Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1)

by Bogino, Jeanne

“It’s not you,” she said. “It’s that bike. I don’t like motorcycles, Q. I think they’re dangerous.”

  “You have nothing to worry about. Seriously, angel,” he said, his eye taking on a wicked glitter, “that bike is the safest thing of mine that will ever be between your legs.”

  She gasped, color flooding her cheeks, then burst out laughing. He grinned and gave her a little push. “Go on. Get dressed.”

  Half an hour later, they were gliding along the Angeles Crest, a windy mountain highway that led through the San Gabriel Mountains. The road twisted and coiled around jutting boulders and scrubby pines, its sharp turns revealing vistas of startling and unexpected beauty, spectacular views that Shan ignored.

  She wasn’t enjoying the ride. Quinn had often urged her to join him on his jaunts and she’d consented to a few short trips, but it always scared her. She wore a helmet, Quinn insisted on it, but she still felt vulnerable, exposed and helpless, completely without control.

  So far this ride was no different. Whenever Quinn accelerated, Shan closed her eyes and waited to become a smudge on the pavement. Each time he leaned into a turn, her lips moved in silent prayer. She kept glancing over her shoulder. There was nothing between her body and the road but air. She imagined what it would feel like to hit it, to skid along the pavement, her skin sloughing off like a flayed fish, and she trembled.

  When they coasted around a hairpin turn, she gasped, squeezed her eyes shut, and pressed her face against the back of Quinn’s shoulder. She could smell his leather jacket, an earthy, masculine scent, and felt comforted, though her arms did not loosen their death grip around his chest. He gave her leg a reassuring pat.

  They rode for a long time, more than an hour, and eventually Shan found herself acknowledging that she was in capable hands. Quinn was handling the bike with the same easy competence and skill with which he did everything else, keeping the ride smooth and the speed steady. She began to relax a little and realized that her hands hurt from the force of her grip. She flexed them to relieve the ache, laid them flat against his chest, and cautiously lifted her head from his shoulder.

  The road snaked along the crest of the mountains and she could see for miles and miles, canyons, desert wilderness, and, in the distance, the unmistakable blue of the Pacific. It was spectacular. “Where are we going?” she shouted as they slowed for another sharp turn.

  Quinn chuckled. “Your mouth is only about three inches from my ear, you know. You don’t have to scream.”

  “Sorry.” She lowered her voice a few decibels. “Where—”

  “Someplace you’ll like. You trust me, right?”

  “Right,” she yelled as he accelerated again. His hair was fluttering in the wind and the silky blond strands tickled her cheek.

  Eventually they pulled off the road into a parking area, where he kicked the bike upright and dismounted. Pulling off his helmet, he grinned at Shan. “How was it?”

  “Fun,” she confessed. “It’s still a little scary, but…I trust you.”

  “Told you so. How’s your ass holding up?”

  “Not too bad,” she replied, but it was sore and she rubbed it. “I guess you get used to that, too, right?”

  “Right.” He was unfastening a saddlebag from the back of the bike, attaching a leather strap to it, and slinging it over his shoulder. “As long as you keep riding,” he continued, “which I hope you will.”

  Just what he’d been bugging her to do for some time. As always, he’d gotten his way. She took off her helmet and dismounted, then he led her past a picnic area and up a trail. The ground was paved for a short distance but quickly gave way to a rugged dirt footpath that ran alongside a river.

  Eventually he veered off the main trail onto a much smaller path. It was overgrown, nearly invisible. Shan would have walked right past without even seeing it. Five minutes later they reached a small, deserted swimming hole tucked into a canyon crevice.

  It was a lovely spot, peaceful and serene. The mountain pool, fed by a small waterfall and surrounded by a fringe of brush, was clear as glass. Shan followed Quinn up the rocky grade beside the fall. When they reached the top he sat down under a tree and patted the ground beside him. After Shan sat down, he popped open the bag and took out the sandwiches. “We’re here,” he said simply.

  She accepted a sandwich. When she unwrapped it, she saw it was peanut butter and honey, her favorite. She took a big bite, nodding her approval. He grinned, handing her a bottle of water.

  They ate the sandwiches, then Quinn produced another treat, a bag of fresh, sweet strawberries. Neither of them spoke until they’d consumed every last one. “Tell me about this place,” Shan said when they’d finished. “How do you know it?”

  Quinn was collecting their empty water bottles and placing them back in the saddle bag. “I used to come here when I was in high school,” he replied. “I still do, sometimes. There’s a big party spot just up the trail: Switzer Falls. That’s a nice spot, too. There’s even a natural water slide, but it’s always crowded. I like it better here. It’s more private.”

  “Good place to bring frequent flyers?” The words burst out of her before she could stop them.

  Quinn shook his head. He took a piece of crust left over from one of the sandwiches and dropped it into the water. They both watched a bass come to the surface to inspect it. “I’ve never brought anyone here before. It’s a place I come when I need solitude.”

  “So why did you bring me?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “It’s like the bike, I guess. I love it here, just like I love riding. I wanted to…share it with you. Reconnect. I thought it would help.” He kept his head down, watching as more fish surfaced to examine the bread floating on the water. “It bothered me when you said you felt like you didn’t know me, angel,” he said, after a while. “You do. More than anyone else does.”

  “Maybe I do,” she conceded, “but that’s not saying much, is it?” He looked up then and, when he did, she saw his eyes were troubled. “You’re so guarded, Q, so closed off from everyone. Me included. You don’t let anybody in.”

  He didn’t reply right away, then, “I keep to myself, Shan. I always have. It’s no reflection on you.”

  “It’s a reflection on us,” she corrected him. “On how one sided our relationship is.”

  “It isn’t one sided. You’re a big part of my life. Maybe even the biggest part.”

  “I don’t see that, Q. I really don’t. I mean, we’ve been living together for six months and I’ve still never met even a single member of your family. They only live half an hour away.”

  “So? I never see them.”

  “But I’ve met Dan’s parents, and his sister, and Ty’s father that time he was in New York. I’ve even met Dave’s mother and father.”

  “All of those people have come to gigs,” he insisted, scowling when she mentioned Dave. “Nobody from my family is likely to show up there.”

  “Maybe not your mother,” she said, “but what about your brother or stepfather?”

  “I don’t particularly want them at our gigs,” he said and she nodded.

  “I know. Because you shut them out, too.” He looked away, still frowning.

  Quinn didn’t say anything more for a long time. The silence between them was heavy. Shan was sorry she’d said anything at all.

  After a time, she stood up. “I guess we ought to be getting back.”

  Without speaking, Quinn rose. He gathered up the last of the odds and ends from their picnic and put them in the saddle bag.

  When he finally looked at Shan, his face was serious. “I hear what you’re saying. This isn’t always easy for me.”

  “What?”

  “This.” He pointed at her, then back at himself. “Us. This thing between us. I’m trying to…figure it out as we go along.”

  “Try harder,” she said softly. He nodded, his eyes still troubled.

  chapter 27

  “Remind me why this is a good idea,” Quinn growle
d through a mouthful of toothpaste. He leaned over the basin, filled his mouth with water, and swished it around.

  Shan squeezed into the bathroom alongside him, mascara in hand, to survey her reflection in the mirror. It was Christmas Eve and her look was unusually formal: pumps and a black sheath borrowed from Denise, her hair pulled back in a french braid. “I think it’s a great idea,” she told him, “and I’m proud of you.”

  He let forth a ferocious snort and she was glad to hear it, because it sounded like the old Quinn, the normal Quinn, the one she hadn’t seen much of since The Act. “I know this is hard,” she continued, turning back to the mirror, “but it’s the right thing to do.”

  She was attempting to flatten the errant curl that prevented her hair from achieving the sleek look she was after. “Leave it. It looks cute,” he said, watching as she abandoned the unruly tress and gave her lashes a final brush with the mascara. “You’re putting on too much makeup,” he added. “And where’s your nose thingy?”

  “It doesn’t go with my outfit.”

  “Since when have you cared about that kind of shit?”

  “I’ll feel out of place no matter what I wear. I don’t want to make it worse.”

  “You don’t have to fit in with them. You’re not a goddamn sheep.” He stomped out of the bathroom, reappearing with the scissors. “I guess I’ll follow the flock, too.”

  Shan frowned as he drew his ponytail over his shoulder. “Q, don’t be an ass.” Her alarm mounted when he slid the blades around it. “You’re going to cut your hair just to make a point?”

  “Baa,” he said. The scissors ground together and a few blond wisps drifted to the floor.

  “Stop! I’ll put it back in!”

  He allowed her to take the scissors from his hand. “All right, then,” he said. “If you insist upon meeting my family, I want you to look like you, not some fucking debutante.”

  Shan’s eyes got progressively wider as they coasted down the driveway to his brother’s Bel Air residence. By the time Quinn pulled over in front of the house, they were enormous. It was an actual mansion, with ivy trailing over white brick walls and a fountain bubbling in the middle of a stone walk leading to the front door. “You are rich,” she told him, shaken.

  “Not anymore.” He slung his helmet over the handlebar and extended his hand to help her dismount. “Ready to face off with the illustrious Marshall clan?” He led her to the front door and rang the bell as Shan smoothed her dress and made some attempt to neaten her braid, which was disheveled from the ride. The door opened to reveal a man who resembled Quinn, although he was a few inches shorter, about seven or eight years older, and a lot more respectable looking.

  He gasped, then grabbed Quinn in a delighted bear hug. “Holy cow!” After he released his brother, he beamed at Shan. “I don’t know how you did it, but you’re my new best friend.”

  It was the first time she’d met Ron Marshall although she’d spoken to him a few times on the phone. He called his brother regularly, most recently with an invitation to the annual Christmas Eve gathering, a Marshall family tradition. “I know Quinn won’t come,” he’d said fatalistically. “He’s stubborn, my little brother, but I always invite him anyway.”

  She’d promised to deliver the message, then commenced a full-on attack. “You should go,” she told Quinn. “It’s not healthy, the way you avoid your family. I think it fucks you up.”

  “They avoid me, too.”

  “Bull. Your brother and stepfather call you all the time. I think you’re awfully hard on your mother, too.”

  Quinn’s face hardened. “I’m not, believe me. She doesn’t respect me or anything I do.”

  “Maybe she’s changed. You should go and see.”

  He flatly refused, but Shan was relentless. She wheedled and cajoled. When that didn’t work, she told him he was an insensitive, withholding, self-absorbed dickhead who didn’t care about anyone but himself. That didn’t budge him, either, so she offered to go along for moral support. When he rejected that idea, as well, she accused him of being ashamed of her.

  “You know better than that,” he said, but she shrugged.

  “So much for trying harder.” And that was how they’d come to be here on this Christmas Eve.

  As soon as they went into the house, Quinn was assaulted by two small creatures with apple cheeks and flaxen hair. “Hey, munchkins,” he said, swinging a child up in each arm. “This is my nephew, Adam,” he told Shan. The little boy, who looked about four, squirmed away as quickly as he’d appeared, so Quinn concentrated on the six-year-old girl who was climbing his body like it was a tree. “Alicia, this is my friend Shan.”

  The little girl had tow-headed locks and big blue eyes. “Do you like dogs?” she piped.

  Shan smiled. “I love dogs. Do you have one?”

  “I have two dogs.” She held up two chubby fingers. “A black one and a yellow one. They’re Labberdoors. You want to see them?”

  Before Shan could respond, a supermodel lookalike appeared at Quinn’s elbow. “Alicia,” she admonished, “you’re supposed to be in the nursery playing with your cousins until dinner.”

  “But I heard Uncle Quinn’s bike,” Alicia said. “I wanted to say hello, Mommy.”

  “All right, you’ve said hello.” The supermodel took the child out of Quinn’s arms and handed her to a matronly woman. “Take them back upstairs, please, Irene,” she told her. “It’s too crowded to have them tearing about like wild Indians.”

  “Bye, Uncle Quinn,” the little girl called as she was borne up the stairs by the nanny.

  “Bye, Alicia,” Quinn called back, with a little frown.

  “Ron, please have two more places added to the table.” The woman said, turning to Quinn when Ron obeyed. “This is a surprise, Quinn. I hope the children weren’t bothering you.”

  He regarded her with the same look he wore when he talked to Denise. “Not a chance. I’m always glad to see them. Too bad you had them rushed off.”

  She smiled tightly. “I don’t think the cocktail hour before a formal dinner is an appropriate place for small children, although I see you’ve chosen to ignore the word formal in the invitation.”

  He looked presentable in black chinos and a charcoal blazer with a black, open-necked shirt, but formal was a stretch. Shan knew there were three suits in his closet, though.

  “Sorry, my tux was at the cleaners. Shan, meet Ron’s wife, Meredith.”

  Meredith Marshall had the kind of cool, Nordic good looks Shan had always envied. She was tall and slim, with ash blond hair that hung to her shoulders in a smooth sheet. Her understated black dress screamed elegance and diamonds sparkled at her ears. Aware that Meredith was examining her, as well, Shan pushed back her unruly braid, feeling like a rube in the presence of the royals.

  Meredith looked at Shan’s silver nose stud. Her mouth pursed. “Charmed, dear.”

  Shan was relieved when Quinn propelled her into the living room. It was filled with people, thirty or more, all smartly attired and as alike as the elaborate paper-doll garland that adorned the opulent Christmas tree. “I thought this was a family dinner,” she whispered.

  “It’s a big family.” Quinn was steering her across the room, nodding right and left, pausing briefly to introduce her to this aunt or that cousin, until they reached a portly gentleman whose creased face conveyed astonishment. To her wonder, Quinn embraced him.

  When they separated the man kept hold of Quinn’s arm, regarding him mistily. “Oh, Quinn. I’m so glad to see you here, my boy.”

  Quinn chuckled. “You’re the only one in the world who still calls me a boy.” He turned to Shan. “This is George Merrick, my stepdad.”

  George took her hand, but didn’t let go of Quinn’s arm. “Merry Christmas, my dear. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot of you, though. You have quite a voice.”

  “Thank you,” she said warmly, realizing that this man knew his stepson very well. He’d brought up the one subjec
t guaranteed to put him at ease: his music. “It’s easy to sound good when you’re singing Quinn’s songs. He’s so brilliant, Mr. Merrick.”

  “I know, and he says the same thing about you.” He turned back to Quinn. “I must confess, I was quite impressed with the last piece you gave me, Quinn. I like all your music, of course, but this one…it’s as good as anything on the charts. Better, in fact. Your mother liked it, too.”

  Quinn smirked. “I’ll just bet she did. How is the grande dame?”

  George shrugged. “Go and see for yourself. I think she’s in the dining room.”

  “Quinn?” At the sound of the voice, Shan watched Quinn stiffen visibly.

  Shan turned and there she was, Quinn’s mother, staring at him like a castaway who’d sighted a mirage. She was so small, Shan saw with surprise, so slight and petite to be the lioness Quinn had described. But dignified, queenly, perfectly appointed from the tips of her buff-colored fingernails to her impeccable Chanel suit. Her skin was unlined, extraordinarily well preserved, but her hair was silver blond, coiled into a glassy chignon. Shan judged her to be around sixty.

  Quinn’s mouth quirked up in a half sneer, half smile. “Mom?” he said. It was impressive, how much hostility he could express with that single word.

  She took a step toward him, hesitating when he drew back. “You’re well?”

  “I am,” he replied, with an icy formality. “And yourself?”

  “I’m fine. It’s wonderful to see you. It’s been such a long time.” She was beaming at him, clearly delighted, and Shan experienced an unexpected pang of envy toward Quinn. How she wished that she could have a similar reunion with her own mother, whom she still missed every day.

  Quinn did not respond, just maintained his frosty smile.

  “I barely recognized you,” she said, continuing to inspect him. “It must be all that hair. I suppose it’s intended to be stylish. You’re looking quite fit, though, regardless.”

  “You don’t look bad either,” Quinn replied. “Had some work done, haven’t you?”