Love at First Slice, page 6
Why was he having an effect on her? Why did she want to see him? Why had she enjoyed his kiss so much the previous night? This was uncharacteristic. She was usually the one driving situations, but now, here she was, on the inside of the fire door, responding to someone’s order. And there was no doubt it had been an order. He couldn’t have made it clearer.
There was loud giggling and George heard the doors along the corridor open. People were coming. She needed to make a decision. Open the door? Or go back to the party?
The voices were getting louder; people were approaching. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
She stepped out onto the fire escape expecting Quinn to be waiting for her, like some gorgeous, brooding knight, all bolshy and irresistible. But to her dismay, there was nothing but the oily black sky and the chilly air to greet her. She was on her own and suddenly, she felt very stupid. What an idiot! He must think she was some sort of pathetic fan, who would let him kiss her and order her about just for the thrill of being in his presence! He’d had no intention of meeting her; it was just a game. He probably did this stuff all the time. She should have known better. She did know better.
‘Hey! You’re late!’
It was him. She heard his voice but she couldn’t see him. She looked down to the bottom of the fire escape, but there was no one there apart from two security guards stood by the doors to the Hexagon’s back entrance.
‘I said you’re late. Ten minutes, I said; this is almost fourteen,’ Quinn called again.
George looked around her; she still had no idea where the voice was coming from.
‘Hey! Up here!’ Quinn shouted.
George looked upwards, towards the roof of the theatre and there he was, stood on the very edge, looking down at her, a broad smile on his face.
‘What the hell are you doing? Are you mad? You could fall!’ George exclaimed in horror.
‘Yeah, dangerous, isn’t it? So, are you coming up? I have beer,’ Quinn enticed.
He picked up two bottles and chinked them together temptingly.
‘How did you get up there?’ George enquired, wishing he wasn’t stood quite so close to the edge.
‘Same way you’re going to get up here. Give me your hand,’ Quinn ordered, leaning over the edge of the roof and holding his hand out to her.
‘I’m not coming up there,’ George told him, folding her arms across her chest in a show of defiance.
She was a grown-up and in charge of catering an important function. She was not stupid enough to be climbing up on roofs at the age of thirty-four.
‘Of course you are. You know you want to.’
‘I do not.’
‘Sure you do. Come on, live a little,’ Quinn spoke.
George looked at the hand he was holding out and then looked down at the drop below. This was insane! One slip and it was goodbye life, hello tarmac.
‘Take my hand, put one foot up onto the bar there and I’ll help you. View’s great, by the way,’ he said.
George felt a rush of excitement run through her. It was dangerous, it was reckless; it was like when she was a teenager and had found all sorts of new ways to annoy her mother. She had loved rebellion and a little danger then; perhaps she had forgotten how to live for the moment.
Quickly, she took off her shoes, put one down as a wedge to keep open the fire exit door and dropped the other.
She reached up, firmly took hold of Quinn’s hand and pulled herself up onto the metal fire escape. With another stretch and a scramble, she arrived on top of the roof.
‘You’ve done this before,’ Quinn replied as they sat down on the tiles and he handed her a bottle of beer.
‘Not for a long time and only on a three storey,’ George answered, taking a much-needed drink.
‘This is the sort of extreme length I have to go to to get away from people,’ Quinn said with a laugh.
‘And you enjoy every minute of it,’ George answered, looking at him.
‘Yes, I do,’ he replied, looking back at her.
It was those eyes again, like turquoise glass, clear yet dense. Something about the intensity of them reminded her so much of Paul.
They were sat very close together enveloped by a black blanket of night, both staring out at the town’s skyline. She didn’t really know what she was doing here, sat on a roof with the biggest rock star of the moment when she should be wowing people with her buffet. But her heart was thumping a rhythm it hadn’t performed in such a long time and she was finding it hard to care what she should be doing.
‘Are you cold?’ Quinn enquired, suddenly breaking the silence.
‘A bit,’ George admitted, aware she was shivering.
Without saying another word, Quinn put his arm around her and drew her closer to him in one quick action. She was suddenly wrapped up in warmth.
She was a grown-up, yet she felt like a girl on some sort of awkward first date where no one knows the rules. It didn’t feel like she was sat in the arms of a major rock star; it felt like she was in another time and another place where she was young again. Young and alive.
‘If I could, I’d ask you out to dinner,’ Quinn spoke as he stroked her arm, keeping the cold at bay and sending delicious shivers down her spine.
‘If you could?’ George queried.
‘It’s complicated. I’m watched, all the time, which is why…’
‘You climb on roofs,’ George finished off for him.
‘Exactly. But I like you, you know, and…’
‘So what do we do?’ George asked him.
‘What do you wanna do?’ Quinn replied.
‘I don’t know,’ George answered almost in a whisper.
‘Yes, you do,’ Quinn told her, his eyes looking deep into hers.
Before she could stop herself, she had reached out and touched his face with her hand. She felt the firm line of his jaw and looked into his eyes, waiting, pausing in anticipation. He just matched her gaze, not letting his eyes drop from hers for a second and as her hand fell to his chest, she could feel the strength of his heartbeat.
It was then he moved, taking her face in his hands for the second time in as many days and their lips were together, his mouth hot and sensual on hers.
He lowered her down onto the roof tiles and the raw, cold slate sent shivers down her back as he sat astride her. He kissed her jaw, her neck; he ran his hands through her hair and then started to unbutton her blouse.
She thought she was going to combust with the desire she felt. She had never experienced anything like the longing she felt for him now. She wanted him to touch her everywhere.
Wantonly, she pulled his t-shirt over his head and admired the perfect body underneath.
And then, completely shattering the moment, a mobile began to ring.
‘Shit,’ Quinn remarked, moving off of George and hurriedly fumbling for the phone in the pocket of his jeans.
She sat up and began to refasten her shirt buttons. Suddenly, she felt a bit stupid, sat on the roof of a theatre, half undressed with someone she knew had two platinum albums and liked her canapés, but that was where the knowledge ended.
‘Hey, Roger! Yeah, it was another great show tonight. Where am I? Well, I’m at the party; there’s a good turn-out. Yeah, back to the hotel afterwards, sure, I know, and no late-night poker with the boys. Yeah, OK, tell her the same,’ Quinn spoke into the phone.
He ended the call and snapped the phone shut, turning around. George’s shirt was tucked primly back in and she got up from the tiles and stood in front of him.
‘I’d better go. I should be serving your guests,’ she spoke, trying to move away from him without him touching her again.
‘Spend the night with me,’ Quinn said, grabbing hold of her arm.
George saw the sincerity in his expression and felt the tight grip on her arm. She swallowed, not knowing what to say. A night with a rock star, a hot rock star and someone who made her burn up from the inside out. She liked sex, it would be fantastic sex and she hadn’t had sex in almost a month.
‘Not on the roof, obviously. I have a hotel room,’ Quinn spoke hurriedly.
‘And you’re watched all the time,’ George reminded him.
‘Yeah, I know, I am. But we could work something out.’
‘I’m not that sort of girl, sorry. I’d better go,’ George said.
‘I think your brother’s really cool, by the way. He knows a lot about music,’ Quinn said quickly as George began to balance over the roof edge.
She stopped and looked back at him. He was still shirtless and the sight of his perfection did nothing to strengthen her resolve in turning him down. It wasn’t too late. She could change her mind. Her foot was only dangling toward the fire escape; no contact had been made.
‘He’s very talented; I mean, really talented. He was grade eight piano at age eleven,’ George informed him, a swell of pride coating her voice.
‘That’s seriously good. I didn’t do grades, at least I don’t think – well anyway – he could definitely teach me a thing or two,’ Quinn answered.
‘He thinks you’re a great artist. He admires you and your music very much,’ George told him.
‘Well, maybe we could spend an hour or so together doing something on the piano,’ Quinn suggested.
‘Don’t say things like that unless you mean them, not where my brother’s concerned,’ George ordered almost angrily.
‘I don’t say things unless I mean them. Tell him to ask for me tomorrow afternoon before the show, say four?’
‘Four,’ George repeated.
‘Yeah, and if you wanted to come along, that would be good too,’ Quinn said, his turquoise eyes studying her.
‘Sorry, four’s no good for me, I’ll be busy coordinating an Army party and trying to create something exciting and never seen before, using salmon as my muse,’ George answered as she clambered carefully over the side of the roof and her foot made contact with the fire escape. No going back now.
‘I want to see you again,’ Quinn said, leaning over the edge and watching her descend.
‘You will. I’ll be one of the waitresses holding a silver tray at your party tomorrow night,’ George answered.
She jumped down onto the fire escape, put on her shoes and went back inside, closing the door behind her.
Once inside, she leant against the door and tried to get her breath back. If the phone hadn’t rung, would she have stopped him? Would she have stopped herself? Or would she have had sex on a rooftop without thinking about the consequences? Why did he have this effect on her? Yes, he was gorgeous, but there was more to it than that; something about him was different. He got to her.
He was buzzing from head to foot, even more than from the gig. His heart was racing like he’d taken a shot of something. She was hot and sexy and she’d tasted like all his fantasies rolled into one. He stood up on the roof, stretched his arms up to the sky and howled.
8
‘Oh. My. God. Like, could my life get any better? I’ve just finished spreading three hundred slices of bread, we’ve got an Army party this afternoon, with like loads of gorgeous blokes, and tonight, we’ve got another after-show party full of more eye candy, including the totally, awesomely hot Quinn Blake,’ Marisa announced over strains of The Black Eyed Peas.
The radio was picking up Radio One again although George wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing. Marisa had a limited knowledge of music when it came to the 1970s and 1980s and that meant less singing and more work getting done. Marisa fighting will.i.am for lead vocals meant time management went out the window.
‘You can do some egg separation for me next. I need yolks, please; put the whites to one side, in a bowl, obviously,’ George ordered, ignoring her excited comments and studying a recipe book.
‘Like what did you think I was going to do? Break them open on the worktop?’ Marisa replied huffily.
‘Is Adam working tonight?’ Helen enquired as she washed her hands.
‘Yes, last one, though; he’s driving back to uni straight after the party,’ George replied, not raising her head from her work.
‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ Helen offered.
‘No, thanks. I want to get this finished and we need to get the Army stuff organised and the van loaded. What time is it? We have to be there at one,’ George said, checking her watch.
She didn’t want coffee; she wanted beer. She was tired and she was under pressure and she couldn’t stop thinking about Quinn. She hadn’t wanted someone so badly in such a long time. Conjuring up images of his naked torso in her mind was affecting her concentration.
‘It’s only eleven; we’ve got plenty of time,’ Helen reassured.
‘Right, OK, good,’ George replied, burying her head back into her mixing bowl.
Suddenly, the back door burst open and Adam flew through it. He ran up to George and grabbed hold of her arm.
‘Is it true?’ he questioned with wide eyes.
‘Well, I…’ George began, her chest tightening.
‘I got your message about Quinn Blake. Is it true? He wants to jam with me this afternoon?’ Adam asked, his excitement clear for all to see.
‘Oh, yes, that, yes, it’s true. I mean, I didn’t actually speak to him, of course, because he’s ultra-important and that wouldn’t be professional. But his PA, Michael, said he thought you were very knowledgeable about music after your conversation the other night and he wanted to get together with you this afternoon,’ George explained haphazardly.
She could hardly mention the rooftop, could she?
‘Man, this is the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me. I can’t believe it!’ Adam exclaimed, taking off his beanie hat and beaming.
‘Neither can I! You jammy sod! Private lesson with Quinn Blake! I wouldn’t mind a private lesson with him, although I wouldn’t want to learn piano. I could think of something better to practice, like—’ Marisa began.
‘Thank you Marisa; your mother is in the room. I am here, aren’t I? With my hands in a mixing bowl of tuna,’ Helen clarified.
‘Yeah but you said here, we’re like just colleagues,’ Marisa replied, screwing her face up.
‘What should I take with me? What should I wear?’ Adam questioned as nervously as someone about to have a job interview.
‘Whipped cream and strawberries I’d take,’ Marisa answered hurriedly.
‘It isn’t an audition for The X Factor; just take yourself. He isn’t going to judge you. He already thinks you’re knowledgeable; well, that’s what Michael said,’ George answered, a flush covering her cheeks.
The lager, the cold tiles, the flawless torso, it was all so easily recollected.
‘Yeah, but he’s really amazing and this could be a chance to get into the industry. If he likes me, he could tell other people about me and…’ Adam gushed.
‘I’ve no doubt he’s going to be blown away by you. I mean, you play that piano like a demon and he hasn’t even taken one piano exam,’ George said, the words tumbling from her lips before she could do anything to stop them.
‘What?! Hasn’t he? Not even I knew that. Where did you read that?’ Marisa exclaimed, eyes bulging at the new information.
‘I don’t know, in one of those magazines of yours, I guess. Now, you, go home and stop panicking. Enjoy the afternoon; show Quinn Blake how a piano should be played, you know, hitting the phrasing with lots of passion. Isn’t that what Mrs Rowland is always telling you to do?’ George said.
‘Thanks, George. This is down to you, you know, getting the catering for these shows. I can’t thank you enough,’ Adam spoke.
He put his arms around her and gave her a firm squeeze.
‘Yeah, go and have a little practice at your scales or something before I nick your hat and coat and pass myself off as you. Can’t play the piano, though. Do you think he would notice? Especially if I just kind of like stripped off and got on top of it? Or him,’ Marisa asked.
‘Marisa!’ Helen exclaimed.
‘I don’t think any normal, red-blooded man would fail to notice you, Marisa,’ Adam told her with a smile.
She blushed immediately and tried to avoid catching Adam’s eye.
‘Go on, go! I’ll see you at the Hexagon about ten-thirty,’ George ordered, shooing him to the door.
‘OK, see you later,’ Adam said.
‘Bye Adam and good luck,’ Helen called after him.
‘Yeah good luck and if you finish before the hour’s up, I’ll entertain him for the rest of the time. Just text me,’ Marisa added.
‘What’s got into you, Marisa?’ Helen asked when the door had closed and Adam had left.
‘What?’ Marisa asked innocently.
‘Since we started doing the catering for Quinn Blake, you haven’t stopped talking about him for a minute, usually with sexual connotations attached to every other word,’ Helen said, facing her daughter.
‘Yeah well, he’s hot and I’ve seen him in the flesh like every night and so what?’ Marisa snapped.
‘Well, it makes you sound cheap,’ Helen replied.
‘Me! Cheap! That’s rich coming from someone who models herself on Tina Turner in her Mad Max phase and uses Value antiperspirant,’ Marisa exclaimed, turning to face her mother.
‘Hey, guys, could we stop the confrontation about sex and deodorant and concentrate our efforts on the food?’ George suggested.
‘Well she started it! And anyway, it isn’t like I’m going to exactly leap on Quinn Blake, is it? I mean, he’s engaged, isn’t he!’ Marisa shouted, crossing her arms defiantly.
George dropped the book she was holding and it hit the mixing bowl of egg whites. Almost in slow motion, the bowl tumbled off the worktop and smashed on the floor.
‘Oh shit!’ George exclaimed angrily, looking at the mess.
Quinn was engaged. No, he couldn’t be. Marisa must have finally read one Star Life magazine too many.
‘Oh George, let me clean that up for you. I’m sorry, that was our fault for arguing and disturbing your concentration,’ Helen said, hurrying to the cupboard.
‘No, it’s OK, I’ll do it,’ George said with an aggravated sigh.
‘Shall I do some more eggs?’ Marisa offered sheepishly.
