Give Me Strength (11 page)

“Damn straight we are,” Mac answered for the
both of us. “Quinn is kicking asstard ass.”

“Nothing to it, Mac,” I murmured, tearing my
eyes from his and resuming my seat at my desk. My hands hovered
over the keyboard, and my eyes fixed to the computer screen in an
effort to convey that his presence had no effect on me at all.

You might be fooling them, but you’re not
fooling yourself.

La, la, la,
I told the irritating voice
in my head.

“What?”

I turned my head at Mac’s question. “Huh?”

“Did you just say ‘la la la’?”

Shit. “No.”

Travis cleared his throat and I turned back to
the computer and began tapping at the keyboard as though my life
depended on it. What I typed, I couldn’t be sure—hieroglyphics
maybe.

“What are you up to, Travis?” Mac asked.

The corner of my eye told me he was now leaning
casually up against the doorframe as though my presence was but a
minor blip on his day. I huffed silently and tapped a bit more.

“I have a meeting with Quinn about the security
for the show this weekend.”

My fingers froze over the keyboard, and, yes,
they even shook a little.

“No,” I told the computer screen with feigned
authority. “My diary right here says I’m meeting with Jared.”

I resumed my busy schedule of ignoring Travis
and typing my hieroglyphics.

“Well,” came his drawl. “Change of plans. You’ve
got me now.”

How did he manage to make that sound like sex?
His words licked every inch of my skin, making me want him
instantly. How unfair that I was so seemingly happy on my little
drought crusade but one night with
him
and now sex was the
recurring star of my world. My face flamed as I stared at the
keyboard, the letters out of focus.

“Okay then.” I drew in a deep breath and
swivelled in my seat, facing him full on. “Let’s get this over
with.”

“Tension much?” I heard Mac mumble under her
breath. Louder, she said, “I’m going to make us some lunch.” She
stood up, already striding for the door.

“Wait,” I called. She spun around and with all
the attention focused on me, I fidgeted with notepad in front of
me. “Uh, Jared’s not here, right?”

“Nope. Jared and Evie moved into the Bondi house
yesterday,” Mac said with triumph. Between Jared forcing his
healthy eating on everyone, and Evie in the beginnings of a
renovation meltdown—if you currently didn’t talk cupboard colours
or wall paint speak, you may as well have been talking to a wall—it
had been a stressful two weeks. Mac pointed at me. “And we’re
celebrating. I’m ordering pizza. With extra cheese,” she added.

She left the back office, her footsteps echoing
up the hallway as Travis moved into the room and took her seat. I
fought not to stare, but his presence invaded the small space until
he was all I could see. He silently returned my gaze until my eyes
dropped to the desk. I picked up a pen and shuffled some
papers.

“Okay,” I began.

Off to a good start, Quinn.

Would you just shut the hell up
, I told
my sarcastic inner bitch.

I picked up a sheet out of the pile of papers
before me. “This is Friday and Saturday night’s show at Sixty,” I
said, and handed the page over with the building layout. He took
the sheet, but rather than look at it, his eyes were on my lips as
I spoke. “Uh...there’s two entrances covered by their own door
security, and they have ten more inside the venue—four to be
directed by your uh…firm and the rest to man the stage and
crowd.”

He nodded at me, finally shifting his eyes
downwards to scan the page in his hands. “Crowd capacity?”

“Three thousand, both nights, sold out.”

Travis sighed heavily and rubbed his brow,
looking like he needed to sprawl himself out in bed and sleep for a
week. I wanted to join him there, but sleep wasn’t on my agenda.
And a week wouldn’t be enough to do everything that was clouding my
mind as I watched his brow furrow in concentration.

His phone rang and he looked at the display
before answering.

“Casey?”

He stood, and indicating he’d be back, left the
office. It gave me an opportunity to compose myself. I tucked a
wave of loose hair behind my ear and rolled my shoulders, expelling
air from lungs that had my cheeks puffing out.

When he didn’t reappear, I pulled together the
final information of the security detail and compiled it neatly in
a folder. Deciding to go in search of a drink while I waited, I
pushed back my chair and made my way towards the kitchen.

The quiet murmuring of voices became louder. Mac
and Travis were talking. Peering around the corner, I saw Travis
leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded, eyes on the
floor. Mac was before him, talking, one arm splayed out wide as
though making a point. With no intention to intrude on what
appeared to be a private conversation, I took a soft step
backwards, yet when I heard my name mentioned, I paused.

“Why are you acting like Quinn’s just run over
your cat?”

“I’m not acting any way, Mac.” He sounded
exasperated.

“You are. The past few months you haven’t been
yourself and now this unfriendly bullshit. Quinn is mine, Travis,
and I won’t have your attitude crapping all over everything that’s
bright and shiny and have you scaring her away.”

“Not sure I’m liking what’s coming out of your
mouth, Mac.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck,” she retorted. “At
the moment I’m more concerned about what’s coming out of
yours.”

“Shit, Mac. I’m not sure if I can do this
anymore.” His voice sounded hoarse and I bit down on my lip.

“Do what?” came her softer tone.

“The AFP contracted us on a bullshit assignment
that’s got me twisted in knots, but it’s not just that, I…it’s this
job. We had the worst fucking case today and I…”

His voice trailed away because I fled,
disappointed in myself for eavesdropping.

After returning two phone calls, I glanced up
when Travis strode back into the room, overwhelmed all over again
at the sheer depth of his charisma. For one night he’d made me the
centre of his universe, and since then he’d somehow been the centre
of mine—hovering in my conscious during the days and stealing his
way into my nights.

“Sorry about that.”

I shrugged as though I didn’t care, but when he
sank his incredibly firm, wonderfully male body into the chair
opposite me and tossed his phone towards the desk with irritation,
I knew I did.

“Is everything okay?”

He frowned, dark clouds gathering in his eyes.
“You heard me talking to Mac?”

“No!” I sputtered. “It’s just…” I tilted my head
“… you seem a bit worn out.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as though
re-building his composure, and when they opened, the cold aloofness
had me shivering.

“If you’re worried about the security this
weekend, Quinn, don’t be. We’ll have it covered.”

“No, that’s not what I—”

“Barbecue!” came the crooning yell from beyond
the doorway, and we both turned as Mac sashayed into the room.
“This Sunday, Quinn. Mum and Dad’s place so they can meet you and
welcome you to the family.”

Travis stood abruptly. He reached out for his
phone and slid it in his back pocket before picking up the folder
I’d pushed across the desk.

His short, sharp movements had me hesitating.
“Oh, I don’t think—”

“Rubbish to whatever you were going to say.
Right, Travis?”

Travis paused and looked at Mac, then he looked
at me. “Right. Gotta go.”

That was the last I saw of Travis until
Saturday night rolled around when he turned up with Jared to form
part of Jamieson’s security detail.

It was my first weekend watching them play live.
Mac and I stood off to the side of the stage watching Evie hold the
crowd in the palm of her hand. With her flirty, outgoing nature she
made it look easy, always managing to say just the right thing to
incite their enthusiasm. The loud, thumping beat vibrated through
my body, and every nerve ending tingled with the incredible sound
Jamieson was pumping out. Henry hunched over his guitar, absorbed
in the music. Frog and Cooper grinned as they played, making it
look effortless as they flirted with the crowd, and Jake’s muscled
arms thumped the drums like the beat was alive inside his body.

“Set break coming up soon, Quinn. Got your
list?” Mac shouted at me. “I can’t believe they misplaced the one
we faxed the other day.”

I shrugged. It just meant a quick trip to the
bar to organise what drinks we wanted sent backstage. “I’ll sort it
out,” I yelled back.

At least we had our new shirts now. Mac and I
wore matching skinny black jeans and skin tight white T-shirts with
short black sleeves. The Jamieson name and logo took centre stage
on the front and huge black letters on the back read: Jamieson
Crew.

In honour of my first night working at a venue,
Lucy had wound a braid along my fringe line before pinning the bulk
of the tousled curls into a messy knot at the nape of my neck.
Smokey, black eyes finished off the look, along with a pass card
slung casually around my neck.

“I’ll be right back,” I yelled.

Mac nodded.

I jumped off the stairs and eyed the thumping
crowd. Drawing in a deep breath, I rolled my shoulders in
preparation to push my tiny frame, heightened by the new four inch
high black stiletto boots, through their jostling depths.

My elbows helped gain momentum through the crowd
until I hit a big, muscled body. The arms attached to said body
wound around me and lifted me up until my eyes found the dark,
black ones of a stranger.

“Hey, pretty little thing. You’re with the band
right? I saw it on your shirt.”

I struggled, shoving against his chest. “Put me
down.”

One hand reached down and gripped my backside,
and I winced as his fingers dug in painfully. “Oh, come on now.
Don’t be like that.” His breath was filled with alcoholic fumes
that had me turning my face away, pushing harder to break free.
“Why don’t we go backstage and have a drink?”

“Let me go,” I shouted over the heavy noise of
music, grinding my teeth at the helpless feeling.

A wall pressed against my back and a deep voice
thundered angrily. “You heard her. Let her go.”

“Fuck off,” was the strangers reply.

A fist flew from behind my right shoulder,
landing on the stranger’s jaw with a loud crack. I flinched as his
head snapped back and he stumbled, his hands falling away from my
body.

I faltered as my feet sought purchase on the
ground. Travis snaked his arm around my waist, his hand spreading
across the width of my belly, and pulled me backwards until my
entire body was plastered against the length of his. My heart
kicked wildly at the touch, and instead of freaking out at the
violent altercation, I felt warm and safe—relieved enough to rest
my hand over the top of his.

His arm tightened at the contact, turning us
both sideways before jabbing a finger in the stranger’s face.
“Hands off the Jamieson crew, asshole,” he growled. I shivered at
the furious intent in his voice. “Make one more wrong move and your
ass is out that door.” His jabbing finger changed direction,
pointing angrily towards the exit.

Hands were held up in surrender as the man
backed away, and the swelling crowd swallowed him until he was lost
to our view. Then Travis took hold of my hand, yanking me none too
gently towards the backstage dressing room. Pushed into the room,
Travis slammed the door behind us. I spun to face him, the two of
us alone as the muffled beat thumped heavily enough to vibrate
through the walls. His eyes were no longer cold; they were wild and
possessive, and my breathing came in little pants from the scuffle.
My eyes drank him in, from the dark jeans to the same tight shirt
as me. His was the boy version and on the back, in big black
letters read: Jamieson Security.

“No more,” he ground out.

“No more what?” I asked breathlessly.

“Trips to the bar on your own while you’re
working,” he informed me tightly. He pressed a button on his ear
piece and informed Mac in short, terse words to send Jared to the
bar when the band was offstage and secure in the dressing room.

My eyebrows flew up. “Are you serious?”

Travis nodded to me as he listened to Mac reply
in his ear.

My spine snapped straight. This was my job and
not only did I need it, I was liking it. Damned if he was going to
take that away from me.

“You’re not my boss,” I told him and charged for
the door.

His body blocked it before I could reach for the
handle.

“Quinn.” He folded his arms and glared. “The
crowd out there is too much.”

“I’m not made of glass,” I replied, and the
topaz in his eyes flashed at me from beneath the dressing room
lights. “I have a job to do, same as you. I don’t tell you how to
do yours.”