Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1)

by Bogino, Jeanne

  He climbed on board, went directly to the bar, and poured himself a neat Tanqueray. He tossed it back and poured another, a double this time, and snagged a pack of cigarettes off the condom table. It was nearly empty, containing only a nice, fat joint.

  “That’ll do,” he muttered, flopping down on the couch and lighting up, closing his eyes as he took a deep, mind-numbing hit.

  “Just who I was looking for.”

  His eyes flew open. It was Jerrika James, picking her way up the steps into the bus, stepping carefully in her high heels. “I had the same thought,” she said, gesturing at the joint in his hand, “but it seems one of my bandmates has cleaned out the stash. May I join you?”

  “Sure.” He held out the joint and she sat close, too close, her thigh nudging his.

  The invitation she’d been transmitting was overt, one he was clearly intended to notice. He had, of course. A guy would have to be dead not to notice Jerrika James. He passed the joint to her and she caught his hand, bringing it to her mouth. Her lips pressed against his fingers as she inhaled, casting him a smoky glance from beneath shadowed lids.

  Then the ruby lips parted in sultry smile. “Alone at last, hey?” She took the joint and dropped it into an ashtray, then twined her fingers through his.

  He looked at her, smoking hot with her white-blond hair, long legs, and creamy, copious set artfully displayed in a low-cut leather corselet. Teenage boys everywhere jerked off over her image in Rolling Stone and Creem, on MTV. She was a rock ’n’ roll fantasy come true, the real deal right here for the taking.

  But he shook his head. “I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it, Jerri.”

  She drew back, startled. “Do—what?”

  “You,” he said bluntly. “I know we’ve been heading in that direction, you and me, but I can’t. I’m…I’m involved, you see,” he added, realizing that he had never before made such a pronouncement. The words, though unfamiliar, felt fine, right. Overdue.

  Jerrika looked flummoxed. “Since when?”

  “A long time,” he said. “Longer than I even knew.” He lifted her fingers, still entwined with his, to his mouth and placed a respectful, apologetic kiss on the back of her hand.

  Then he let go of Jerrika James.

  chapter 34

  When they departed for Jackson early the next morning, Shan gazed mournfully out the window of the bus. “We never made it to Preservation Hall,” she said to Quinn as the wrought-iron and pastel colors of the French Quarter receded from her view, “or Tipitina’s, either.”

  “We’ll be back,” he said. “I promise.”

  An opportunity came up sooner than expected when their schedule suddenly changed after the Montgomery concert. During the show the spike heel of one of Jerrika James’s five-inch stilettos became tangled in a mic cable. She slipped, fell hard, and managed to make it through the rest of the show balancing on one foot. By the end of the evening she was in considerable pain and a trip to the ER confirmed that she had a broken ankle.

  The remainder of the southeast shows were cancelled and the members of Quinntessence found themselves with an unexpected break, nearly a week to spare before they were due to headline in Orlando. Dan flew home but, to the others, Cardinal extended an invitation for some R&R on Hilton Head. “They maintain a condo there,” Lorraine told them. “You’re free to use it.”

  Dave and Ty snatched the opportunity, but Quinn declined, announcing that he’d be flying out, too. “Are you going home?” Shan asked him, disappointed. She was mulling the idea of returning to New Orleans for a few days and had been planning to ask him to go with her.

  “No, I’m going to Daytona Beach. The first week in March is Bike Week. It’s going on right now.”

  She knew about Bike Week. He’d mentioned it before. One of the biggest motorcycle events of the year, and one he’d always wanted to attend. “Sounds like fun.”

  “I was hoping you’d think so,” Quinn said, and grinned. “You’re coming with me, right?”

  Daytona Beach was a patchwork of motorcycles of every conceivable make and size, but Harleys dominated the oceanfront strip. The people were even more colorful than the bikes and Shan was especially intrigued by girls who wore chaps with Daisy Dukes shredded high enough to expose their butt cheeks. “Why do they bother?” she asked Quinn as they idled at a light on their rented Harley. “It’s not like those chaps protect anything. If they wipe out, their asses will be road pizza.”

  “I don’t think protection is what they’re after.” Quinn stopped talking as a woman crossed the street in front of them attired in precisely the manner Shan had described. She wore studded leather chaps and, as she passed, Shan saw that her posterior was almost entirely exposed. Her shorts must have started as a pair of cut-offs, although now they were little more than a denim thong, plus she had a set of Harley wings tattooed on one cheek. Quite a rear view.

  Shan watched Quinn’s head rotate in perfect unison with her passage. She nudged him. “The light is green,” she said irritably.

  As he accelerated, she contemplated her own clothing, jeans and a leather jacket. “I look like a tourist,” she said. “I should get some biker gear.”

  “Well, let’s go shopping,” he said, turning the bike toward vendors lining Main Street.

  “Let’s go,” Quinn called, later that afternoon when they were in their suite. “Why is it taking you so long to get dressed? It isn’t as if…” his voice faded as the bathroom door opened.

  “I wasn’t sure I should venture out on the street like this,” Shan said as she emerged, now wearing Daisy Dukes and a tie-dyed tank top under her leather jacket. She’d embellished the ensemble with a few newly purchased accessories: a studded belt, fingerless riding gloves, and thigh-length leather boots. “What do you think? Do I look like a biker bitch?”

  “You,” he said, gawking, “look like a Hell’s Angel’s wet dream.”

  He seemed to approve of her shorts, which were brief, but securely covered her derriere. “I’m glad you didn’t go backless,” he said, as they descended the stairs to the parking lot.

  “I’m surprised to hear that,” she replied, “since your eyes have been bugged out all day.”

  He switched on the ignition. “Of course I’m going to notice when a bare-assed chick walks right in front of me, but it’s not really a look that appeals to me all that much. A little too skanky.” He mounted the Harley, eying her with admiration. “You don’t look at all like a skank. You’re dainty and innocent looking, even in leather and studs.”

  “You mean I spent all that money trying to look sexy for nothing?”

  “You don’t have to try.” He held the bike steady while she mounted. “You’re sexy all the time, angel.”

  “But you just said I looked innocent.”

  “That,” he emphasized, “is exactly why you’re so sexy. Hang on!”

  They spent the afternoon bar hopping through establishments renowned for their colorful clientele. First, they watched a banana-eating competition at the Boot Hill Saloon, where the contestants seemed to be doing everything possible to a banana short of eating it.

  Shan giggled as a tough-looking redhead massaged the banana with her tongue. “No wonder you wanted to come here. You’d get frequent flyer bonus miles in this place.”

  “I’m not looking to. I wouldn’t leave you alone. Not dressed like that, at any rate,” he told her as they left the Boot Hill. “Where to now?”

  Shan dug in her jacket pocket for the Bike Week calendar. “Let’s see. At Dirty Harry’s there’s a wet T-shirt competition, complete with music from a Lynyrd Skynyrd tribute band. At the First Turn, finals for Miss Bare Chaps. At Gilly’s, you can compete in an arm-wrestling contest.”

  “Pass,” he said. “I wouldn’t risk my hands just to prove my machismo.”

  “Well, how about a stump tug at Will’s Honkytonk? And at the Cabbage Patch, there are a variety of bike events and coleslaw wrestling.” She raised her head.
“Coleslaw? Really?”

  “Let’s go there. The Cabbage Patch is famous.”

  He let her off in front and found a place to park among the sea of tents and motorcycles. He dismounted, then frowned. Although Shan’s attire was modest compared to some of the other females in the place, she was surrounded already.

  There was a custom T-shirt stand set up beside the bar’s entrance. Strolling over to it, he pointed at a brief, camisole-style top. “That one,” he said, grinning at the blonde behind the counter. “And here’s what I want it to say.”

  After he made his purchase, he maneuvered his way to Shan’s side. “Here,” he said, handing her a bag. “Put this on, will you?”

  She pulled out the shirt. Property of Q, it proclaimed in lyrically curved letters.

  “I’d rather not get into any fights defending your honor,” he explained. “Most of these guys will leave a lady alone, if she’s marked.”

  “Like branding cattle? How red-necky.” He chuckled as she disappeared into the bar. She put on the shirt then drifted back outside to catch the end of the keg-rolling contest. Quinn was already out there, his front wheel pushing the keg with his usual precision.

  He placed third, winning a bottle of Jack Daniels. They walked around the campground passing the bottle back and forth between them. The JD interacted nicely with the beer they’d been drinking all day, enough that they were both pleasantly buzzed when they paused to watch a bout of coleslaw wrestling. They climbed a set of bleachers to get a prime view and Shan settled on the bench behind Quinn, resting one forearm on his shoulder.

  “That looks really disgusting,” she said as two topless women rolled in a field of coleslaw. “Imagine what it must smell like, in this heat.”

  Quinn was eyeing her top appreciatively, as he’d been doing ever since she put it on. “That looks really good on you.”

  “Thanks,” she said and snickered. “A couple more threads and I’d have a bikini top.”

  He laughed, leaning back to maneuver his body between her knees. “But look. It got me in between your legs.”

  She regarded him with surprise. “I didn’t think that was a place you wanted to be.”

  He dropped his hand onto her knee. “Look at you. Who wouldn’t want that?” His hand drifted up her leg to stroke the skin exposed at the top of her high boot.

  She couldn’t believe how much it excited her, a little thing like that, especially when he slipped his fingers under the leather to fondle the flesh of her inner thigh. When he raised his eyes she saw they were smoky, hot, and she gasped when he gripped her waist to pull her onto his lap.

  Then she felt his erection. “Are—are you drunk?”

  He nestled her a little closer. “You know better than that. I don’t get drunk.”

  In general that was true. She suspected it was because he didn’t like to lose control. “Once you did,” she said, recalling the time she’d found him passed out on the couch with Dan.

  “An anomaly,” he said, nudging aside the thin strap of her top. She froze when he leaned forward, burying his nose in her cleavage, and inhaled deeply. When he drew back, his eyes were riveted to her chest. There seemed to be something about the Q there that mesmerized him.

  “Q, what are you doing?” He never touched her this way. Never. His lips curved up in a knowing smile and she flushed. “I mean, where’s this coming from, all of a sudden?”

  “It’s hardly all of a sudden,” he said, then nuzzled the fabric over her nipple. She felt it harden right through the cloth and experienced a mind-bending jolt of desire.

  He was torturing her. She thought he might even know it. She didn’t know what to do, how to respond, so she didn’t. On the field the coleslaw wrestling had concluded and now they were setting up some sort of scaffolding. “What are they doing?” she asked, her voice shaky.

  “Setting up for the Weenie Bite.” His hand dropped from her shoulder to her lap.

  She kept her knees firmly together. “What’s that?”

  “The guys ride slow as they can, with their girls on the back of their bikes. The girl has to try and take a bite out of a hot dog that’s hanging over her head on a string. It’s really hard to do.”

  “Let’s try it.”

  He paused, nonplussed, his hand between her thighs. “Now?”

  “Now,” she said, climbing off his lap and tugging her top back into place.

  “You really want to deep-throat a hot dog in front of this crowd?” But he allowed her to pull him to his feet. They climbed down and he fired up the bike. Shan got on behind him, watching as several pairs passed under the dangling franks. None of the girls seemed able to get a bite and they were hung higher than she’d realized. She got a grip on his shoulders and stood up on the pegs, wavering a little. “You be careful,” Quinn warned her. “I don’t want you falling off.”

  She tightened her grip on his shoulders. “I will,” she promised. He chuckled and she kept her eye on the hot dog as they wheeled up to it. It was dripping with mustard. She opened her mouth as wide as she could and, when the moment came, she bit savagely at the wiener.

  The crowd was shrieking and, as Quinn rolled to a stop, he looked over his shoulder.

  Shan finished chewing and swallowed. There was mustard smeared all over her lips and dripping from her chin, and he could spot a half a hot dog dangling from the line behind her.

  Much later, they staggered back to the hotel. The currents flowing between them were heavy with need and wanting and sex. Once, while they were sitting in a bar, Shan became fixated on Quinn’s hands. They were so sexy and capable, his touch always so sure. She remembered what they felt like on her and the recollection became physical, until she wanted to squirm and rub against the seat. It got so bad he noticed and asked her what was wrong.

  When she paused at the door to fish the key card out of her pocket, he slipped his fingers up the back of her shorts. The contact made her flesh break out in goose bumps and turned her knees to jelly.

  She opened the door and stepped into the suite, turning to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing to her, but before she could he pulled her into his arms. His mouth was on her then and his hands, too, cupping her breasts, her ass, infiltrating between her legs. Her mind was woozy, the combination of alcohol and lust making it nearly impossible to keep her mind in any kind of a logical place, but she was aware that the way he was touching her now was different from how he’d touched her in the past. There was roughness, a raw, urgent need that she’d never felt from him before.

  He squeezed the apex between her legs, then slid one hand into her shorts where it was hot and wet and slick. He groaned out loud, sinking to his knees, and she could feel the burning of his breath when he pressed his mouth against her crotch. She felt like she’d dissolve, melt away until there was nothing left of her but a steamy, liquid pool of desire.

  Then he was on his feet, backing her toward her room, pulling off his jacket and his T-shirt and dropping them on the floor. He gave her a little push so that she was inside the room while he was still standing outside it and she froze, picturing him slipping away yet again. “Are—are you going to leave me this way?” she whispered.

  “No,” he said. “I won’t leave you. Not ever again.” He was nude to the waist now, clad only in jeans, and the top button on his fly was undone. She could see how hard he was, how swollen.

  “You mean—” she began, then stopped.

  His eyes swept her from head to toe, pausing to stare hard and long at the words Property of Q on her chest. “I mean that I’m ready,” he said. “Here I am, angel. I’m all yours. If you want me.”

  She didn’t hesitate, not even for an instant. She took a step back.

  And pushed the door wide open.

  chapter 35

  Quinn scooped Shan into his arms and she went eagerly, so much that she surprised herself. He pulled her right up off the floor, and she coiled both legs around his waist as he carried her across the room and spilled
her onto the bed.

  His hands were all over her, stroking and squeezing, pulling off her clothes, and he kissed her over and over, hot, burning kisses that seared her flesh. She was writhing under his touch, arching and bowing when he pulled her top down to expose her breasts. He lowered his head to nuzzle each one and she felt her nipples rising to stiff peaks against his mouth. He slid his hands down her body and, when he encountered her panties, he tore them away with an impatient jerk.

  Then he froze, his gaze riveted between her legs.

  She winced, pulling her knees together. “The stylist did that. It’s a bikini wax.”

  “You mean a Brazilian,” he corrected her, still staring at it in a near catatonic state.

  “Whatever,” she snapped. “It hurt like hell, but it itches when it grows back so I’ve had to keep shaving it.” He pushed her knees apart again and ran his hand over the velvety seam, watching with great attentiveness as it opened under his touch.

  She squirmed again. “Stop it! You’re embarrassing me.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Okay.” Then his mouth dove between her thighs.

  Her back arched and she could feel her body building up to a fervent pitch. She gasped, clutching the bedcovers, helpless under the powerful sensations unfurling within her.

  He pulled his mouth away. When she raised her head, she saw he was gazing up at her from between her legs and she instinctively started to curl in, to barricade herself from his gaze.

  He spread his hand over her navel, stopping her. “Don’t,” he said.

  “I—I’m embarrassed,” she repeated, whimpering.

  “Why?” he asked, with a touch of incredulity. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He turned his head and bit the flesh of her inner thigh lightly, just enough to tantalize. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathed and his mouth was back between her legs.