Chapter 10
10
She stood in the lift, looking at her reflection in the mirror and listening to the burr of the wheels as it transported her between floors. It had stopped at the right level four times, but she couldn’t bring herself to get out. She kept asking the doors to close, hoping that the next time they opened, she would have made up her mind whether to step out or whether to descend to reception again.
Giving her a key to his room was presumptuous. She’d told him no and he didn’t believe her. Was he right? Even if she didn’t go to his room tonight, was she just fighting a losing battle with her own desires as well as his? Perhaps it was just something they both needed to get out of their system. Yes, if she had one night with him, it would all be over. She would stop wondering what it would be like to sleep with him and he could stop pursuing her. After all, the buzz came from the chase, didn’t it? Once their sexual needs had been fulfilled, he would move on to someone else and she – well, she could always make do with Simon.
She wouldn’t come tonight; he knew that. She wanted to, but she wouldn’t. She wasn’t ready yet. She wanted to be ready but it was too soon for her, for whatever reason. Maybe she had someone. Shit, he didn’t want to think about that. He didn’t want to think of her ever having had someone else. That was unrealistic, but he wasn’t big on the whole talking about previous partners thing. That was something Taylor did. He was convinced she had a chart with penis comparisons on somewhere at the bottom of one of her giant handbags. That was the sort of stupid, dumbass shit Taylor did.
George was different. George wasn’t twenty-five going on twelve; George was a grown-up, a real woman, someone who made him hard just by looking his way. Shit, he was hard now just thinking about her.
He turned the shower down a couple of notches and put his face right into the water flow.
The lift doors opened again and George took a deep breath. Besides, even if she got out now and went to his room, she could always just give him a piece of her mind when she got there. If she really didn’t want to spend the night with him.
She stepped out of the lift and walked down the corridor, following the signs for the suite. And then she saw it, at the very end of the corridor: a huge, oak-panelled door with a gold sign stating that it was the entrance to Suite One.
The slot to put the key card in was flashing ominously. Was that because she ought to go in, or because she shouldn’t? She wished it would speak. What was the matter with her? She was a grown woman; she could make decisions herself without looking for hidden meanings in inanimate objects and willing them to share their thoughts with her. This was ridiculous.
She smoothed down her white shirt and pulled at her skirt. She had a sauce stain on the left hand side of it and she knew she was hot and sweaty from spending all evening in a kitchen. Not exactly the best outfit for seducing someone. And then it dawned on her that Quinn had never seen her in any other clothes. Perhaps he had a thing for waitresses. The thought made her shudder.
She put the card into the slot and pulled it out. It flashed green and she cautiously leant down on the handle and opened the door.
She stepped onto soft, thick, cream-coloured carpet and walked into the most luxurious room she had ever seen. There was a huge bed to her right, covered in cushions and fur throws. There was a full-sized dining table to the left and two large, chocolate-coloured leather sofas, again adorned with sumptuous cushions. There were full-length patio doors at the far end of the room, which seemed to open out onto a balcony. The whole room was decorated to perfection; there wasn’t a thing out of place. In fact, if it hadn’t been for two guitars leant against the wall, she wouldn’t have thought anyone was staying in the room at all.
She could hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom and suspected Quinn was in the shower. What to do? Should she announce her arrival? Should she whip off her sweaty clothes and join him? Or should she just sit, read the Gideon’s bible and wait for him to come out? The other alternative, of course, was to leave while she still could. He didn’t know she was there; she could disappear and he would be none the wiser.
She was just contemplating doing exactly that when the water was turned off and Quinn strolled out of the bathroom completely naked.
‘George,’ he stated, seeming surprised she was there.
‘Hello,’ she replied, tearing her eyes away as he hurriedly wrapped a towel around himself.
‘I didn’t think you’d come,’ he told her, running his hand over his cropped hair.
For once, he didn’t look quite so self-assured. Perhaps it was just being caught without his clothes on, but she suspected it wasn’t the first time that had happened.
‘You sent some huge, scary guy to give me the key card,’ George reminded him.
‘Yeah, I know. I just didn’t think you’d come. Not yet,’ Quinn replied.
‘Do you want me to go?’ George said, suddenly feeling a little bit awkward.
‘No! No, of course not. Of course not. Have a seat. Would you like a drink?’ Quinn offered, securing the towel around his waist.
‘A beer would be good,’ George answered.
Perhaps she had given in a bit easily if he really hadn’t been expecting her. She felt disappointed and internally kicked herself for it.
‘Sure,’ Quinn said and he opened the mini-bar, which didn’t appear to be so mini and stocked every drink known to man and some that probably weren’t known to many men.
He took out two bottles of beer, opened them and handed one to her. She accepted it and quickly sat down on one of the leather sofas.
‘So, here we are then,’ she remarked not knowing what else to say to someone she had only thought about sleeping with and not considered talking to all that much.
‘Yeah, here we are,’ Quinn replied with a nod.
‘Right, well, to be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I should know better; I do know better. In fact, I think I’m just going to pretend that I didn’t drive over here like some sort of aged groupie and just leave,’ George said, standing up and starting to move past him.
‘No, don’t do that,’ Quinn said, grabbing her arm to stop her.
‘Why not?’ George asked, staring him in the face.
‘Because I want you to stay,’ Quinn told her sincerely .
Her heart was hammering again, threatening to explode as she looked at him, looking at her.
‘Why?’ George enquired.
‘I don’t know, but ever since I met you, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head,’ Quinn admitted.
‘I offered you a canapé from an empty tray.’
‘It wasn’t anything you said or did; I don’t know what it was. I can’t explain it. I just can’t stop thinking about you, George; I mean that. You’re just everywhere, all the time,’ Quinn told her.
He traced his finger down the line of her jaw and she felt herself quake beneath his touch.
‘I want you to know I don’t make a habit of kissing men I know nothing about.’
‘I know that. Your brother tells me he can’t remember the last time you had a boyfriend.’
‘Did he also tell you he’s away at university and I don’t tell him everything that goes on in my life?’
‘So will you tell him about this?’ Quinn asked, his fingers travelling quickly to her shirt buttons.
‘About what?’
‘About this,’ Quinn said and in one swift move, he picked George up and carried her over to the bed.
He threw her down, straddled her body and looked down at her. She couldn’t control her breathing; she thought her body was going to combust unless he stripped her right now and made love to her. All thoughts of his fiancée were pushed out of her mind. It was his problem, not hers. It wasn’t as if he was going to leave her. It was just an animal attraction; it was just sex. In a few nights, he would be gone, doing gigs in Manchester and probably sleeping with someone else. That alone should bother her, but right now, it didn’t.
‘What do you want to do now?’ Quinn asked her as he unbuttoned her shirt and slipped his hands inside.
‘Everything,’ George replied and she pulled at the towel around his waist and discarded it on the floor.
His fingers were plucking the strings on his guitar, but his eyes were fixed on her. There she was, George Fraser, Miss Finger Food, in his bed. Mission accomplished. Or was it? Just watching her now, he wanted to go back over to the bed, pull the covers off her and touch her like he’d touched her last night. He’d touched her everywhere and the way she had touched him – well, it was a class apart from what he’d experienced in the past and he’d experienced enough to know. But it wasn’t just the sex. Afterwards, he’d found himself wanting to talk to her. Fuck! Wanting to talk! He’d managed to stop himself but the feeling was there all the same. What was it about her that got to him?
When she woke up, the first thing she saw was a fur cushion only inches from her nose. Then she breathed in and the musk and lemon fragrance filled her nostrils. It immediately reminded her where she was and who she was with. Last night had been one of the best nights of her life. Her skin actually ached from his touch and there wasn’t a centimetre he hadn’t made contact with. She closed her eyes again and replayed the sex in her mind. She stroked the sheet around her with the flat of her hands, remembering the way the linen felt between her fingers. She had clung to it, clawed at it and then clung to him, Quinn Blake, pulled him into her like she had been starved of physical contact for a hundred years. He had taken her breath away, he had whispered all sorts of words into her ear and his voice, the sound of his urgent need, had left her with no choice but to submit to him completely. He was the whole toe-curling, fingernail-scratching, head-spinning package. She’d had nothing left.
As she let out a breath and opened her eyes again, she heard a guitar being played. She hurriedly sat up, drawing the covers closer around her naked body .
‘Hey,’ Quinn greeted.
He was sat on one of the sofas, wearing a hotel robe, an acoustic guitar around his neck. He looked more gorgeous now than he ever had.
‘What time is it?’ George asked, looking around the room for a clock.
‘Almost nine-thirty,’ Quinn informed her.
‘Nine-thirty? Shit, I’ve got to go. Marisa and Helen will be at my place, waiting to get in,’ George exclaimed in horror.
She bounded out of bed and began picking up her clothes from the floor, where Quinn had thrown them in the early hours.
‘I could order some breakfast. You shouldn’t go without breakfast; that would make me the worst host in the world,’ Quinn told her.
‘I have a kitchen full of food; I’ll be fine,’ George replied, pulling on her skirt and zipping it up.
‘Shall I arrange a car?’ Quinn asked, putting his guitar down and standing up.
‘No need, I have the van. Look, last night was really great and…’ George began.
She was struggling to put her bra back on and he was looking at her. It wasn’t going to happen. She hurriedly buttoned up her blouse and stuffed her bra in her bag, her cheeks flaming with shame.
‘Can I see you again?’ Quinn questioned.
George tucked in her shirt and turned to look at him.
This was supposed to have been an itch that disappeared when it had been scratched. And it had been scratched, several times, in fact. In the bed, on the floor, in the shower, up against the patio doors. Her temperature shot up as she remembered everything they’d done.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ George said.
‘I do,’ Quinn replied .
‘I’ve got to go,’ George insisted, putting on her shoes and heading for the door.
‘Keep the key,’ he said as she prepared to leave.
George looked at the plastic card in her hand.
‘Keep it,’ Quinn repeated, an edge of determination to his voice.
George looked at it again and then dropped it inside her bag.
‘I’ll see you at the after-show,’ she spoke, looking back at him.
‘Don’t I get a kiss goodbye?’ Quinn queried before she could open the door.
George let out a sigh and crossed the room towards him. She pecked him on the cheek and was about to make a hasty exit when he grabbed her and pulled her to him. Being so close to him, she was completely powerless to stop whatever was coming next. She was behaving like a pathetically weak heroine in a dodgy romance and she couldn’t do anything to fight it.
Just having him look at her the way he did was enough to make her want to take her clothes off again. This was bad. This was almost like Paul.
He kissed her, deeply and passionately, and she didn’t want him to stop. She clung to him, closing her eyes and remembering how he had made her cry out with delight.
‘This isn’t what you think it is,’ Quinn told her when their mouths had finally parted.
‘I don’t know what I think,’ George replied, her hands lingering on his chest.
‘You think I’m fickle. You think I have a girl at every venue,’ Quinn spoke.
‘I need to go now,’ George said, letting him go and checking her watch.
‘That isn’t how it is,’ Quinn assured her.
‘I’ve really got to go,’ she said again .
He reluctantly relinquished her and she hurried out of the door.
‘George…’ he called after her.
She almost leapt out of the room, not wanting to hear what he was going to say. She slammed the door closed and leant against it for support. What had she done?
Shit! Why had he lied to her? He did have a girl at every venue. Well, not every venue maybe, but most of them. She knew that, he knew that; why hadn’t he just told her the truth? He had a girl most nights, but none of them came anywhere near close to her. He never wanted the girl to be there in the morning. He never offered breakfast and he never, ever, wanted to see them again. He wanted to see George again. Again and again and again.