Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1) (41 page)

Oh, God.
She got it. She totally got it. This was it, the jump. The thing she’d never thought would really happen. No wonder he was freaking. “Well, thanks for the recap,” she said.

He snorted, turning, and it was difficult for Shan to suppress her smile. The late-afternoon sun was bathing his skin in a golden glow, his blond hair shining around his shoulders. He looked like a Greek god, and
he’s mine
, a little voice in her head was beginning to sing.
All
mine!

Shut up
, she instructed the internal aria.
He hasn’t said that at all
.
But that’s what he meant,
the little voice argued
. He meant that he’s jumped, and now he’s mine. Isn’t that what he meant?

He sighed. “We have a lot to sort out. After the tour we have to find a place to live and I have some definite requirements. There has to be space for a home studio.”

She paused, confused. This was not what she’d expected to hear. “A studio?”

“Yes. And, another thing, if I’m going to put all that time and money into creating a recording space, then it has to be permanent. No starter house or anything like that, which means something on the water. It’s where I’ve always wanted to live. I want a boat eventually, which means beach frontage and space for a dock, but California real estate prices? Fuck,” he growled.

Oh. Okay.
She was following him now. “So you want to live together.”

He snorted. “We already do, remember?”

“But you want to buy a house?” She frowned. “Don’t you think that’s rushing things? Between us, I mean.”

“What are you suggesting, that we date for a while?” He regarded her with disdain.

“
You’re
the one who never wanted to be tied down,” she said, “and this is heavy, Q. I mean, it’s a huge commitment. Shouldn’t we think it through?”

“I’ve already thought it through, and so have you. I know perfectly well that you’ve been thinking about it ever since that day on the mountain. Longer than that, really. Ever since we moved to California. Probably since New York. You’ve thought and you’ve thought and you’ve thought about it. You think too fucking much, if you want my opinion.”

“But—”

“Don’t start dancing on me now. You said you wanted a home, so we’re going to get one.”

“So we’re together now? A couple, just like that?”

“Just like that.” And then he was grinning. “You make it sound like it was so easy.”

“Falling in love with you
was
easy,” she said softly. “The easiest thing I’ve ever done. But loving you, day in and day out, well, sometimes that hasn’t been so easy, Q.”

His grin faded. “I know. It’ll be different now. I promise.” His tone became businesslike once again. “Start thinking about what kind of house you want. We’ll need a real estate broker. I’ll line one up, give them our requirements so they can start a search. It’ll take time but, if something really promising comes up, we might be able to fly back for a day.”

“
Wait!”
she cried, hands on her head. “Let’s just get used to this, to
us
first.”

“I’m used to it,” he snapped. “Let’s move on.”

A surge of indignation erupted inside her. “You know, it’s not up to
you
to decide that it’s time for me to buy a house, Quinn. I mean, I have
something
to say about it, don’t I?” He rolled his eyes. It ignited her anger as it always did and she scooped up a pillow and flung it at him.

He sidestepped it then grabbed her, ducking as she swung at him. He wrestled her down on her back, pulled her hands over her head, then captured her legs between his knees.

She glared up at him, immobilized. “This Neanderthal routine is really not attractive.”

“Neither is the turbobitch act,” he shot back and she thrust her chin out, since that was the only part of her that she could move.

Suddenly he was smiling and she melted. He had such a nice smile.

“No more arguing,” he decreed. “Not now.” He kissed her, then let go of her hands and pulled her into his arms. “I’m too tired. Let’s take a nap, then we’ll go out for some dinner, okay?”

“Okay,” she said agreeably and snuggled into his arms. “Hey, Q?”

“Mmm?”

“You love me, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Don’t you?” she prompted. He hadn’t said it, after all. Just that one time.

“Shh.” His arms tightened around her. “Have a little faith in me. I’m not going anywhere.”

She thrust the doubts from her mind and fell asleep with his arms wrapped around her, feeling his heart beating under her cheek.

For the next few days Shan floated, starry-eyed and utterly enraptured. The holiday in Daytona was pure bliss, hours and days devoted to simply enjoying each other.

And making love. That first day they didn’t leave their suite until dinnertime. The second day they never left it at all, putting out the
do not disturb
sign and ordering room service, which they ate stark naked. Quinn placed another order later that night, a white chocolate gelato that he proceeded to smear all over Shan’s body, then remove with long, tantalizing strokes of his tongue.

Eventually they ventured out. They inspected a display of custom-painted Harleys, watched a Hot Leathers fashion show where he insisted on buying her a buttery soft, lace-up corset, and went to an afternoon Molly Hatchet concert. Afterward they had a candlelit dinner at an elegant bistro in the historic district. Quinn ordered pasta for two, an exotic dish with salmon and pancetta, and a champagne that even Shan’s inexperienced palate could tell was something special. Later they made love on the beach, swathed in sheltering darkness.

They whiled away one morning at the hotel pool, lounging on beach recliners and reading in companionable silence. At one point Quinn was quiet for so long—not even the crackle of a page—that Shan thought he was asleep. When she looked over, she saw he was watching her through his Ray-Bans, his sci-fi novel facedown on his chest. “What?” she asked.

He smiled. “I like this. That’s all.” He turned back to his book and she was suffused with a warmth that she knew wasn’t coming from the sun.

It was the most idyllic, romantic week of her life.
Like a honeymoon
, she thought wistfully, and like a honeymoon it passed much too quickly.

“What do you think the others will say?” Shan said, as they packed up their odds and ends the night before they were due to report for the concert. For the two-hour drive to Orlando, they’d swapped the rented Harley for an extremely cool Mustang Shelby convertible.

“About what?” Quinn asked, struggling to zip her suitcase. It was a tight fit.

“About us. They’re going to torture you once they realize we’re together,” she predicted, chuckling. “Especially Ty. I hope you’re prepared.”

Quinn looked up. “They can’t find out. Not now, anyway.”

She stared at him, taken aback. “How’s that going to work?”

“We’re going to keep it just between us.” She frowned, but he was resolute. “It’s the best thing, angel. There’s no point rocking the boat in the middle of a tour.”

“But nothing has changed as far as the band.”

“That’s not entirely true,” he said. “What you and I do impacts everybody. If anything ever split us up, that’d be the end of Quinntessence.”

“That’s been true all along, though.”

“I know,” he said, opening the bag back up and extracting her motorcycle boots, “but there’s a lot more potential for problems the way things are now.” He looked up and noticed her troubled face. “Don’t get freaky. Nothing is going to happen to us.”

“Then why are you worried about it?”

“I’m not. I’m only worried about dissension in the ranks.” And he zipped up the bag.

His insistence on secrecy bothered her more than she let on, but she went along with it. They rejoined the others in Orlando, where they played to a packed arena. Already high on love, Shan was incandescent and the sheer dynamism of her performance galvanized the others. They brought the house down, performing three encores before the delighted crowd would let them leave the stage.

Her bandmates were nearly as enthusiastic as her audience. She squeaked in surprise when Ty and Dan twirled her between them. Then Dave kissed her full on the mouth, proclaiming her the guitar glamazon of all time. Quinn observed the kiss narrowly, signifying his own approval with a surly nod, but later he made love to her for hours.

The tour continued, looping from Orlando to Tallahassee, up the coast to Atlanta then west to Birmingham, Jonesboro, and Kansas City. The cities blended together, since they were never in any one of them for more than a day.

Shan and Quinn continued to book separate hotel rooms. At first Shan was forlorn at the thought of sleeping without him, but he tapped on her door on the very first night, after the Orlando concert. She never said a word, never made any demand or expressed any expectation, but there he was, every night.

They spent hours engaged in protracted, delirious lovemaking. She couldn’t get enough of Quinn’s talented mouth, his lean body and sure, sensual touch, and he seemed equally bewitched by her. Often it was dawn before they fell into an exhausted slumber and when she woke he was always gone, back in his own room to dress and pack before they reconnected at breakfast.

Before long the lack of sleep was taking its toll and Shan took to napping on the bus. She spent so much of their travel time sleeping that Dave asked if she was okay.

“Fine,” she replied, stifling a yawn. “I don’t sleep well in hotels.”

“You’re not the only one,” Ty said, nodding at Quinn sprawled out on the couch beside him. His eyes were closed but she saw the ghost of a smile materialize on his lips. When she looked up, she saw that Dave had noticed it, too. He was frowning when he went back to practicing tremolos on his Cordoba and kept shooting suspicious looks at Quinn the rest of the way to Denver.

As she dressed for the show, Shan reflected that the lack of sleep wasn’t affecting her appearance. On the contrary, she knew she’d never looked better. Part of it was their success, she supposed. The concerts were heady stuff; people screaming her name, singing along with their music, roaring for encore after encore. They even had their own security squad traveling with them now, a group of guards tasked with controlling the crowds that formed around them wherever they went. She was still on a strict beauty regimen, too, but she knew that wasn’t the only thing responsible for the glow in her skin and the shine in her eyes.

It was Quinn and the knowledge that he was
her
Quinn, now. She was overcome with love, flush and replete with it, yet in some ways their relationship was remarkably unchanged. They still fought over the set list, bickered when they composed, whiled away hours on the tour bus debating the musical virtuosity of Dream Theater versus Guns N’ Roses. All that was the same as it ever was, easy and familiar and supremely comfortable.

And there was the intensely hot sex. It was a period of eroticism unlike anything Shan had ever experienced and she bloomed in it, acquiring a new sensuality that was fresh and earthy, her eyes holding a look of shared secrets. Quinn saw it, too. She’d catch him looking at her, his own eyes scorching, and it would be torture to wait until after the show, when they could be alone.

When they reached Reno, Shan’s room had a panoramic view of the strip, a hot tub as big as a small pool, and a trampoline-sized bed with a mirrored ceiling. At lunch, she slipped into the seat next to Quinn. “Wait until you see my room,” she said, speaking in an undertone even though Dave and Ty were up at the buffet.

“I know. It’s the honeymoon suite. I requested it. I can’t wait to see what you look like in that mirror,” he added, “all spread out and wide open for me.”

Shan felt every bit of heat drain from her body to converge in her groin. He was so dirty, sometimes, so hot and lusty and unabashedly erotic. It never failed to rouse her, his utter carnality.

Under the table, she felt his hand between her legs. He leaned close, bringing his mouth against her ear. “Just wait, angel. I’ve got plans for this luscious little pussy.”

“Shan!”

She leaped and Quinn’s hand speedily disappeared from between her thighs. Denise was charging across the dining room, hauling Dan behind her. She’d flown in for the show and she was laughing and chattering as she threw her arms around Shan. “Let me look at you.” She held her back, hands on her shoulders, and frowned. “Why are you all flushed? Are you sick?”

“It’s because of me,” Quinn said. “I don’t like the way she’s been doing that solo on “Black Mile” again and she doesn’t like me telling her what to do.”

“Oh, get off her back! Let’s go shopping after lunch. It will give you a break from Quinntila, which I’m sure you need,” Denise said, taking the seat on the other side of her. When Shan looked at Quinn, he was frowning down at the
Wall Street Journal,
but again she spotted a trace of a smile.

“Wow!” Dan exclaimed when Shan walked into the greenroom. “New look, hey?”

Quinn looked up, his eyes widening when he saw the slinky black dress she’d opted not to wear for their Troubadour showcase more than a year before. “Where did that come from?”

“I asked Denise to bring it. I thought it was showgirly, appropriate for Reno.” But, more than that, she knew it was sexy. For the first time, she felt comfortable with that. She spun, the gauzy panels of the skirt spreading like the petals of a flower. “What do you think?” she asked her bandmates.

“Hot!” Ty declared.

“Awesome,” Dave said, his approval transmitted by a wolfish grin. Quinn frowned.

The crowd appreciated her attire as much as her bandmates did and she was electrified by its energy. She was soaked with sweat by the end of the show and headed backstage to freshen up.

She yelped when someone grabbed her, pulling her into an empty dressing room. It was pitch black and she felt a jolt of fear but only for a moment, because she recognized the hands, the mouth immediately. “What are you up to, Q?”

“It’s such a turn on, knowing every guy in the place wants you,” he breathed in her ear, “but that I’m the one who’s going to have you.” His lips slithered down her body and she felt his hands under her skirt.