Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1)

by Bogino, Jeanne

  She pulled her legs in against her chest. “It seems like you’re not happy with anything about me. I’ve been just waiting for the axe to fall.”

  “Just because I critique you doesn’t mean I’m not happy with you. You’re a superb musician,” he said. “One of the best I’ve come across.”

  She eyed him doubtfully. “Well, why are you so mean, then? Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate all the time you spend with me,” she added when he frowned. “I’m learning a lot, but you get so frustrated with me…”

  “The main thing that’s frustrating me is your fucking lack of self-confidence. You’re a great singer, or rather, you could be a great singer, and you’ve got the potential to be an ace guitarist, but you never will be until you start believing in yourself.”

  All of a sudden she’d had enough of him. “I do believe in myself, in my music, but this is intimidating. You’re intimidating,” she clarified, “and I’m sick of you yelling at me all the time. I told you up front that I wasn’t at the same level as the rest of you. I’m trying as hard as I can.”

  “I know you are,” he said, “and it won’t be long before you’re completely up to speed. All you need is training, which is what I’m trying to give you. You already have the talent. Come on,” he urged as her green eyes narrowed. “Haven’t you spent enough time around me to know I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it?”

  “Yes, I guess I have.” She smiled a little. “You’re not big on compliments.”

  “No, I’m not, but I don’t mind giving credit where it’s due. I can’t believe how far you’ve come in just the last few days. You should be excited about it. I am.”

  A warmth started building in her chest that tingled as it spread all the way down to her toes. “I can’t tell you how much it means to hear you say that, Quinn, because I respect your opinion more than anyone else I know. About music, at least,” she added with a little laugh.

  “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. And I’m glad to hear that you believe in your music, because sometimes you act as if you’re just figuring out that you have talent. People pay to listen to you every time you gig, though. What did you think they were paying for?”

  “I know that a lot of people like my stuff,” she said, “and it’s a good thing, because it’s all I really know how to do. It really was a revelation when I realized I could use it as a way of supporting myself.”

  “How did it come about?” he asked curiously.

  She cast her eyes down at the futon. “I used to play in the subway stations,” she said, after a moment. “At first it was just a warm place to work on my tunes, but then people started dropping money into my guitar case.”

  “Sounds rough, if the subway was the only place you had to get out of the cold.”

  Shan looked up and examined his face for derision. There wasn’t a trace of it. “It was, I guess, but it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. I made okay money for a busker, but it wasn’t really enough to live on. There was one guy who I’d see in the Washington Square station, though. He always listened, then dropped me a twenty. One night he asked me if I wanted to audition for his club, the Grotto.” She grinned. “It was Mike Shapiro.”

  Quinn chuckled. “Not bad, for your first gig.”

  “I know. It still blows my mind that people like my music enough to pay for it. It’s a great feeling.” She beamed at him. “Almost as great as hearing you say I’m as talented as all of you.”

  Her smile seemed to hit him right between the eyes. He turned his face away. “Okay, let’s get back to the scales. And don’t scoop them this time.”

  The next day at practice Quinn was his usual bossy self, but Shan felt better equipped to handle his criticism. He didn’t seem quite so scary now and when the band was rehearsing one of his originals, a blues-rocking tune called “Wanderlust,” she improvised a little on the guitar solo.

  “This tune should be tight as a drum,” Quinn growled. “Why can’t you get this right?”

  “I think I do have it right,” she said, quaking inside.

  Quinn cocked his head, the beginnings of his customary sneer moving across his face. “Come again? I don’t recall a ragged, nonintegrated guitar riff being part of the arrangement. And I think I’d probably remember, since I wrote the goddamn song.”

  “I think the way we do this song is dull,” Shan said. “It has no groove to it.”

  Dan winced and glanced at Ty, who shook his head. Quinn was staring at her as if he couldn’t believe his ears.

  “You’re telling me that you think my music is boring? Give me a break. Don’t start thinking you’re a composer just because a few people tossed quarters at you in the subway.”

  She drew back, stung. “I’m sorry I ever told you about that, you insensitive jerk! I should have known you wouldn’t understand. You don’t know anything about emoting or moving people with your music. Yours is as mechanical as a metronome.”

  “You a music critic, all of a sudden?” he inquired, his brow descending.

  “No, I’m not,” she shot back, screwing up her face and scowling right back at him, “but how come everything we play has to be your style? There are four of us in this band, you know. It’s not just the Quinn Marshall show.”

  His face reddened and he glared at her silently for a few moments. Then, in a quick reversal, he nodded. “All right,” he said. “We can try it.”

  Her mouth fell open. “We can?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “I said I wanted you to develop more confidence. If this is what it takes, let’s give it a try. Even though I happen to think you’re dead wrong.”

  He let her do it her way, adding a new, looser interpretation to the guitar riff around the tight rhythm line and, when they finished, Dan looked thoughtful. “We might be on to something here,” he said, keeping a wary eye on Quinn. “What do you think?”

  Quinn didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at his forearms, watching the goose bumps rise up in tight little knots.

  During their session that night Quinn was moody and noncommunicative, but Shan was feeling playful, high on the triumph of the afternoon. She ran through her usual series of voice exercises without eliciting a single comment from him. After she deliberately sang flat without getting a reaction, she took a thin paperback from her bookcase.

  The book bounced off his head. “Ow!” he yelled, rubbing his injured cranium.

  She grinned. “When I sing flat without you letting out a single swear, I know something’s wrong with you. What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” he said testily. “I’m just tired.”

  “An admission of a human failing? That’s not like you, either, Quinn.”

  “Well, there is something I want to talk to you about.” He waited until she flopped down beside him. “I think we ought to try some composing. Together, I mean.”

  “Really?” She knew he didn’t like to collaborate. He preferred doing it on his own and invited input only after he’d completed a piece to his own satisfaction.

  “Yeah. My compositions tend to be very structured and methodical. Your stuff is looser, a little more off-beat. I wonder what would happen if we combined those two elements. I’m thinking we might produce some pretty cool stuff, if you’re into it.”

  “Are you kidding? I’d love it!” He didn’t return her smile, just continued to eye her morosely. “Why do you look like you’re sorry I said yes?”

  “I just don’t know if I’m up for all the angst. We’ll probably argue all the time.”

  “So what? We do that anyway.”

  His gloomy expression dissolved as he laughed. “Okay, we’ll give it a try.” He got up and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s drink on it.”

  Shan followed him to the kitchen, the beatific smile still lighting up her face. They were alone in the loft, since Oda was working and Denise was out somewhere with Dan. She boosted herself up onto the counter as he took a couple of beers from the fridge. He had great hands,
she noticed as he passed her one. Firm and capable looking, with golden hairs growing up the backs of his forearms.

  “I’m allowed to drink tonight,” she observed, accepting the frosty bottle.

  “We’re not gigging. Different rules apply at home, angel.”

  “Why do you always call me that?” she asked. “Is it one of your generic girl names, like ‘darlin’ is?”

  He took a long slug of his beer and thought about it. “No,” he concluded. “I’ve never called anyone that before. It’s because, the first time I heard you sing, that was what I thought you sounded like.” He rested his arms on the counter and gazed up at her, a lock of blond hair slipping down his forehead and over his eyes. “An angel. Sweet and pure and beautiful.”

  Shan felt the warmth spread through her again. Impulsively, she reached out to smooth away the lock of hair.

  It was the first time she’d touched him. The contact was electric. His eyes shot up to meet hers and she stared at him with a spellbound expression, a startled awareness dawning on her face.

  He drew back. “Break’s over,” he said, pushing her off the counter. She headed toward the bedroom, but he hesitated. “Let’s work in the living room,” he said, a trifle uneasily. “Better acoustics.”

  At the end of Friday’s practice, Quinn announced they could take the next day off. “We don’t want to sound stale tomorrow night.”

  “Right,” Dan said. “We need to make a good first impression.” Ty nodded in agreement, setting aside his bass.

  Shan rubbed her eyes, which were starting to water. The practice had run longer than usual and her jones was beginning to kick in. She saw Quinn watching her and suppressed a sigh. No day off for you, he’d say. Had to work on her voice, or her solos, or her rhythm. Needed more work, more practice, more polish.

  “What are you going to wear tomorrow night?” he asked instead.

  She was flabbergasted. It seemed an outlandish question, coming from him. She could show up stark naked and he’d be too busy watching her picking to even notice.

  Well. He might notice. “Uh, I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

  “You’re not planning to dress like that, are you?” He pointedly looked her up and down.

  She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Perfectly acceptable attire for band practice.

  She started a slow burn. Her voice and her playing weren’t enough? He had to start in on her clothes? “No, I’m not. I know how to dress for a gig.”

  “I’ve never seen you in anything but jeans,” he said. “Do you own a dress?”

  She didn’t, actually. She’d never needed one for anything. Also, she didn’t like to show her legs. Too many scars. “No, I don’t.”

  “You ought to pick one up tomorrow. You’re a cute chick,” he said off-handedly, “but you downplay your looks. Maybe you could get something a little more on the feminine side. It’ll give the people something to look at.”

  Her cheeks burned. “Great. I’ll pick up my metal cone tits from the dry cleaners.”

  Ty whooped, Dan gave her a high five, and she was gratified to see even Quinn break into a smile. And he had a nice smile, she noted. Really nice. When he smiled, the irritation with which he normally regarded her dissolved and he looked endearingly boyish.

  He’d called her cute, too. Just why that pleased her so much she wasn’t sure.

  “Okay.” He chuckled. “I’m not a wardrobe consultant. I’ll leave it up to you.”

  So the next day she went shopping, a pastime she’d rarely indulged in. As she wandered down West Broadway, a flash of dusky green caught her eye. She went closer to examine a spill of silk in the window of an artsy boutique.

  She went into the store, emerging half an hour later with a satisfied expression and a shopping bag. She’d spent way more than she could afford but, for once, she’d shut Quinn up.

  Maybe.

  chapter 8

  Shan had just finished dosing when she heard a knock at the front door, then a chorus of male voices. She went into the living room, where she found her bandmates and Denise. The guys were stacking the gear in preparation for the gig and she lingered in the doorway, hoping to make an impact with her entrance.

  Ty was the first to notice her. He whistled. “Damn, honey! You’re looking fine tonight.” He did, too, in khakis and a red silk shirt that shimmered against his dark skin.

  All eyes turned Shan’s way. Quinn was kneeling beside the keyboard, winding up the power cable. He was dressed in black jeans with a braided leather belt and a black button-front shirt.

  Shan was wearing the jade-green sarong she’d admired in the boutique. It was wrapped and knotted around her slender hips, falling to a midcalf length. With it, she wore a black strappy top of raw silk, with shiny beads adorning the scoop neckline. She’d replaced her silver nose stud with a rhinestone one, then rubbed glitter gel on her shoulders and arms. She sparkled when she moved.

  “Fabulous!” Denise pronounced.

  “Hot,” Dan agreed. “You look awesome, princess.” He was dressed up too, for Dan. He’d foregone his usual worn, faded jeans for a more intact pair and a bright-yellow wife beater.

  “Thanks,” Shan said. “I ought to, for what I spent. I hope you were right about what we’d pull in tonight, because I just blew my rent money,” she told Quinn.

  “Don’t worry. I am.” He looked ultra hot, she decided. His blond fairness against his black clothing made a sensual contrast, all darkness and light. “Okay,” he said, rising. “Let’s go.”

  Shan concealed a rush of disappointment. He hadn’t even noticed her transformation.

  But as she hoisted an amplifier, Quinn grabbed her arm. “Don’t do that,” he said. “I don’t want you to tear anything. You look too perfect.” She glowed as he took the amp from her.

  The guys hauled the equipment to the service elevator, but Shan and Denise took the stairs and lingered next to the van. Shan was smiling to herself as she carefully smoothed her new skirt.

  “Are you sleeping with Quinn?” Denise asked abruptly.

  Shan’s smile froze, then she gaped at her. “Why would you think that?”

  Denise was watching her closely. “Well, he was all over you that night they came for dinner. He’s obviously hot for you. Besides, he’s always in your room lately.”

  Shan was still openmouthed. “No! I mean, of course I’m not sleeping with Quinn. That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.” Although it was all she’d been thinking about since the night he’d asked if she wanted to compose with him. “We’re bandmates, that’s all,” she said, flushing.

  “Good.” Denise nodded.

  Shan eyed her quizzically. “Why would you care?”

  “Because he’s bad news for anyone who’s not one-night-stand material,” Denise replied. “He’s a real slut, you know. He sleeps with a different girl every night. They think he’s a nice guy because he turns on the charm, but he’s done with them once he has them. He doesn’t even give them a courtesy call, just disappears. It’s disgusting and you shouldn’t get mixed up with him,” she added, the color rising in her cheeks, “because I know you aren’t casual about your involvements. I mean, in all the time we’ve been living together I haven’t seen you go out on a single date.”

  A chill had settled around Shan’s heart. “Are you sure? He doesn’t seem that cold to me.” Although, she reflected uneasily, it would explain that scene with the waitress at the Grotto.

  “He’s cold, all right.” Denise’s face hardened and she lowered her voice as the subject of their conversation came out of the building, followed by Dan and Ty. “Just ask him about his ‘golden rules.’”

  Shan took her guitar and climbed into the van while the guys loaded the equipment. When they finished Quinn slid in beside her, although she noticed there was a lot more room next to Ty. Joanie was taking up half her seat, so Quinn was practically in her lap.

  “You nervous?” he
asked her.

  “A little,” Shan said. “I hope I don’t blow any lyrics.”

  He put his arm around her. “Don’t stress over it. Just relax.”

  She tittered, pulling away a bit. “You’ll get glitter all over your shirt.”

  “So I’ll sparkle. I’m not worried.” He drew her back into the crook of his arm and inspected her face. “You’re wearing makeup. You don’t usually, do you?”

  “No.” She was very conscious of his hand resting on her shoulder, the pressure of his fingertips against her skin. “Only when I’m gigging. The lights make me look washed out.”

  His eyes seemed to caress her face. “You don’t have to worry about that tonight, angel. You look stunning.” The passing streetlights reflected off his blond hair, giving it a silvery glow.

  “Thanks,” she said, flustered. “I wanted to wear my hair up, but I couldn’t get it to stay. I have too much hair. It’s always such a mess.” She knew she was babbling and bit her lip. His physical proximity was making her jittery, almost like a jones. She could feel his long, muscular thigh pressing against hers and, as she breathed in the citrusy scent of his aftershave, she knew she’d never in her life been so drawn to a man.

  Quinn was having a similar revelation as he slipped his hand through her long, springy curls, lifting up a fistful and rubbing it against his cheek in a completely natural, unpremeditated gesture. “It’s not a mess,” he said. “It’s beautiful.” It was, he thought. Soft as a cloud and scented with that tantalizing woodsy fragrance. He’d wanted to bury his face in this hair from the minute he’d first laid eyes on her. He wondered what it would be like to hold her on top of him and have that hair surrounding him, like a curtain blocking out the world. He’d sure like to find out and he was beginning to think he was going to have to sooner or later, jail bait or not.

  He once again noticed her lips. Soft and full and bubble-gum pink. The urge to kiss them was overwhelming. He let go of her hair and fit his hand back over her shoulder, feeling her velvety flesh under his palm. She wasn’t pulling away this time.