Strings Attached (10 page)

Hearing the description of some sort of angelic
-
looking nymph was not making her feel better.

‘Apparently she’s having two wedding dresses made because she can’t decide which designer she likes best,’ Marisa continued.

‘OK, that’s fine, enough information, thanks. I wasn’t really that interested, just you know, remotely curious,’ George told her.

‘Well all I know is she is one lucky
,
lucky bitch. I wish I was shaping up for her wedding night,’ Marisa replied.

‘Actually Marisa
,
could you do some more eggs for me please?’ George decided not wanting to hear another word.

‘Sure. Is that coffee ready yet Mother? I’m like dying of thirst over here,’ Marisa called.

‘Don’t you just love the Army?’ Marisa remarked as she came back into the kitchen.

She had just taken another tray of sandwiches out to the partying soldiers and needed to restock.

‘A lot of those men and women out there have looked death right in the face. I take my hat off to all of them,’ Helen spoke as she stirred a creamy mint dip destined for the pork and red onion skewers.

‘I was thinking more of the sexy uniforms and the toned physiques really, but bravery is all good,’ Marisa answered.

‘I’ll take the sausages and potato wedges out if they’re ready now,’ George said with a sigh.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be finishing off platters for the after-show party that night, but since Marisa’s bombshell that Quinn was engaged, she hadn’t been able to think about anything else. She shouldn’t care, he was completely unsuitable anyway. She was just one in a long line of conquests. She’d suspected that, had known it really. After all he had kissed her without knowing the first thing about her, what did that say about him? In fact
,
what did that say about her?

She’d needed a distraction and surrounding herself with a hundred or so hungry squaddies was better than brooding alone, with only salmon and chive mustard butter for company. She wasn’t sure the recipe was going to work anyway and at the moment she didn’t care. If it didn’t work she would just serve up sausage rolls and cheese and pineapple on sticks and call it retro party food. She was certain Michael wouldn’t be opposed to a bit of retro.

She was angry with Quinn. Who did he think he was? Kissing her like she had never been kissed before, taking off her shirt, asking her to spend the night with him. She didn’t do ‘the other woman’, she had never done that, it wasn’t her. And how dare he think it was. She could just about cope with being just another conquest but she felt sullied for being made to be a party to real adultery. He was going to exchange wedding vows with someone in a matter of months, stand up and declare his love for someone, pledge to be faithful. She hated herself for letting him fawn over her so readily. She hated him for wanting to.

‘Hey love, got any
more of those ham and mustard baps?’ a tall
,
burly soldier called to George as she arrived with the sausages and wedges.

‘No, I’m sorry we don’t, I have kebabs coming out in a second though,’ George informed the group.

‘Oh, Jonesy would rather have a nice couple of baps, wouldn’t you Jonesy?’ another soldier piped up, smothering a gurgle of laughter.

‘Yeah, I would and yours are lovely. Nothing too over the top, just a nice handful,’ Jonesy informed grinning.

With that remark made he grabbed hold of George and attempted to manhandle her chest.

Quick as a flash she dropped the tray of food, pushed the solider away and held her fists up threateningly. Her whole body was shaking with rage. She was so angry about Quinn taking advantage and now this soldier thought he had the right to do the same. She was not someone who could be used. If anyone did the using she did, on her terms.

‘Touch me again and I’ll put you on the floor,’ she hissed her eyes wild, the whole battalion looking at her.

Marisa entered the room with quiche. She stopped and her mouth dropped open as she took in the scene in front of her.

‘Whoa! You’ve picked a manic one Jonesy.’

‘I like ‘em a bit on the feisty side,’ Jonesy replied a smirk appearing on his lips as he faced George and looked her up and down.

George still had her fists up, and she stood her ground as Jonesy moved steadily towards her. He was six feet tall and as wide as a Sherman tank. An arrogant, self-satisfied smile was set on his face and all his mates were watching and waiting to see what he was going to do next.

He took another step towards George, still smiling and she didn’t wait for him to move
any closer
. She stepped forward, punched him hard in the face and followed it up with a swift knee to the balls. Then, without saying another word, she fled from the room, flying past Marisa and the tray of quiche.

‘We’re leaving. Turn the oven off, turn everything off, throw the food in the bin and get whatever belongs to us,’ George ordered Helen as she started to pick up platters and cloths in a frenzy.

‘George
,
what’s happened? You’re shaking,’ Helen remarked as she
watched her boss manically collec
ting everything together.

‘She just laid out one of the biggest squaddies out there. Writhing on the floor he is, clutching his bits,’ Marisa exclaimed as she put her platter down on the side.

‘George?’ Helen queried, concerned.

‘He touched me, inappropriately. I gave him what he deserved. We’re leaving, hurry up and get everything in the van,’ George ordered.

‘It was a cracking punch, like something out of
Rocky
,’ Marisa added.

Nine

After tonight there were only two after-show parties to cater for and George was glad. She hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in ages and she was getting sick of the pressure of creating a culinary masterpiece every day. It wasn’t something she liked to rush; it was usually something she had time to plan for. Tonight it was salmon canapés with chive mustard butter. They were good, but she was too exhausted to care what anyone thought of them. And she was still so angry about Quinn and his utter arrogance. Jonesey, the soldier, had copped a punch, not because he thought he could get away with touching her, but because she’d been so mad about Quinn. She hadn’t been that furious for a long time and she didn’t like it. It showed a lack of control and it was a reminder of the old George. The George who started fights in pubs and played pool for money. So tonight, to save herself from karate
-
kicking Quinn in front of a room full of people, she was hiding in the kitchen.

She had sent Helen out to be the face of Finger Food with Marisa, Adam, Tom, Alison and Curly Shirley assisting her with distribution. She had put herself in charge of preparation, because this way she didn’t have to be nice to people when she really didn’t feel like it and she didn’t have to even set eyes on Quinn Blake.

When they had got back to her house after the Army party Adam had called, gushing about his time with Quinn. Apparently he had played every guitar Quinn had available and the ridiculously expensive grand piano Quinn played in the gigs every night. Quinn had apparently played him a song he was working on and Adam had made a suggestion about incorporating a violin part. Quinn had thought it was a great idea. They had worked together on the section and then Quinn had picked up a violin, played the part and it had brought the whole song together. In fact George had been
so
entirely sick of hearing the name ‘Quinn’ by the end of the conversation she thought she might vomit if she ever heard it again in her life.

She was pleased
Quinn
hadn’t
let Adam down though and glad Adam
had enjoyed himself. She knew he would be glowing from this experience for a long time to come. Unlike her. She would be annoyed with herself for a good long while, wondering why she had momentarily fallen for the charms of a superficial pop star who treated people like pawns on his celebrity chessboard.

‘Empty tray,’ a voice spoke.

‘OK, put it down. I’ve got another platter of salmon and chicken if you just hang on a second,’ George said, putting the finishing touches to the tray she was decorating.

‘I can wait,’ Quinn replied.

George looked up and saw him standing in the kitchen, hands in the pockets of his jeans, a plain black t-shirt hugging his all too moulded chest.

‘What are you doing here?’ George questioned angrily.

‘Just helping out.’

‘Well we don’t need any help. Where are my staff?’ George enquired.

‘Listening to Belch rock out to one of my songs,’ Quinn answered.

‘I don’t pay them to join in with the party, I pay them to serve,’ George replied.

‘Are you angry?’ Quinn enquired, looking at her with interest.

‘Yes!
’ she answered.

‘Why?’

‘Lots of reasons.’

‘Such as?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

‘I think it is. This is my party after all,’ Quinn reminded her and he moved nearer so she could no longer avoid looking at him.

‘You’re engaged,’ George stated, staring him straight in the eye.

‘Yes,’ he replied nonchalantly.

The matter of fact tone to his voice, coupled with the devastatingly handsome jaw line was enough to irk her into action. George slapped him hard across the face and then let out a gasp realising what she’d done. Before she could put her hand back down Quinn grabbed hold of it and gripped it tightly in his.

‘Spend the night with me,’ he said his eyes meeting hers.

‘You’re getting married! I’m not stupid enough to think you want me for more than a bit of fun, but I won’t do that!’ George shouted.

She was trying desperately to ignore her racing heart as he gripped her hand. His palm was warm, he was so close to her she could feel his breath on her face, smell the musk on him. It was intoxicating.

‘Spend the night with me,’ he repeated unfazed.

‘No,’ George answered through dry lips.

‘I’m not going to stop asking,’ Quinn told her still looking at her with his intense eyes.

‘And I’m not going to stop saying no,’ George assured him in as strong a voice as possible.

‘Yes you are,’ Quinn answered with a smug smile.

George swallowed and looked at him looking at her. Her head was starting to spin. She hated him didn’t she? She despised him for being the philanderer he was. Then why was there nothing else she wanted to do more than spend the night with him? She wanted to let him undress her, touch his lips on every single part of her. She wanted sex with him, hard, fast, dirty sex. It was like he was infectious and although she wanted to be immune, she definitely wasn’t.

The door flew open and Marisa stomped in carrying two empty platters. George hurriedly moved away from Quinn and picked up the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be a rolling pin.

‘Oh.
My.
God, like you totally missed Belch doing a whole rock guitar version of ‘Mine’
. He was like totally ace and...
Oh.
My.
God,’ Marisa said as she dumped the platters on the work top and suddenly noticed Quinn was standing in the kitchen.

‘So, salmon is Michael’s thing, not mine. I don’t want to see another salmon canapé tomorrow night, d’you understand?’ Quinn said to George in a manner appropriate to a telling off.

‘Yes, of course, I understand,’ George replied, playing along.

‘Hello, er Mr Blake, I’m Marisa. I’m like one of your biggest fans and
...
’ Marisa began.

‘Hi Marisa. I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. No more salmon,’ Quinn said, wagging a finger at the young girl.

‘Salmon sucks,’ Marisa replied with a hasty nod, her face glowing with embarrassment.

Quinn left the room and George let out a sigh of relief. He only had to look at her and a part of her melted; it was like a personal global warming crisis.

‘Oh.
My.
God! He hated the salmon! But everyone else loved the salmon, it’s almost all gone. I can’t believe he came into the kitchen to tell you he hated the salmon. I mean
him
, himself, not like just sending someone to tell you. He actually told you in person,’ Marisa gabbled.

‘Yeah, fancy that. The personal touch,’ George replied with a nervous swallow.

‘Why are you holding a rolling pin?’ Marisa enquired.

She knew about Taylor. Well, it was inevitable wasn’t it? Taylor had them featured in as many magazines as she could get access to. Brand Blake! That was a f**king joke!