His mocking laugh behind me breaks through my thoughts. But I keep walking, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to me, that I can’t take a frickin’ step without him invading my thoughts.

“Quinlan! Stop,” he says. “You’re not going to leave me poor and defenseless against that fucked-up PA system, are you?”

“You’re a big boy; I’m sure you can fend for yourself just fine.”

I hear him snicker beside me and I roll my eyes, realizing the big boy comment I just handed him without thought. “You’re right, on both counts,” he chuckles, and the sound, smooth silk with a hint of strain, hits my ears and my libido in ways I don’t want it to. “But a man likes to have some help every now and again.”

“I’m sure you have plenty of willing candidates.” I’m thinking of the sigher who sat next to me at the last lecture as I keep walking, trying to focus on anything but the man beside me.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to go back and tell Carla, then….”

I slow my pace a clip but keep moving forward, knowing he has my number. “You handle complicated stage equipment regularly and yet you can’t work a simple audio system?” I snort out a laugh of disbelief. “Sounds to me you’re so busy being pretty that you don’t like to get your hands dirty. Forget where you came from that quick, huh?”

His hand is on my arm and I’m spun around before the last word is out of my mouth. I guess that dig hit a little too close to home.

“Where and what I came from is none of your goddamn business.” Our bodies are close, my eyes behind my sunglasses flickering back and forth from his lips to his eyes as he snaps the words out. He presses his fingers a little tighter on my bicep. “Who are you to judge anyway …? Right, Trixie?”

Even though I can’t see his eyes, I know they are boring into mine. I can feel the anger vibrating off him from the nerve I’ve hit. I don’t say a word because I’ve pushed the buttons—and right or wrong—for no other purpose than to keep him at arm’s length from me.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He finally breaks his silence and asks.

“Who says there’s a problem? Just because you’re intimidated by a strong woman doesn’t mean there’s a problem,” I snip, trying to push this off on him when I know damn well that I’m carrying the chip handily on my shoulder.

“Sweetness, only boys are intimidated by strong women. Men find it attractive, a challenge, so why don’t you pull another excuse out of thin air and see if it sticks.”

I shrug my arm out of his grasp and step back, hating that he’s right in every sense of the word. It’s not like I’m going to let him know it though. “I know your type Hawkin. I know the games you play.” I look across the campus for a moment before looking back to him.

“Who said I’m playing any games?”

“Ha.” I laugh. “Your type always does, don’t they?”

He pulls a hand out of his pocket and runs it through his chocolate-colored hair, jaw clenched in frustration at the bitchiness I’m directing his way. “If anyone’s playing games, I’m pretty sure it’s you considering you go back and forth between hot and cold quicker than a faucet. So like I asked, what’s your deal?” He repeats himself, irritation laced with a trace of sadness in his soothing voice. “You can’t handle me?”

I swallow over the lump of confusion in my throat; the blatant conflict between lust and obstinacy runs rampant within me whenever I’m near him. “I’m not handling anything on you, no worries.”

“That’s what you say now, but I’m patient…. You’ll come around.” He licks his lips, and unless it’s my imagination, I can tell he’s fighting back a smirk.

And I have to give it to him—he’s as relentless as Luke. Almost. But the difference is he has my blood pumping whereas I’ve never felt overly attracted to Luke. I shake my head in an effort to clear my thoughts.

“I just don’t understand why you’re here. Why you agreed to do this seminar … One and one doesn’t exactly equal two on this one.”

He works his tongue in his cheek as he processes my statement. “I thought it would be fun. A change of pace to help me work around some issues I’m having … with a few songs on the new album. A new perspective …” He nods his head and glances over to where someone yells out on the grassy quad area.

The way his voice drifts off, combined with the shifting of his body, tells me something’s off and as much as I know I should leave well enough alone, I’m not buying it. He wants to call me on the carpet, I’m going to match him, challenge for challenge.

“That’s too perfect of an answer, Hawkin,” I say, recalling the image of the Delta Sig girls from the other day and his hand on her ass. “I know your type and if there’s not easy sex, fast crowds, or loose women to get lost in, you lose interest so—”

“What’s wrong with easy sex?” he asks as he falls into step beside me.

“Nothing.” I turn and start walking again toward the lecture hall. “Easy sex is most definitely fun, but why—”

“Whoa!” He reaches out to touch my arm, and I ignore his subtle request to turn and face him. In my periphery, I see him scrub a hand over his shaven jaw and shake his head. “You can’t say shit like that to a guy like me and expect me to gloss over it.”

“Shit like what?” I glance over at him. “Easy sex? Why deny it? Sex is great; sex is fun. You just won’t be the lucky one…. Now, tell me what’s in this lecture for you.”

He laughs aloud, producing a sound that’s laced with strained desire and disbelief. “Fuck Quin. With statements like that, you’re making me hope it’s you I’m in it for.”

“Keep dreaming, rocker boy.” I roll my eyes even though he can’t see them, although a small thrill surges through me from his comment. What girl wouldn’t want to hear that? Then I have to control my runaway thoughts, reminding myself over and over again that this man wears an I’m going to break your heart warning like a tattoo. “You still haven’t answered my question—why the seminar?”

I’m not backing down on this because something tells me the truthful answer is going to divulge “the something” about him that I need to know. And hell no, I don’t deserve the honest truth from him considering our shaky start, but I know if I keep him on his toes, then he’ll spend less time trying to get me off mine.

“I told you—I’m struggling on the album…. Never got the chance to go to college and the opportunity arose for the lecture so I took it.” I hear the disconnect beneath the words he speaks more.

“My bullshit-o-meter is zinging here.”

“Are you always this combative, trying to be the bad-ass?” He shakes his head. “Lips like an angel, body made for sin, and feisty enough to rival the devil’s fire?”

My step falters momentarily as his depiction knocks any coherent thoughts from my head. And I’m not sure what it is about his assessment that causes that ache within me to begin to coil again. “You like to play with fire, huh?”

This time his laugh is free and suggestive. “Oh Quin, the hotter the better.”

I don’t respond, just keep walking as the air between us thickens with unspoken and yet undeniable chemistry. I can feel the heat of the glances he steals my way but I ignore them, focusing instead on the murmured whispers in the groups of students we pass. And it must be the look on his face or our defensive posture but no one approaches us as we walk the last few feet toward the auditorium where Axe stands, arms crossed over his chest and back against the doors.

We’re just about to enter when Hawkin says, “Hold up,” and walks to the right of the building toward a food vendor cart.

I follow out of curiosity, wondering what could have caught his attention in the midst of our discussion. “What are you …?” My voice trails off as I see the little-boy grin light up his handsome features. Something about the look on his face, pure joy mixed with the hint of shadow on his jaw, has me staring a bit longer than I should.

“Ice cream!” he says, eyes wide as he peruses the list of flavors.

“Ice cream?” Ice cream is what made this gruff rocker turn into an adolescent? “Sweet tooth much?” I ask.

“The sweeter, the better,” he says, giving me an appraising once-over.

“Guess that leaves me out,” I say with a smirk that causes him to laugh.

“I have a feeling you have a sweet spot beneath that tough exterior, Quinlan,” he says as he points to a flavor and motions for me to pick one myself.

“No thank you,” I reply, a little dumbfounded by this new development. I must still be staring, trying to figure him out as he waits for the vendor to press the scoop of cookies ’n’ cream on the cone because he glances over to me and feels the need to explain.

“It’s my vice … my habit.” He pays the vendor, takes the cone, and then brings the ice cream to his lips. Parts deep within me stir as I watch him close his eyes momentarily and savor his first taste. My thoughts automatically wonder if this is what he looks like when he goes down on a woman.

When I refocus after shaking off the image, he’s staring at me. My obscene thoughts must be written all over my face because a knowing smile spreads over his lips. His eyes tell me yes, it’s the same expression.

And now I have to wonder how exactly I’m going to get that look out of my mind.

“I thought rockers were supposed to prefer sex, drugs, and alcohol,” I stutter, trying to deflect his intense scrutiny. And then once the words are out, I see anger flash through his eyes and realize what a stupid comment it was on the heels of his drug charges.

But he pushes whatever it is aside and takes a step closer to me. He angles his head to the side, and licks around the ice-cream cone where it is starting to melt. “I do love the sex and the alcohol … and let’s not mention the drug part,” he says with a strained laugh, “but my daily habit is sugar. My favorite is ice cream.”

“Seriously?”

He takes another lick and then starts to walk back toward where Axe stands guard but stops when we are shoulder to shoulder. He leans in so that his mouth is near my ear and I can feel his breath chilled by the ice cream as it hits my skin. “Are you really going to complain about a man who likes to use his tongue?”

And before I can regain my wits or the blood that has flooded to the delta of my thighs, he walks toward the auditorium’s entrance without another word. I feel like a groupie as I turn around and scramble after him, trying to tamp down the lust after he just knowingly lit the flame.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter to myself as Rylee’s have wild, reckless sex comment flickers through my mind.

Because damn it, Hawkin just threw me for an unexpected loop. The throw caution to the wind part of me stood to attention. The skeptical part of me flipped him the bird.

And despite myself, I know who I want to win.



Chapter 6


QUINLAN

Concentrating on teaching Hawkin how to operate the PA system is difficult with his comment running loops through my mind. Add to that, he’s taking his sweet-ass time savoring his treat while we’re both in the confines of the small alcove off to the side of the stage where the controller resides. The space is minimal so each time I demonstrate the switches on the board it causes him to lean in closer.

And with each brush up against my back—the thin cotton of my tank top does nothing to mute the feeling—I’m getting more turned on. And more irritated with him.

“Make it count,” he murmurs behind me, his breath feathering over the exposed skin and I immediately know what he’s talking about. I suck in a breath when his finger traces the small and delicately inked words in the space between my shoulder blades. The only tattoo I have. “What does it mean?”

“Pretty self-explanatory,” I bite out but when a sigh of disappointment falls from him, I relent and quickly elaborate, finding that I want to tell him the truth. “I … I think it’s important to make every moment count. Every friendship, every lover, every broken heart, every decision, every everything—they all need to count for something or else they’re pointless and when all is said and done and you look back at your life, you’ll have regrets.” I shrug, feeling a tad too philosophical over a damn tattoo but I’m being honest. “Regrets suck. Making it count lessens that for me.”

He’s silent behind me, mulling over my comments I assume, and I hate that I can’t see his face. Suddenly I feel extremely vulnerable both emotionally and physically so I finish flicking the switches over so that he can see what I’m doing. I need to get out of this small space and his proximity. Like pronto.