “Do you mind if I watch the master at work?”

  The problem was, in these stupid clothes Ana had loaned her, she couldn’t do much work at all. She’d have to walk Chuck through the troubleshooting. “Sure.” Her uncertainty slipped out. “Why not.”

  If her tone fazed him, it didn’t show. Quinn gave her a wink, and followed her from the room.

  Seconds later, she joined Chuck and the local morning team in the recording room. They were dressed in the all-black suits the camera needed to pick up their movements. The fabric suctioned to their skin didn’t leave much to the imagination. Another day she might have been entertained by how much the news desk hid that her film suits exposed.

  Instead of focusing on that, her thoughts taunted her with images of what Quinn would look like in the outfit. Lycra hugging every muscle, showing off more than his jeans did. She shook her head and dragged herself back to the problem at hand, before turning to Chuck. “Do we have sound?”

  “Yes on the mixing board, no on the drive.”

  No digital sound or video meant no connection. She blew a loose strand of black hair out of her eyes, and let a list of possible causes scroll through her thoughts. She grabbed the most likely one as it drifted by, making the assumption Chuck had tried everything basic. The impulse to dive in and make repairs herself pushed her toward the hardware. Her skirt bound her legs, making her move more slowly than she’d like. Right. She wasn’t much good for hands-on in this outfit.

  “Check the wireless on the machine.” She nodded at the computer that received all the information as the cameras rolled. “Re-seat it, look at the drivers, and try a new port.

  “Do you have an ETA?” The woman asking was the station’s head anchor. Her voice was pleasant, but Roz was sure she heard an edge to the question.

  “Sooner rather than later. Once we know what the problem is, we’ll give you an estimate.” Roz tried to stay kind, despite the tension growing inside. She never had problems like this. Her tech was solid. And of course, it had to happen now. She tugged at her jacket, resisting the urge to toss it aside to get the work done, and gave all her attention to Chuck.

  She directed him through step after step. Each new command that didn’t pan out made her limbs itch a little more. She needed to be in there, doing this herself. It would go about ten times faster. He was good at what he did, but some things just required experience.

  A loud sigh and then another added to her mounting tension. She whirled to face Quinn. “Yes?”

  “You’re sure you’re the same girl who built all this?”

  An involuntary growl slipped, despite the teasing in his tone. Who the hell did he think he was, questioning her knowledge as though she was some newbie intern? “Excuse me?”

  Quinn’s attention never left her. And was that amusement on his face? Was the bastard yanking her chain? “You could at least get them something to drink, if you’re just directing traffic. Those suits look stifling.”

  “I’m trying to fix the problem.” She should just go get the water. He was right about the suits being uncomfortable, and the last thing she needed now was someone passing out from heat or dehydration. It was cool in the room, but if he was complaining, she needed to be concerned. Still, pride, and the assumption in his tone, kept her staring him down instead.

  “I’m not really getting that vibe.”

  Fuck this. She stripped off her jacket and draped it over a nearby chair. “Chuck”—she didn’t try a
nd hide her bark—“the fridge is stocked. Take care of our guests.”

  Chuck stepped back from what he was doing, giving her a puzzled look.

  She nodded at the door as she unbuttoned her top. “Go.”

  He scurried from the room.

  Hesitation wormed through her. Either strip off half her clothes, or rip Ana’s expensive outfit. She could leave the camisole on. Though it wouldn’t hide much, she wouldn’t be exposed. People saw more skin on the beach, right?

  She set the shirt with the jacket, and the shoes on the floor next to them. She stretched her arms over her head, and seconds later she plucked the pins from her bun and retied her hair into a ponytail. Her attention landed on Quinn, and heat rushed through her, as she realized he was watching her every move.

  When his gaze met hers, his wide-eyed look gave way to a challenging leer. Asshole.

  She hitched the skirt over her hips enough to move, but not enough to expose herself, and crawled under the table to get to the hardware. The moment she opened the machine, a powerful stench like burning metal slammed into her face. Fuck, something had fried. Why today? Everything was under warranty, but it would still take four hours for the new parts to arrive, and that meant several hours she had to credit the news crew. She couldn’t afford that.

  Besides, her pride hated failing—even just temporarily—in front of Quinn. A string of profanities raced through her head. She continued to poke at the machinery, not really doing anything but wanting to look busy, while she struggled for a solution. Damn it. Stupid proprietary hardware. Why did it have to pick today of all days to fail?

  Chapter Four

  Quinn sank into a nearby chair. He snagged a water bottle from the stack Chuck had brought in, and downed half of it in a single swallow. The icy chill sliding down his throat and hitting his gut did nothing to calm his heated blood. Roz had been on the edge of surrendering in her office. He hadn’t expected her to be receptive to the proposal. Never mind part of him had been willing to beg for an afternoon alone with her. And her mini striptease just now had only reminded him he’d much rather he was still hidden away with her.

  “Try it now,” Roz called over her shoulder.

  He dragged his gaze from her ass—perfect, round, firm—before he could get caught staring. The hungry beast inside raged against his skull and lower extremities, demanding he pay attention. Normally he loved his trademark jeans, but right now he wished they weren’t so tight. As she’d removed a layer of clothes, leaving only a wispy silk camisole draped over her firm breasts, the discomfort had become almost unbearable.

  “Still nothing.” Frustration hung heavy in Chuck’s voice, almost tangible in an already tense room.

  Roz crawled back under the table, and Quinn didn’t even try to keep from staring. He needed to get her somewhere private. Screw his plans of just making amends.

  Moments later, she emerged. A small metal box sat on her lap. As she hunched over it, he got a perfect glimpse down the front of her top. His memory danced to life with images of him sliding his hands under her camisole, finding all the rights spots to pinch and lick to make her moan, and spending hours lavishing her flawless skin with attention. His blood pressure surged. Maybe he should grab another icy bottle just to stick between his legs.

  “Have a little dignity, at least.” The anchor woman’s mutter was soft enough he was sure only he heard it.

  He glanced in her direction, to see her glare locked on Roz. An unwelcome and abrupt anger welled inside. “She’s working on your issue.” He kept his retort low, but it still echoed in the still room. “You want your footage, right?”

  Roz didn’t look up from digging around in the computer on her lap, and the creases around her forehead and her eyes deepened. “I’m sorry.” Icy professionalism coated her tone. “This board is fried. I’m going to have to order a new one.”

  “What does that mean?” None of her colleagues spoke. They seemed content to let her dish out the verbal frustration. Or, maybe, like Quinn, they were distracted.

  “We have to reschedule,” Roz said. “I can have the new part in this afternoon, if you’d like.”

  “This afternoon?” The woman—Quinn had decided Blonde Harpy was a good name for her—stomped her foot. A tantrum? Really? “We needed it for a color piece tomorrow morning. That’s why we paid you. That’s why we rushed this.” With each word she took another step toward Roz.

  Not backing down, Roz climbed to her feet, jaw set and eyes hard. “And I’m sorry. I am. If rescheduling won’t work, we’ll issue a full refund.”

  “You’ll issue one either way.” Blonde Harpy raised an index finger. “And I don’t care if you have to send your little helper down to the local…wherever you get parts like this. You’ll fix it now.”

  “I’ve already told you, it will take time. The longer we argue, the longer it takes me to order the parts.” Roz’s back was ramrod straight, and only the slight waver in her voice betrayed her irritation.

  “I don’t care, you stupid, overrated—”

  Quinn stepped between the two women, attention on Blond Harpy. “Enough.” He forced all his power into the single word.

  She didn’t relent, but her chin quivered. “Who the fuck are you?”

  She didn’t know him? Not very good at her job, was she? “It doesn’t matter if I’m the fucking janitor. You’re not helping the situation, and being a child about it won’t get you what you want.”

  “Quinn.” Roz rested a hand on his arm. The heat of her bare fingers against his skin stoked the fire inside.

  He couldn’t find the strength to pull away, but he didn’t turn either. “Would you like to come back tomorrow?”

  Blonde Harpy’s face scrunched into something twisted he was sure her viewers didn’t think she was capable of. She breathed through her nose, nostrils flaring. “Fine.”

  He gave her his best smile—the one he saved for the blogs. “Fantastic. She’ll see you then.”

  Chuck led the news crew from the room to get changed, but the tension in the air didn’t evaporate. The moment the door swung shut, Roz dropped into nearby chair. She rubbed her face with her hands, and despite the firm set of her jaw, her shoulders heaved with every shaky breath. “That went well,” she said with sarcasm.

  What was he supposed to do now? Comfort her? That wasn’t really his thing. But an unfamiliar pang inside made him want to wrap her up and reassure her. He shook it away. Mostly.

  She took another deep, shuddering breath, and fixed a gaze on him. Her smile looked etched and painful. “I’m sorry you had to see that. If you’re not interested in booking time after a mess like that, I understand.”

  Why would he be…? Oh, right. When he’d made the appointment all those months ago, he’d actually meant to rent the place and make his peace with her. Being in the same room with her though, dragged too many memories back to the surface and made it easy to forget his original plan. “It doesn’t make a difference at all.” The reassurance tasted funny. Was he actually feeling bad about lying to her? Nah. It wasn’t a lie, anyway. What had just happened didn’t change anything. “You deal with things as they come. Professionalism aside, I’m more worried about you.”

  The hard edges around her eyes softened. “I’ll be okay. I need to get this part ordered, though.”

  He rested a hand on her arm as she tried to brush past, and was unable to ignore the slight tremor. She was still shaking. Something ached in his chest. “Let me buy you lunch when you’re done.” Where had that come from?

  Her pursed lips said she was wondering the same thing. “I’m supposed to be the one wining and dining you, for your business.”

  Why did the casual brush-off make him want to cringe? Maybe that confrontation had thrown him off balance, too. “It doesn’t have to be a business lunch. I’d like to just catch up. Find out what you’ve been up to. You, not your studio. Go order your part, and I’ll call us a Mag-Car.”

  There—that was better. He wasn’t out of
sorts, his brain was just moving faster than he could keep up. This would help her relax, and further his cause at the same time.

  “All right.” She reached for her shirt and jacket.

  “You don’t have to get dressed on my account.” He winked.

  She gave a light laugh and shook her head. “Have you changed at all?” She tugged the silk shirt back on.

  Something told him it was meant to be an insult. Why would he want to be anything other than who he was, though? He couldn’t pull his gaze from her fingers as she fastened each button. God, that was almost as seductive as her stripping it off had been. Lunch had better go well.

  Her gaze met his, and he didn’t try and hide the fact he’d been staring. Her lips twisted, full and pouty, and teasing him. “Enjoying the show?”

  His cock throbbed from being ignored. He’d enjoyed it more than she realized. “It’s pretty decent.”

  “Call a car, Mr. Big Bad Lion. I’ll order this replacement, and we can go.”

  He followed her back to his office, dick like a divining rod driven by the sway of her ass. Something nagged in the back of his head, sounding a lot like her, “You haven’t changed at all.” He shoved the thought aside. If she was still giving him crap about just being him, she was still set in her ways, too. Besides, the last thing he needed in his life was someone who just wanted to redefine him.

  The moment the thought crossed his mind, he demolished it. He didn’t want anyone in his life, except his band. What the hell was wrong with him?

  Chapter Five

  “Lover”–Quinn rested a hand on her cheek, thumb gliding back and forth across her skin—“everything between us is real. I didn’t ask anyone else to go with me on tour.”

  The reminder of the tour made her gut clench. She still hadn’t told him what she’d decided. Was that why she was picking this fight? No. He needed to hear these things anyway. She needed him to understand that just because he’d signed a record contract didn’t mean she was going to drop everything—her education, her ideas for a business, all of it—and roam the country with him.