Strings Attached (29 page)

‘You loved him?’ Adam asked.

‘Yeah, I loved him.’

‘What happened?’

‘He moved away,’ George spoke.

‘Didn’t you keep in touch? I mean if you loved each oth
er then...
’

‘We were young and you know, it probably wouldn’t have lasted anyway. Things like that don’t do they?’

‘Why didn’t Mum like him?’

‘Because he was fun. Because he kept me out late and took me to parties, because he had a motorbike. Because he made me smile - I don’t know - that and a hundred other reasons,’ George said with another sigh.

‘I wish she wasn’t so black and white all the time. I mean, I’m not sure I would want to introduce Marisa to her, you know, as my girlfriend, well if she wants to be my girlfriend,’ Adam babbled.

‘Want my advice? Don’t bother. She won’t hold back in telling you what she thinks. Believe me, you could bring home the Virgin Mary and she would still see Katie Price,’ George spoke her mind.

‘Maybe, being ill and everything might have mellowed her. Does that sound really harsh?’ Adam asked.

‘No, I know what you mean and yeah, maybe it will mellow her,’ George agreed.

‘So are we friends again?’ Adam asked hopefully.

‘There was never any doubt about that,’ George answered.

‘You worried about tomorrow? Getting to grips with that catering wagon?’ Adam asked.

‘No, it’ll be fine and if it isn’t then so what?’ George said with a shrug.

‘Want a coffee?’ Adam offered.

‘Yeah that would be nice. I won’t be long, just want to stay out here a bit,’ George said as Adam stood up and prepared to go indoors.

‘OK.’

He went back inside and George swept her wet hair back and looked out over the ocean.  She had only been in Spain a day and things had started out so well. How had it ended up like this? She had feelings for Quinn, strong feelings, but it was so long since she had felt anything real for anyone, she didn’t know whether she was interpreting them properly. What if he was just a passing infatuation? What if there was no substance to it? But on the other hand, what if he was the best thing that had ever happened to her? What if they could make a proper relationship out of their intensity? It could be special. Did she want to turn her back on that? And could she really let him go, married or not?

‘Hey George! Come in here! Mum’s actually worked out how to turn on the expensive TV and there’s Quinn Blake’s latest video on. He’s not wearing much!’ Marisa called excitedly.

‘Coming straight in,’ George replied.

Great! There was absolutely no getting away from him, whether she wanted to or not. He was absolutely everywhere.

Marisa had started an impromptu karaoke party, belting out tunes from VH1, using the television remote control as a pretend microphone. Adam accompanied her on makeshift drums using two pens and the coffee table. There was only so much Lady Gaga you could take in one night and George had headed for bed just before 11.00pm.

Not that she could sleep. It was now almost 1.00am and she had tossed and turned from one side of the king sized bed to the other, at least half a dozen times. It was hot, she had yet to work out how the air conditioning operated and she could hear crickets and other bugs, rubbing bits of themselves outside.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the softness of her pillow. Then she heard a tapping noise. Fantastic! She turned over in bed again and pulled the covers over her head.

There was more tapping and she threw the covers off and sat up, listening in the dark.

More tapping and George realised it was coming from the window. She got out of bed, threw her t-shirt over her head and cautiously approached.  She opened the glass and peered out through the shutters.

‘Can I come in?’ Quinn whispered.

‘What are you doing here?’ George questioned.

‘Apologising,’ he replied.

George opened up the shutters and, in seconds, Quinn had hauled himself up onto the window sill and leapt into the room.

She didn’t say anything; she just looked at him, her heart already beating hard in her chest. He always had this effect on her. It was like someone had pumped her full of adrenalin.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply, swallowing nervously.

‘Me too,’ George told him.

Quinn kissed her, holding her tight to him and George didn’t even try to resist. She couldn’t and more importantly she didn’t want to.

‘Can you stay?’ she whispered as he put his hands under her t-shirt, his fingers tracing the line of her breasts.

‘Try and stop me,’ Quinn answered, kissing her again.

George pulled his shirt over his head and steered him towards her bed.

Maybe it was time she stopped thinking about other people and started to think about what she wanted. If she wanted Quinn she could have him. She just needed to tell him how she felt. Was that so hard?

Quinn kissed her slowly, so slowly she thought she would combust if he didn’t touch her again. It was like the inside of her mouth was being caressed by silk. It was sensual, it was sexy and it was making her ache with longing.

Outside it was starting to get light and they hadn’t been to sleep. It had been agony trying to stop herself from shouting out when he made her come. She had gritted her teeth, buried her head into his chest and clung to him, trying to hold in what wanted to explode.

He stroked her hair away from her face and lightly kissed her lips.

‘I’m sorry, for being an arsehole last night,’ he said, looking at her with his piercing blue eyes.

‘It’s just hard. I don’t know what to do. I’m trying to do the right thing and wanting to do the wrong thing,’ George told him.

‘I know and I was being a selfish prick,’ Quinn stated.

‘I love being with you Quinn,’ George blurted out.

The second the words were out of her mouth she immediately felt self-conscious for sharing her feelings with him. She could feel her cheeks blazing and she avoided his gaze.

Quinn smiled and lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to look at him.

‘Even though I’m a selfish prick?’ Quinn asked.

‘Yeah. I must be a masochist,’ George answered.

‘A sexy masochist though,’ Quinn said, rolling over on top of her.

‘It’s almost
six
, you’d better go. Helen’s an early riser,’ George told him, enjoying how he felt on top of her.

‘Me too,’ he replied with a grin.

George laughed.

‘Not going to make me breakfast? I’m a breakfast lover by the way. Totally the best meal of the day,’ Quinn informed her.

‘I thought you musicians survived on alcohol and composition alone.’

‘Don’t be crazy. Alcohol, composition and eggs over easy,’ Quinn said his fingers tracing her breastbone.

George let out a laugh and then stifled it with her hand as she heard movement coming from another room of the villa. She looked at Quinn, wide
-
eyed with concern.

‘Maybe I should stay for breakfast and invite some of the paparazzi up here. Call a halt to this whole mad thing,’ Quinn spoke.

‘Sshh, someone will hear you,’ George hissed.

‘Do you care?’

‘Yes!’

‘Why? If everyone finds out about us the wedding’s off,’ Quinn said.

‘But that isn’t what you want. Not really.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘If it was, you wouldn’t have got yourself into this position in the first place.’

‘Maybe I didn’t have a choice.’

‘Everyone has a choice.’

‘We’ll agree to disagree.’

‘Look, I don’t want to argue. I don’t want to waste another second arguing and I’m not the sort of girl who issues ultimatums,’ George told him.

‘OK, no arguing. So what shall we do instead? Ah, let me think, yes, OK, got an idea,’ Quinn said, kissing her again.

‘You have to go,’ George repeated, kissing him but holding back slightly.

‘I want to see what Marisa looks like first thing in the morning, before she puts her eyeliner on,’ Quinn joked.

‘Believe me you don’t,’ George answered.

There was another sound of movement and George slipped out from underneath Quinn and found her t-shirt and pants. She began putting them on, while he watched her from the bed.

‘Where will Taylor think you are?’ George enquired.

‘At the villa.’

‘Well, isn’t she there?’

‘No, she’s at another villa with Carleen and Saffron. Stupid bitches they are. I think they share the one brain and play paper, rock, scissors to decide who’s getting it for the day. Taylor thinks it
’
s bad luck to see each other while the wedding preparations are going on,’ Quinn said.

‘So you’re there on your own?’

‘As if Roger would let that happen. No, Michael’s there.’

‘So where does
he
think you are?’

‘He’s not an early riser and he was paying quite a lot of attention to Paco last night at dinner,’ Quinn told her.

‘He’s in charge of tablecloths,’ George remarked.

‘What?’

‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’

Suddenly there was a knock on the bedroom door.

‘George? You awake? Mum says to tell you
it’s almost seven
. Got to get to the c
atering wagon just before nine
,’ Marisa called through the door.

‘Er, yeah, I’m awake, just getting up, thanks,’ George called back.

Quinn stifled a laugh, holding a pillow against his face.

‘Oh and George - can I borrow some of your foundation? Mine seems to melt in this heat and I don’t want Belch to see me looking like a total minger,’ Marisa continued.

‘Yes, sure. I’ll bring it to you when I’m up. Not actually dressed at the moment, so don’t come in,’ George exclaimed hurriedly.

‘Oh OK, see you in a minute then. Adam’s trying to make omelettes and Mum’s instructing him. Bless her, she sounds just like Delia,’ Marisa spoke with a laugh.

‘I’ll be five minutes,’ George called back.

She listened; straining her ears to make sure Marisa was no longer outside her door.

‘She’s hot for Belch,’ Quinn remarked with a smile.

‘She’s young. She doesn’t understand that musicians have a girl in every town,’ George answered, coming back to the bed and sitting down.

‘That’s what you thought about me,’ Quinn reminded her.

‘And I was right. But that’s not all, Adam likes her,’ George told him.

‘Really? He seemed quite switched on,’ Quinn said.

‘He is switched on, but you can’t help who you fall for. Besides she’s a nice girl - a little over the top maybe - but she’s harmless. Anyway, why are we having this conversation? You need to leave. Now,’ George reminded him.

‘And here I was thinking I might get omelettes.’

‘I can’t believe it’s almost
seven
. There must be something wrong with my watch,’ George said, looking at it and tapping the dial.

‘Meeting your staff today then,’ Quinn remarked still unmoving.

‘Yeah, I hope they’re capable of more than washing up,’ George told him.

‘I’m sure Taylor will have hired the best,’ Quinn commented.

‘I have very high standards,’ George said.

‘I know,’ Quinn replied, kissing her firmly.

‘You’d better go,’ George told him reluctantly.

‘Yeah I’d better go. I’m supposed to be meeting Taylor this morning along with the florists and the organist, at that hideous castle,’ Quinn said with a sigh.

‘The castle you had built. The castle you’re getting married in,’ George reminded.

‘I didn’t build it! Nothing about this wedding is how I’d do things,’ Quinn told her.

‘You’d better go,’ George said again.

‘Yeah, I’d better. Meet me later?’

‘When?’

‘I’ll message you,’ Quinn said, kissing her.

‘OK.’

With that Quinn bounded out of bed and pulled on his jeans. He threw his shirt over his head and headed towards the window.

‘See you,’ he said, smiling at her.

‘Bye,’ George answered.

He pulled back the glass, opened the metal shutters and hopped out.

‘George! Omelettes are ready!’ Marisa’s voice yelled from downstairs.

Twenty Seven

There were twenty of them
,
male and female, of every
nationalit
y, judging by the muttered languages and questionable fashions
. Some of them looked alert, the majority of them looked half asleep and one of them, a young man in his early twenties, smelt really bad. He was called Milo
.
H
airs protruded out of his nostrils and he couldn’t seem to stop biting his nails.