Resonance (A Golden Beach Novel) Read online

  Table of Contents

  RESONANCE

  Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  RESONANCE

  A Golden Beach Novel

  KIM LORAINE

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  RESONANCE

  Copyright©2016

  KIM LORAINE

  Cover Design by Ramona Lockwood

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-68291-093-1

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  To:

  My Joely Rich.

  My own personal rock star.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you so much to my family, friends, and everyone who has supported my writing. Soul Mate Publishing continues to help me realize my dream of being an author, and I will always be grateful. Cindy, you’re awesome. Thanks for keeping my writing polished. Ramona, the covers you create are beautiful, thank you.

  And, as always, thank you, Readers.

  Kim

  www.kimlorainewriter.com/newsletter

  [email protected]

  www.facebook.com/kimlorainewriter

  Prologue

  New Year’s Eve

  Garrett Donalson sat on the edge of the small stage in the party room at The Creekside. He watched his best friend’s sister, Valerie, sway in the arms of Donovan Miller. He couldn’t help but smile along with them as they held each other. He and his band had helped get them back together tonight.

  The DJ had taken over for the band, filling the room with classic jazz standards as the countdown to midnight drew closer. A warm feeling of contentment flooded him when he caught sight of Angela, his lead singer, standing at the bar, filling two flutes with champagne. Taking a steadying breath, he forced an easy smile to his lips. He didn’t want his expression to betray the erratic beating of his heart.

  She sauntered over, her face beaming with excitement. “Let’s get drunk, Gare.”

  He couldn’t contain his laugh as he took the offered drink and touched the glass with hers. “Yes, ma’am.”

  She downed the glass in one long swallow and motioned for him to do the same. The bubbles burned his throat and tickled his nose, but he didn’t get a chance to finish the champagne before she took the glasses and set them on the stage. Surprising him, she grabbed his hand and pulled him out on the dance floor.

  “Angie, I don’t dance.”

  “You do tonight. This is our last normal night. After this, we’re rock stars. Let’s make the most of it.”

  His stomach clenched. She was right. Tomorrow they left for a different life. The life their band, Panic Station, had been working for over the last twelve years. A record deal, and a tour with one of the biggest bands in the world. After tonight, everything would change.

  She pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and curling her fingers in the ends of his hair. What was she doing? Against his will, his body instantly hardened at her touch. He could smell more than champagne on her breath—whisky maybe.

  “Are you already drunk?”

  She grinned, a mischievous look on her face as she held up a flask. “Might be.”

  Needing to loosen his own inhibitions, he took the silver container and tipped it to his lips, appreciating the burn of good whisky as it slipped down his throat and warmed his belly.

  The music stopped and the crowd started counting down the seconds until midnight, until the new year.

  Ten . . .

  Her eyes met his.

  Nine . . .

  She pulled his face closer and whispered, “Take me home. Take me to bed.”

  Eight . . .

  His heart thudded against his chest as her lips brushed his ear.

  Seven . . .

  Her teeth grazed his earlobe, sending tingles through his body. He couldn’t move.

  Six . . .

  “I want you, Gare. It was always you.”

  Five . . .

  Desperate to believe her words, to feel the truth in her body, he pressed her tightly to him. Could this finally be happening? Knowing the risks, hoping he was wrong, he had to take the chance.

  Four . . .

  She took his face in her hands and locked eyes with him again.

  Three . . .

  “Kiss me,” she demanded.

  Two . . .

  Fire raced through him as he pressed his lips to hers in a heated rush.

  One . . .

  The crowd erupted into cheers and confetti fell through the air, raining down around them. Garrett didn’t care. He held onto Angela—the woman he’d wanted for twelve long years. He held on to her for dear life, grasping at the words she’d murmured in a drunken haze as if they were his lifeline.

  “It was always you.”

  Chapter 1

  Bright sunlight sliced through Ange
la Peters’ head like a butcher knife, bringing with it the memories of alcohol—lots of alcohol—kisses at midnight, and warm hands on her skin. She lay in her bed, fighting the nausea that rolled her stomach. Her head pounded, her tongue sat in her mouth like a sticky, dry lump. Eyes closed and breathing steadily through her nose, she tried to will away the idea of vomiting.

  Why, why, why? New Year’s Eve, you son of a bitch. She pried one eye open to survey the damage. No doubt there was a sexy man in her bed that she’d need to kick out before he got too comfortable. As if on cue, the man in question groaned and turned over to face her. A tumble of all too familiar, unkempt raven curls fell in his face and her stomach lurched.

  “Oh, fuck!” She bolted from the bed, narrowly missing the doorframe as she threw herself to the bathroom floor, hovered over the toilet, and the hangover won the first round of the morning.

  She vomited spectacularly, over and over, until she thought her head was going to explode. A cold sweat covered her bare skin. She reached up to flush and realized a gentle hand was rubbing her back.

  “Done?” Garrett Donalson’s dark eyes connected with hers through the haze of her hangover.

  She nodded and rose on shaky legs, suddenly keenly aware of her nakedness.

  Garrett’s gaze was guarded as he handed her a small glass of water and a few aspirin, a slight smirk turning up his lips.

  Feeling his eyes on her, she muttered, “I need a towel or a robe or something.”

  He grinned as if to say, I’ve seen it all already, and snatched her soft gray robe off the hook on the door. As she shrugged the fabric over her shoulders, panic seeped into her consciousness. She felt like she’d been hit by a truck, dragged behind it a few miles, then run over, but she knew that having Garrett in her bed was worse than any hangover she could ever experience.

  He was so much more than a one-night stand. Garrett was the drummer for their band. He was her best friend, her songwriter, the one who shouldered all of her issues. This was everything they’d always promised they wouldn’t do.

  “Come on. You have any bread? I’ll make us some toast.”

  The idea of food made her stomach churn.

  “Ugh, no. No food.”

  He sat next to her as she lay, pathetic, on the bed. He ran his fingers through her hair and smiled.

  “You need something to soak up the alcohol.”

  “That’s not true, you know. If you wanted to help me, you should have fed me before I started drinking.”

  “Well, either way, we’re leaving tonight for the tour, and I’m not loading everything up myself.”

  She rolled her eyes and grumbled, “Chivalry is dead, apparently. And why aren’t you puking your guts out? You were just as drunk as me last night.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “I wasn’t that drunk. Besides, you know I’m not a puker. My head hurts like a mother fucker, though.”

  She grinned. Hopefully there was some kind of explanation for her being naked in bed with him that didn’t involve sex. Maybe things didn’t go that far. Maybe he just took care of me and slipped into bed to sleep. A flash of Garrett’s hands roaming her body, lips teasing and tasting her skin, assaulted her senses, and she bit back a moan.

  Well, shit!

  After a cup of coffee, about a gallon of water, and a few bites of toast, Angela felt better. She stood in the shower, washing off the grime of alcohol and grimaced as the morning’s stilted conversation replayed in her head. Garrett stared at her with intense eyes, as she consistently avoided the subject of their night together. He’d brushed her shoulder on his way around the table and she’d flinched away from him so quickly he dropped his glass and it shattered across the floor. The hurt she saw on his face covered her in a thick layer of guilt.

  As she massaged shampoo into her hair, she felt the unwelcome swell of tears rise up. For a long time, Garrett had been the guy she refused to think of as a lover. No matter the chemistry between them, the band was more important. When they’d first started Panic Station there’d been a spark, but they’d made a pact. There would be no dating between bandmates.

  There had been so many times over the last twelve years of their friendship when it would’ve been easy to cross the line, but aside from one slip-up years before, the pact had always put a stop to it. Why had she been so stupid this time, right before they got their big break?

  A knock on the door made her jump and drop the heavy glass bottle of body wash on her toe. Pain raced up her foot and she cried out in frustrated agony. She bit back a curse as the pain radiated and throbbed.

  “Angie, you okay in there?” Garrett called through the closed door.

  “Yeah, fine.” Her voice was embarrassingly high pitched.

  “Did you drop something? I heard a crash.”

  “I’ll be out in a second.”

  Thankfully, he didn’t push any further. She surveyed her toe and saw it was darkening and swelling already. Great, it’s probably broken. Awesome. As she stepped out of the shower, she grabbed a towel and hobbled across the tiled floor. The warmth of the humid bathroom escaped in a rush of steam as she opened the door and stepped into the chill of her poorly heated bedroom. January brought with it a new year, but it also led to bitter cold mornings. Shivering in her towel, she hopped across her room to gather some clothes.

  “What are you doing? Why are you hopping?” Garrett’s voice was amused and she couldn’t help feeling a stab of lust low in her belly at the sexy rumble of his words.

  “I dropped a stupid body wash bottle on my toe. I think it’s broken.”

  She rifled through her drawers, collecting a pair of panties, a bra, and the most comfy and unattractive clothes she could find.

  “Let me see.”

  She rolled her neck from side to side as she contemplated how to handle the situation. “I’m okay.”

  “Sit down, Angie.”

  “Can I at least get dressed first?” She was embarrassed by the whine in her tone.

  He cocked one jet-black brow at her. “Go ahead.”

  He stood, looking her up and down in her towel with damp hair dripping down her back.

  “Turn around,” she ordered, the pain in her foot making the idea of crossing the room again unbearable.

  He shrugged and turned as she fumbled with her clothes, losing her balance while putting on her underwear and crashing to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

  “Dammit!” she cursed.

  He was there before she could stop him, hoisting her up and helping her to the bed. She blushed as his eyes drifted over her naked skin, but he quickly covered her in the towel she’d dropped and started examining her toe.

  It was her pinkie toe, the one she’d broken three or four times in her lifetime. She was always stubbing it on table legs, chairs, doorframes, or any other seemingly harmless object.

  “Oh, yeah. Looks broken, again.” He frowned as he gingerly palpated the skin, now a mottled purple and swollen. “Ice and tape?”

  He knew the drill. Garrett had been around for most of her injuries. To say she was clumsy would be an understatement. She’d been banned from carrying any of the band’s fragile gear after she tried to walk through a doorway with one of their amps. Cringing, she recalled the sound of the expensive piece of equipment as it crashed down a flight of stairs.

  While he procured the first aid kit, she slipped on a long-sleeved T-shirt with a faded picture of The Beatles’ Rubber Soul album cover on the front.

  Garrett returned and covered her toe in a baggie of ice while he prepped the tape. When she winced at the pressure, he raised his dark eyes to her. “You good?”

  Nodding, she held her breath as he gently taped her pinkie toe to its trusty neighbor.

  He shook his head solemnly. “One day this poor thing is going to ju
st fall off.”

  A heated flush crept up her cheeks. She’d thought the same thing many times before. “It feels like it might right now.”

  He dropped his head and placed a light kiss on her foot. Tingles ran up her spine at the feel of his lips on her skin, and she felt him grin at her sharp intake of breath. He lingered, his hand sliding up her bare leg. Oh, God, that feels so good. I shouldn’t be doing this. Gentle patterns, traced around her knee and inner thigh, sent her into a spiral of sensations and conflicted emotions before she gave in to her baser instincts. Fuck it. At least if I do it again I’ll actually remember.

  Soon, his hand was gone but his mouth had taken its place as he made his way up her legs. Moving onto his knees, he pressed her down on the bed, sliding his body over her. He pressed his lips to hers in a heated kiss that ignited a passion she’d been dampening for years.

  “We shouldn’t do this, but God I want it,” he murmured against her mouth.

  She wanted it, too; wanted him to continue his attentions, to sate her lust, and calm the storm inside her. Snaking her hands down the planes of his chest, she pulled at his shirt, wanting to feel his skin under her fingers. He rose and slipped out of the thin T-shirt revealing tattoos scattered over his ribs, collarbone, and pectorals. He felt as good as she’d imagined after all the stolen looks she’d taken any time he removed his shirt during practices. The way his muscles moved the intricate script over his heart was mesmerizing.

  Heart beating in her throat, she let out a gasp as his fingers pushed past her thin cotton panties and brushed against the tender flesh that lay hidden. Pleasure rocketed through her, causing her back to arch and press against him. He removed his fingers, leaving her wanting, but not for long. In one deft movement, he lifted her shirt over her head, then trailed heated kisses down her neck and to her breasts.