Strings Attached (12 page)

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 complete
ly. 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, las
t 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.

Eleven

‘So then, who were you with?’ Marisa questioned as she mashed up eggs later that morning.

‘Marisa!’ Helen exclaimed.

George couldn’t blame her for asking. She had turned up late, in the van, wearing last night’s clothes - the skirt of which was torn and her hair was spiked up like Shirley from
EastEnders
. She had managed to avoid earlier questions by running upstairs to shower and change before they started work. But she had known it was only a matter of time.

‘No, it’s OK. I bumped into a friend from school, we went back to hers. I had too much to drink and I crashed there,’ George explained.

It was amazing what you could get to trip off your tongue, without too much thought, when you were backed into a corner.

‘A friend from school,’ Marisa repeated suspiciously.

‘Yeah, Tracey,’ George added, hiding her face and trying to concentrate on what she was doing.

She hadn’t seen Tracey since school and was still visualising her in ripped jeans and a New Kids on the Block t-shirt. Still, it didn’t matter for alibi purposes.

‘Tracey,’ Marisa said.

‘Marisa, will you leave George alone. She doesn’t answer to you does she?’ Helen told her daughter.

‘Well, I don’t believe a word of it, I mean ‘bumped into a friend from school’! Well where? The car park of
the Hexagon
at
two in the morning
? What does this Tracey do? Is she a pole dancer or a taxi driver? Because I can’t think of another reason for her to be out at 2.00am,’ Marisa continued.

‘Well Marisa, where do you think I was?’ George enquired, looking at her employee and feeling very certain there was no way in the world she was going to guess.

‘With a man. It’s like
sooo
obvious,’ Marisa answered confidently.

‘What man?’ George enquired.

‘Well I don’t know, someone you’re like hiding from us obviously,’ Marisa said, starting to blush as her confidence unravelled.

‘I’m glad you think my life’s
sooo
exciting,’ George mimicked.

She was trying desperately not to think about Quinn, but even after her shower she could still feel him on her skin. She had finger shaped bruises at the bottom of her back, along with a friction burn and as she filled Marisa’s suspicious head with lies, the injuries smarted in retaliation.

‘Well you’re acting all mysterious and like that’s what people do when they’re hiding man action from their friends,’ Marisa concluded.

‘Who told you that? I think you’ve been watching too much
Desperate Housewives
,’ George answered her with a laugh.

There was a knock on the back door and George stiffened. She knew exactly who that was.

Helen opened it and there was Simon with the bread delivery. George turned to greet him, thinking it would be best to get any awkwardness out of the way. She smiled at him but he didn’t meet her eye. In fact his head
was bowed so low that
if he opened his mouth he could probably lick his shoes.

‘Oh Simon, perfect timing as usual, thank you. We’re getting through it today aren’t we George?’ Helen said, trying to draw her into conversation.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ George offered, giving him another hesitant smile.

Simon not speaking to her like he usually did would set off Marisa’s questioning again and she didn’t want that. She just wanted to try and put the whole date refusal thing behind them and move on, like the professional business people they were.

‘No thanks, got a lot on,’ Simon said briskly and before anyone could say anything else he left the kitchen, closing the door behind him.

‘Now that was suspicious. Not wanting a coffee, not looking you in the eye, not trying to flirt with you. Were you with him last night?’ Marisa demanded to know.

George swallowed. She really couldn’t bear any more interrogation, she felt guilty enough as it was.

‘Marisa! I won’t tell you again! Leave George alone,’ Helen warned.

The phone rang and
,
glad of a distraction
,
George picked it up.

‘Good morning Finger Food.’

‘Georgina, is that you?’ her mother’s voice queried.

‘Yes it’s me.’

‘Good, now listen. Your father and I have had to go up to Wales so we won’t be at home for a few days,’ Heather informed her.

‘Wales? Well why? Is it Adam?’

‘Adam had an accident this morning, hit a parked car,’ Heather said like she was giving the bare bones of a news report.

‘Oh my God is he OK? I’ll come up. I’ll just arrange a few things here and I’ll be there in a few hours,’ George exclaimed in panic.

‘Don’t be so overdramatic
,
there’s absolutely no need for you to do anything. He’s fine, just cuts and bruises, we’re with him now and he’s telling you to stop making a fuss,’ Heather continued.

She couldn’t hear him making a fuss; she couldn’t hear anything apart from her mother’s businesslike voice holding her at arm’s length as usual.

‘I want to speak to him,’ George said, putting a hand to her racing heart.

She hadn’t checked for Adam’s text last night. She had asked him to message her and then she’d been too busy having her clothes ripped off to bother even looking at her mobile. This was payback for her involvement with a betrothed man. This was the sort of thing that happened. This was retribution.

‘That isn’t necessary. I told you he’s fin
e. I just thought you should...
’ Heather began again in her best
secretarial
tones.

‘Put him on the phone Mother! Don’t mess me about, put him on the phone right now,’ George ordered knowing her anxiety wasn’t going unnoticed by Helen and Marisa.

‘For goodness sake Georgina, it was only a small accident, the car took the brunt of it and Adam is fine,’ Heather spoke all too calmly.

‘Mother I swear to God, if you don’t put Adam on the phone right now I am driving up to Wales to see him for myself,’ George threatened.

Heather let out a loud frustrated tut of annoyance and then there was background movement as the phone was passed over.

‘Hello,’ Adam spoke sheepishly.

‘Adam what happened? I thought I told you to drive carefully,’ George reminded him harshly.

‘I did drive carefully; it was foggy when we got back to Wales. Stupid f**king car was parked on a bend! Lucky I was only doing thirty,’ Adam told her.

‘Adam! You do not use that word!’ George heard her mother retort in the background as Adam swore.

‘Are you OK?’ George asked.

‘Yeah, I’m fine; car isn’t though, the whole front caved in.’

‘It’s a write off? God Adam, you were so lucky. Is Tom OK?’

‘Yeah he’s fine and the best thing is I managed to get the CD out of the car before they towed it away.’

‘CD?’

‘The one I made with Quinn Blake. I would have been gutted if I’d lost that.’

George let out a sigh of irritation at the sound of his name. This was all his fault. She should have been checking Adam was safe, not acting like a slapper.

‘Look, do you want me to come up?’ George asked him.

‘No, course not. Mum and Dad are already fussing round me and you have the after-shows to do. I’m fine really,’ Adam assured her.

‘Well, if anything changes I want you to call me or text me and I’ll come up,’ George told him seriously.