Resonance (A Golden Beach Novel)

by Kim Loraine

  He fidgeted with the braided leather bracelet on his right wrist before answering.

  “No. This is yours. It needs to stay that way.”

  “It’s not mine. It’s ours. It’s the band’s. This is huge for us.”

  He sighed and continued twisting and twirling the leather. “Show me when you finish, okay? You’re a great writer. I want to see what you can do.”

  Her heart was still heavy, but hope burned at his words. Though things were still strained, he wasn’t washing his hands of her, and despite his posturing, she could see the hurt in his eyes. She needed to give him some space, time to heal the damage they’d done to their friendship. Six weeks on tour was going to make that a pretty tall order.

  “All right. I’ll see you later?”

  He grinned, a ghost of his easy-going nature returning. “You know it. I’m pretty hard to get rid of.”

  As she walked away, she turned once to look at him over her shoulder. He was the same man he’d always been but she couldn’t stop the wave of need that cascaded over her as she took in his perpetual five o’clock shadow, chin length ebony curls, and intense expression.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Chapter 5

  Six years earlier

  “Senior prom. I can’t believe my baby girl is going to senior prom alone.” Angela’s mother fussed over her as she took pictures and frowned. “Why isn’t that Damon boy taking you?”

  “We broke up two months ago, Mom. Besides, I’m playing for part of the night. I probably won’t get to do much dancing.”

  “Right, he wasn’t for you anyway. I’m sure you can get Garrett to at least take pictures with you.”

  Angela rolled her eyes and tugged up the neckline of her dress. It was beautiful. A strapless, deep red gown with a sequined belt and a trumpet skirt. Her blond hair was pulled to one side and set in waves that made her look like a film star from the forties.

  “You’re such a beauty.” Her mom laid a hand over her cheek and smiled lovingly.

  Tears threatened to fill Angela’s eyes at the gesture. Since the accident that had killed her little brother, Simon, her mom had been more ready with her affection—almost stifling with her need to keep her remaining children close.

  The doorbell rang, surprising her. They weren’t expecting anyone. Valerie was on vacation with her boyfriend, Blake, after finishing her second year of college, and the boys were home.

  “Where’s our beautiful prom date?” Parker’s voice made her smile.

  “What are you guys doing here?” she asked as both Parker and Garrett came into the living room.

  “You boys look so handsome.” Her mom was staring at Garrett in particular, a bright smile on her face.

  “Thanks, Mom.” Garrett hugged her tightly and walked over to where Angela stood.

  He looked good. Too good. Angela pushed away the feelings she’d buried since they’d made their pact and forced herself to remain focused on their goal. No distractions.

  “You look beautiful,” he murmured as he enveloped her in a soft embrace.

  “You, too. You guys clean up nice.”

  Parker strutted across the room like Mick Jagger and presented her with a corsage. “For the lady.”

  “Thanks.” She took in the calla lily in the plastic box and grinned. “A wrist corsage. Afraid of boobs, Parker?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I got you one, too.” Garrett handed her a second corsage. This one a mixture of dark roses and orchids. “It’s a pin.”

  “Oh.” She was breathless as he carefully pinned it onto her dress. His fingers brushed the skin just below her collarbone, sending waves of something akin to lust through her.

  When he finished, his onyx eyes locked onto hers and she knew he felt the same way. Heat arched between them but he cleared his throat and looked away.

  “Okay, let’s get a picture of you three,” her mom crooned, breaking the tension.

  They stood in the entryway, posing as couples and a trio for the hundred or more pictures her mom took before heading out to the limo Parker had rented.

  “A limo?” she asked.

  “We’ve got to get used to riding in style. One day, we’re going to be so fucking famous we’ll be sick of riding in limos.”

  “I doubt it,” Garrett bit out, his tone annoyed.

  “Which part?” she asked.

  “All of it.”

  “Damn, who pissed in your cereal?” Parker frowned at him.

  Garrett shifted in his seat and looked out the window. His knee was pressed against hers, and she couldn’t help but feel a zing of electricity where he touched her.

  “Do you really think we’re going to make it? We’re here stuck playing the same gigs over and over to the same crowd of people.” His voice held a note of defeat as he maintained a steadfast gaze outside.

  “Garrett’s right. We’ve got to branch out if we want to get noticed. Maybe we can book a tour this summer. We could spend a few weeks going up and down the coast.” Angela suggested. The idea of touring was exciting. She’d been hoping for a graduation trip and touring sounded perfect.

  Garrett turned to face her, eyebrows raised at her suggestion. “You’d want to do that?”

  “Of course. We’ve got a great set. A kick ass demo. We could make lots of copies and sell them after the shows. I’ve been researching since spring break.”

  “My dad has a big ass van we can use.” Parker grinned when he realized Angela had turned the tables on Garrett, pulling him from the edge of giving up.

  Garrett’s face broke into a smile. “So you guys want to tour?”

  “Hell, yes,” Parker said.

  “Yeah.” Angela couldn’t contain her elation. This was what they all needed. This would be the beginning of Panic Station’s rise to the top. She could feel it.

  Chapter 6

  Angela shifted from one foot to the other while the elevator descended. Her broken toe still ached, but it was a dull pain, and she was so used to being injured she’d almost forgotten it. That was until she made the mistake of putting on the sky-high leopard print heels that went with the sexy red dress she’d found in her hotel room this morning. Marcus had said hot. Her wardrobe typically consisted of skinny jeans, band T-shirts, and converse tennis shoes. Comfortable, easy to perform in. Skin-tight, cleavage-baring clothes were the opposite in every way.

  As she gave herself the once-over in the mirrored doors, she grinned at the sexy rockabilly style she sported. It wasn’t all bad. She had to admit she looked good. Knowing the press would be party to this meeting, she’d added fire engine red lipstick to finish off the look and felt confident, but not entirely herself. Nerves had her tugging at the dress.

  This is what you’ll have to deal with all the time. Suck it up. The elevator doors opened and she clutched her lyric book to her chest protectively. Heart hammering, she walked carefully to the bar, where she was stopped in her tracks by a hostess.

  “I’m sorry, Miss. The bar is closed for a private gathering.”

  “I’m here to meet with Aiden Boyd. He’s expecting me.”

  The hostess looked her up and down and arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “My name is Angela Peters. I’m supposed to meet him here at one o’clock and you are making me late.” Barely contained anger bubbled to the surface of her words.

  “I’m sorry. The bar is closed to outside guests.”

  Angela pulled her phone out and dialed, fury rising.

  “Hello?” Aiden answered, amusement coloring his tone.

  “Aiden, I’m here to meet you and the hostess won’t let me in.”

  He appeared behind the hostess looking every inch the rock star in his tight jea
ns and white T-shirt. Mirth glowed in his eyes as he tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Excuse me,” he glanced at her nametag and shot her a ridiculously sexy grin, “Mandy. Angela should be on the list. She’s with me.”

  Mandy turned a few shades of red as she looked down at the list and back to Aiden. “She’s not . . . her name’s not here.”

  “Must’ve been an oversight. Thanks for your help.” He reached out and took Angela by the hand, linking their fingers. He whispered, “Play along,” in her ear as she moved to free her hand. He pulled her close and gazed into her eyes, laying it on thick for Mandy’s benefit.

  “Hey, baby doll,” he murmured as he dropped a kiss on her lips.

  A thrill raced up her spine. “Hey.”

  Aiden placed his palm over the small of her back and guided her to a table in the center of the bar. She looked back at Mandy who stood, mouth agape, watching. Angela threw her a quick wave and snickered as Mandy averted her eyes.

  “That was a little mean, Aiden,” she scolded, only half-heartedly.

  He shrugged. “She’s been trying to get my attention since last night. Now she knows better.”

  “Last night was fun. Thanks.”

  “I’m really glad you guys are on our tour. I wish your drummer would’ve joined us.”

  Aiden waved the bartender over and ordered himself an iced tea. He gave her a questioning look.

  “Uh, I’ll have the same, thanks.” This was like an awkward first date. She was suddenly even more uncomfortable in her dress and heels, and she shifted in her seat, plucking at the hem of the dress.

  “You look fantastic.” He dragged his gaze up her body and landed on her eyes.

  The answering heat of a blush was uncontrollable and mortifying. She didn’t do embarrassed subtly; she blushed to the roots of her hair almost immediately, every single time.

  He chuckled and leaned toward her. “So, I’m sure Marcus let you in on what I want to do.”

  She nodded, taking a sip of her tea to help ease the dryness of her throat as he continued.

  “I’ve got some stuff I’ve been playing around with, but I want to see what you can bring to the table. You’ve got a fresh writing style and such a unique voice.”

  Pulling out her tattered lyric book, she thumbed through the pages until she found the two songs she’d been working on most recently.

  “This one, it’s a ballad. I’m not finished yet, but—”

  He banged his hands on the table. “Yes! I think a ballad is just what we need. I want this to be big, Angela. I’m talking, most romantic song of the year. I think we can do that.” His genuine passion for music startled her as he spoke.

  Her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest at any moment. Aiden wanted to write a smash hit song with her.

  “Yeah, that . . . that would be good.” She could have kicked herself. She sounded like an idiot.

  He took her book from her hands and started looking through it. Her chest tightened. The only person who’d ever done that was Garrett, and even then it was only once. She watched him as he read her most personal poems, thoughts, fragments of consciousness. His face changed as he settled on one specific page.

  “This. This is amazing.” He locked eyes with her and pushed the open book to her.

  As she read through the familiar words she’d written with Donovan, just a month before, she smiled.

  “I wrote that with my good friend. I’ll need to check with him.”

  Aiden nodded and rose. “Come on, let’s hear it. Check with him and see if he minds me writing my own lyrics.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My suite. You okay with using my guitar?”

  As she followed him out the back entrance of the bar, anticipation fluttered in her belly. She was going to Aiden Boyd’s hotel room.

  Opulent would be the word Angela used to describe Aiden’s suite in future conversations. Plush carpet filled the sitting room, upon which were placed tufted chairs and a chaise lounge. The windows were dressed in damask curtains striped in rich peridot and gold.

  “This room is bigger than my whole apartment.” She was beside herself.

  Aiden shrugged it off. “We spend most of our time on the bus in the tiny coffin bunks. When we’re settled for a few days I want to spread out, enjoy my space.”

  “Coffins?”

  His face lit up with a wide smile. “Oh yeah, this is your first time out. Wait until you see the bunks. No matter how famous you get, those bunks seem to stay the same size. It’s like sleeping on a submarine.”

  She cocked a brow at him. “Have you ever slept on a sub?”

  Surprisingly, his cheeks turned pink. “Well, no. But that’s what I’ve heard.”

  Laughing, she felt herself begin to loosen up and get more comfortable with him.

  “Anyway, I didn’t bring you up here to talk about the bus. You’ll figure that one out as soon as we’re on the road. Let’s get started on writing some music,” Aiden said, grabbing a guitar in each hand. “So, who’s the guy you wrote this song with?”

  “Donovan Miller. He’s a firefighter in my hometown.”

  He arched an eyebrow and bit his lower lip. “A songwriting firefighter? Man, I don’t even think rock star can compete with that. You sure he’s just a friend?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s probably going to be my brother-in-law before long. He and my older sister are ridiculously in love.”

  He handed her one of the guitars. She gasped as she recognized the brand immediately. This beautiful and super expensive instrument was handcrafted in Ireland. And Aiden just sat back on the couch, as if he hadn’t handed her a priceless instrument. She joined him and turned the guitar over, inspecting the rosewood inlay and rich cedar top.

  “This is . . . there’s only been like a hundred of these ever made,” she marveled.

  “Yeah. I picked it up a few years ago in Ireland. I met with the luthier myself and had him custom make it for me. See, my signature is inlaid in the fretboard with abalone.” He directed her attention to the scrawled signature embedded in the ebony. The shell caught the light and changed colors, giving it an ethereal appearance.

  “This is amazing.”

  “It plays great. Give it a try. I know you’ve got the chops.”

  She strummed the strings timidly, just a few basic chords, afraid to mess up in front of a multi-Grammy award winner. Even the few, sweet notes filled the room with magic.

  “Come on, don’t be shy. I’ve heard your stuff.”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pretending she was in Garrett’s living room, working with him, at ease and confident. Her fingers picked at the strings, beginning the complicated, classical style intro to the song she and Donovan had written. As she started singing her lyrics, the rest of the world fell away. By the time the last chords of the song faded, she felt lighter, more comfortable.

  Aiden let out a soft chuckle and she opened her eyes, fear and embarrassment overtaking her euphoria from moments earlier.

  “You are going to be the death of me, Angela Peters. I’m pretty sure you’re gonna steal the show right out from under me.”

  “You liked it?” Relief flooded her. This was her shot.

  “Liked it? I fucking loved it. It made me want to be the man you were singing about.”

  Her stomach flipped.

  “I don’t think it’s right for us, though.” He started fiddling with the guitar in his hands.

  “No?”

  He shook his head. “We need something that’s just us. No other influences. You okay with that? It means we’ll be working closely for the next few weeks between shows.”

  “Oh, um, okay. Yeah, I’m fine with that.”

  “Great.” He
stood and took the one-of-a-kind guitar from her. Then he grinned. It was the grin. The one that said, I’m trouble and you’re about to experience it.

  An alarm chirped on his phone causing him to break eye contact. “I’ve got to get ready before sound check. I’ll walk you out.”

  She rose and her ankle rolled in the damn heels, throwing her straight into his arms. The guitar fell to the floor and he caught her. Her breasts pressed against his torso and she cursed the thin fabric because she was sure her proximity to him had her nipples standing at attention. A shiver ran through her and an unwelcome twinge of guilt accompanied it. He pulled her upright and closer to him. His breath was harsh in her ear as his lips passed over the lobe.

  “Not yet,” he whispered.

  Moments later, she was in the elevator, treacherous shoes in hand. Her heart beat hard against her ribcage, and as she looked at herself in the mirrored doors, she barely recognized the woman looking back.

  Chapter 7

  Three days into the tour and Garrett was wound tighter than a snare drum head. He and Angela barely saw each other aside from sound check and show time. The tension between them, unnatural and awkward, made his chest ache. Things had never been this way between them. Never. He hated it. When she wasn’t doing yoga with the guys from Violet Hour, she was off with Aiden, writing and doing God knows what else. He shuddered at the thought.

  Why did things have to change? Sure, he’d felt that niggling worm of jealousy throughout the years when she’d take a guy home from one of their gigs. He was protective of her. She was special. But he’d never been blindsided by this sense of panic. Aiden was going to chew her up and spit her out. Either that, or he’d fall in love with her.