AT TEN O’CLOCK, when Mark found himself alone with Zander Freedman, he officially upgraded an amazing evening to the best night of his entire life.
It happened by accident. He’d been on his way back from the bathroom when he’d caught the glow of a cigarette, then spotted a shadowy figure alone on a terrace. “Hey, kid,” Zander called in his distinctive voice, “Do me a favor and bring me another bottle of Scotch.”
Mark didn’t need to be asked twice. “Sure.” Within a minute, he was back with a bottle. Propped against the glass-and-chrome railing, Zander held out his crystal tumbler and, as he started pouring, Mark registered two things simultaneously. Zander was drunk and the cigarette wasn’t tobacco.
“Whoa, careful there, you’re spilling it. You know how much this stuff costs?”
Embarrassed, Mark shook his head. At least the half-moon wasn’t bright enough to reveal his blush. Somewhere close, the sea hissed against the shoreline.
“Me, neither.” Zander’s laugh turned into a cough. “Jeez, this local weed is strong.” Blowing a smoke ring, he studied Mark through the fragrant cloud. “You’re the kid staying at Dev’s, aren’t you? What’s the deal again?”
Mark tried to answer without inhaling. “We’re classmates.”
Zander laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. “Yeah,” he gasped, “that still cracks me up… Hold this for a sec, will you?” Handing over the joint, he wiped his eyes on the tail of his black shirt, then took it back. “I thought the novelty would have worn off by now and he’d be back where he belongs.”
In his excitement, Mark forgot his shyness. “I knew that was why you’re here!”
“Right on the money,” said Zander. “You want some of this?” He held out the joint. Mark wavered, delighted to be asked and reluctant to offend. Having a cop as a dad gave him a healthy respect for consequences. As he hesitated, Zander peered at him through bleary eyes. “Oh, no, you’re a kid. Forget I said that.” He took a long drag, held it in his lungs. “So you and Dev are friends, huh?”
“I like to think so,” Mark said awkwardly. “I play bass and acoustic, too, and Devin’s kinda my mentor.”
“Yeah?” Exhaling, Zander looked at him with real interest. “You must be good then. Dev’s got a great track record of picking talent. In fact, the guy I replaced him with was once his protégé. I’d hoped it would make my little brother jealous but…” Frowning, he tapped the ash off the end of his joint.
“So…you did ask him back?” Mark ventured timidly.
Zander slugged some Scotch before answering. “Didn’t I say that? But on my terms. Devin seems to have forgotten who runs the show. No one has loyalty anymore, kid.” He held out his tumbler for a refill. “Exactly how old are you, anyway? You look about twelve.”
Mark tried not to look insulted as he refilled Zander’s glass. “Seventeen.”
“Older than Dev when we started.” Zander stared into his drink, silent for a moment. “I used to have to protect him, you know. He’s forgotten that.”
“No, I haven’t.” Devin climbed the two steps that separated the paved terrace from the garden. How long had he been there? “Which is why it hurts so much that you’ve been screwing me over. And you shouldn’t be smoking pot in front of a teenager.”
“It’s fine. I mean, he didn’t offer me any,” Mark lied. No, that sounded as if Zander was a tightwad. “Not like I’d ever accept.” He turned back to Zander. “I’m not trying to sound judgmental or anything,” he finished miserably.
The older man laughed. “I like you, kid. You ever need a start in the music business, you come to me. I’ll find something for you. Now scram while I talk sense into my little brother.”
Mark left, grinning from ear to ear.
God, thought Devin tiredly, what I’d give for that naïveté again, that faith. He frowned at his brother. “You’re damn lucky Matthew and Mom have left. The guy’s an ex-cop.”
“I might be reckless, but I’m not stupid.” Zander gestured after Mark. “You were like that kid, wet behind the ears…trying to be cool but so not. Jeez, I must’ve been crazy to let you into the band.”
“You were only twenty yourself,” said Devin, responding to the ache of nostalgia in his brother’s voice. “No more equipped to deal with what happened to us than I was.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” Zander grinned with his old bravado. “I was born to be famous. Yeah. It’s all I ever wanted. And I knew how to brand before the cowboys.” Flinging back his head, he drained the liquor, then hurled the tumbler into the dark, where they heard it shatter against the rock wall. “Shame your alcoholism screwed everything up for us.”
“Drunk, stoned and talking shit as usual.” Devin took the joint from Zander’s nerveless fingers and ground it out under the heel of his boot. “You might have started by taking care of me, but the reins changed hands a long time ago and you know it. The only way my drinking affected the band was when I couldn’t be your buffer anymore, smooth things over with all the people you alienated. That’s the real reason you want me back. That and to bribe your way out of a lawsuit.”
As usual his brother tuned out what he didn’t want to hear. “And to add insult to injury you’re turning on me with this legal crap.” Patting his breast pocket, Zander produced another joint and a lighter. He lit it and the tip glowed red as he sucked on it angrily. “I made you and I made the band. Without me you’d all be nothing.”
Devin leaned against the handrail and folded his arms. “Yeah, so what’s happened since we all left, Zander? If you’re so pivotal, then why are you having to work so damn hard to sell Rage with new band members? But you made me believe that for a lot of years, the bullshit you spun. Like we’d be laughed out of the studios if they thought a sixteen-year-old had cowritten our songs.”
Zander waved a hand. “It was the only way I could force the record label to sit up and take notice. And dammit, you agreed I should take sole writing credit to help us get ahead-”
“I was a kid, Zander.”
“And I’ve been slipping you royalties on those songs for years.”
“But as it turns out,” said Devin softly, “not anywhere near my share.”
Zander turned away, searching for his glass, obviously forgetting he’d smashed it. “You wanted to be famous, you wanted to go where only I could take you,” he said irritably. Giving up on the glass, he took another toke. “Maybe legally you have a case, but morally I deserve the lion’s share of royalties. That’s why you’ve never challenged me before.”
“I never challenged you before because all I cared about was the next drink. Even sober it took a long time to believe you’d screw me over. Dammit, I trusted you.” Anguish threaded his voice. “You were my big brother.”
“I’m still your big brother,” Zander insisted. “I needed the money, Dev, or I’d never have cut back your payments.” He proffered the joint. Devin accepted it to slow Zander down. “This comeback tour is costing me a frickin’ fortune.”
“Is that why you’re considering letting our two biggest hits be used as soundtracks for commercials?”
His brother glanced over sharply. “Dimity told me,” said Devin. “‘Sweet Stuff’ and ‘Summer Daze’ will flog luxury cars and-wait, let’s savor the irony-vodka.”
“They’re my songs to do what I like with.”
“No, Zander, they’re our songs. And I want my name on them as cowriter so I can stop you destroying all we have left-our legacy. I can’t trust you anymore as a custodian.”
“And if I refuse?”
Sorry, Mom. “Then I’ll sue you and you’ll lose the deal, anyway. No one’s going to touch songs in dispute. And I’ll win, Zander, you know I will. I have original music scores, notes about suggested changes.”
“Dev,” his brother’s voice grew petulant, “if you do that then I can’t pay back what I owe you.”
Devin looked down at the joint in his hand. He wanted to stub it out, but that would only prompt Zander to light up another. The habit of looking out for his older brother would probably never die. “I’ll let you off the back payments if you commit to visiting Mom once a year. She misses you…I miss you.” I’ve missed you for ten years or more.
“Then why the hell are you trying to ruin me?”
“This isn’t about you…or me. Some of our songs are anthems-” he remembered what Rachel had called them “-the soundtrack of people’s lives. You want to be proud of something, then be proud of that. You can have Rage, you can promote the illusion that our band was all about you, but you’re not prostituting our musical legacy. I’ll fight for that, Zander. And I’ll fight for your sake as much as mine.”
Devin thought he saw a flash of comprehension, then his brother shook his head. “Still a frickin’ dreamer.” He took the joint from Devin. “Come back,” he said quietly, and Devin knew he understood all too well.
“The magic’s gone, Zand. We’re done.” He laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Move on.”
“I can’t.” Zander looked out to the black horizon, the joint forgotten in his hand. “You’re right, in the end it’s not about the money. What would my life be if I never heard the roar of a full stadium screaming for me? Never again felt that loved? Some addictions can’t be cured.”
This was the first evidence of self-awareness Devin had ever seen. Even Peter Pan, it seemed, eventually had to acknowledge a world beyond Neverland. He tightened his grip on his brother’s shoulder.
Zander straightened, moved away. “I’ll get my lawyers onto it, but it’s my idea. Hell, I need the publicity if this tour’s ever going to get off the ground.”
“And Mom?”
“You weren’t the only reason I came home.”
“Good.”
Zander handed him the joint. “Now if you excuse me, my public awaits.”
Devin could see him take on the rock star’s mantle as he walked away, the shoulders back, the swagger coming into his stride. The rocker grin, the lovable rogue…the self-destructive ego.
He became aware of moisture on his cheeks; it must have started drizzling. But lifting his face, he saw the sky was still clear, brilliant with stars.
AT ELEVEN, Rachel tracked Mark to the lounge, an ostentatious space characterized by strong angles, vaulted ceilings and tubular-chrome-framed black couches, artfully placed on a pale marble floor that echoed with conversations.
He was sitting on the curved steps leading to the private quarters, eavesdropping on a couple of musicians. To her intense relief, Devin was nowhere in sight. “The cab driver’s here,” she said. “Ready to leave?”
He stood. “Let me go get Dev.”
Rachel laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sure he and Zander have a lot to finalize…and they can’t really talk with us around, can they?” As the only person at the party who didn’t want to spend time with Devin, she’d found it easy to evade him. And on the couple of occasions he’d run her to ground, she’d avoided a tête-à-tête by staying close to Mark or Katherine and her fiancé.
She might have accepted that Devin was rejoining Rage-the only topic of conversation for most of the partygoers-but Rachel wanted to perfect her happy face before he told her. From the reaction of the photographer on their arrival, that was going to take a lot more practice. And she couldn’t bear to give Devin even a hint of how much his impending departure hurt.
“Then I’ll just go tell him we’re leaving,” said Mark.
Rachel’s grip tightened on his sleeve. “It’s okay, I told Dimity to…” Her voice trailed off; she stepped closer and took another sniff, then recoiled. That smell. Acrid and unmistakable. “You’ve been smoking marijuana.”
“Shhh! Keep your voice down.” Mark pulled her up the stairs and into the corridor. “I haven’t.”
If anything, the smaller space only intensified the odor. The music faded away, the sound of conversation. Rachel’s gaze telescoped to Mark’s face, taking in each rapid blink, the guilty sideways shift of his eyes. “Who gave it to you?”
Instinctively, he glanced down the corridor toward the back of the house. “Rachel, you’re wrong-”
“Never mind.” Stalking down the hall, she wasn’t surprised to meet Zander coming the other way, a bottle of Scotch in his hand. “If it isn’t Ms. Robinson.”
He reeked of it. Rachel slammed him against the wall. “Did you give Mark a joint?”
Zander gaped at her in surprise, then flung back his head and laughed. And just like that, seventeen years of repressed maternal instincts were released in a tidal wave of anger. She lifted her fist.
Mark grabbed it. “Rachel, no.”
She’d spent the evening feeling sorry for herself when she should have been looking out for her son.
Zander read her expression and sobered. Augmenting Mark’s grip on her fist with his own, he held up his free hand to placate her. “I don’t offer drugs to children.” He gestured outside, beyond the French doors. “Ask Dev. He was with us.”
“No,” she said automatically. “He wouldn’t…” She turned in time to see Devin drop a joint on the stone patio and grind it under his boot. Inarticulate with shock, Rachel put a hand out to the wall to steady herself.
Why wouldn’t he? Because falling in love with him had blinded her to his flaws.
Zander shook his head. “Let me guess…You think you’re the woman to change him?”
Rachel pushed off the wall and he stepped behind her son. “C’mon, Mark, the grown-ups need to fight.” Half staggering, he steered the teenager back toward the party.
Devin was looking at the sky. He glanced her way when Rachel opened the French doors. “This is a nice surprise.” He sounded happy again. Not hard to figure out why. The son of a bitch hadn’t just pulled the wool over her eyes; he’d trussed her up on a spit and slow-roasted her over a burning fire.
“You smoked dope with Mark.” Her voice trembled with fury.
“Whoa, there.” He held up a hand. “Zander smoked. Mark and I were bystanders.”
She gestured to the stubbed joint at his feet, still releasing a coil of telltale smoke. “So, you were just holding it for your brother?”
Devin’s mouth twitched. “Actually, yes.”
His amusement only added fuel to her anger. “You really think I’m that gullible.” Like she didn’t already know the answer to that.
His grin faded. “Heartbreaker, you know me better than that.”
“Do I?” Or had she let herself be beguiled into seeing what was never there?
“Yes. You do.” An edge came into his voice. “I was cleaning up after Zander. Mark didn’t want any, and even if he had, neither of us would have given it to him.” His voice low and persuasive, Devin came closer. So did the smell of weed.
“Even if Mark didn’t smoke, how can you act like it’s okay when the stuff’s illegal? What kind of message is that sending him?”
“If he’s going to have a career in the music industry, the sooner he learns how to resist temptation the better. But he does know.”
But not from her, not from his mother. And tonight she hadn’t protected him. Guilt lacerated her. Teenagers, even sensible ones, made errors of judgment…who understood that better than Rachel? And yet she’d let her feelings for Devin cloud her own judgment. Even when Zander’s arrival rang warning bells she hadn’t taken Mark home. When she should have been looking out for her son’s interests, she’d put romance first.
“This isn’t his world. He shouldn’t be here,” she exclaimed.
“Are we still talking about Mark…or you?”
“Both.” All her anguish, all her self-disgust, went into the next words. “You’re a bad influence.”
His face lost all expression. “Because I don’t hide my past like you do? At least I don’t keep secrets from people I care about.”
“So Zander didn’t ask you to rejoin the band?”
“He did, but I’m not going anywhere, Rachel.”
She tamped down her relief. “It’s no longer important.” It was time she got her priorities straight. “After what just happened with Mark, you’re no longer important.”
She saw him take the hit, his shock, the closure. Like a door slamming on an opportunity she’d never had, merely imagined. “So it was always about Mark.”
She didn’t answer. Everything came back to her son. It always had. And she’d made the mistake of forgetting that for a while. Well, no longer.
Moving toward the house, he paused beside her. She’d never seen such cold contempt. “The last ferry back to Auckland leaves at midnight,” he said. “Take it.”
RACHEL COLLAPSED into a nearby deck chair. Slowly, the noise of the party returned, faint laughter, the underlying bass beat of the music-like the harsh throb of a migraine.
If only she’d trusted her first impression. Instead, she’d let herself be seduced by Devin’s charm, disarmed by his honesty. She buried her face in her hands. How could she have been so naive?
She’d been dazzled by his sex appeal and-Rachel squirmed-by his interest in her. And this time she didn’t have youth as an excuse. She was pathetic. But she was through being pathetic. She’d tell Mark the truth as soon as they had privacy…tell him and accept the consequences.
If Devin doesn’t tell him first.
The thought propelled her to her feet. Oh, God, he was angry enough to. Rachel ran.
Back in the lounge, the music had been cranked up and the lights dimmed for dancing. Rock, loud and discordant, jangled her shattered nerves. Through the shadowy gyrating forms she could see Tim at the door. She’d forgotten all about the taxi driver.
Holding up her fingers, she mouthed, “Five minutes.”
The cabbie jerked his head in consent. But where was Mark?
Hurrying out to the pool, Rachel scanned the surrounding gardens. Party debris was everywhere, some of it human. Shrieking with laughter, two young women frolicked in the pool, expensive gowns ballooning around their legs.
A hand slid down her bare back. “You look hot when you’re mad,” said Zander in her ear, his breath sour with whiskey. He fingered the halter bow of her dress. “One tweak and this unties, right?”
Skin crawling, Rachel stepped away. At least Mark was no longer with him. “You don’t care who you hurt, do you?”
“Devin can take care of himself. In fact, he’s about to do that right now in the spa with a few women. That frees you and me to play.”
From the other side of the swimming pool, Stormy watched them, her beautiful face miserable. “And what about your girlfriend?”
“Stormy knows there’s plenty to go around.” Lazily, Zander ran a thumb down Rachel’s cleavage. “So what do you say, you open to sharing the love?”
She shoved him into the pool and headed for the spa.
“COME ON IN, Devin, the water’s steaming.”
Ignoring the women in the hot tub to his right, Devin stood on the deck overlooking the ocean, letting the wind cool his temper. As soon as the proverbial hit the fan, Rachel had defaulted to what she really believed. That he was irredeemable, an evil influence.
“Yoo-hoo, Devvvin.”
What hurt most was that she didn’t trust him with Mark-the kid he’d helped her bond with, the kid he’d kept her secret from-against his better judgment.
She’d exploited his feelings in order to access her son, and later to manipulate him into keeping his mouth shut. Devin felt used, disgusted. And bitter.
“Devin, are you listening? We want to make room for you.”
Turning his head, he saw Dimity lounging in the spa with a couple of other women-he recognized Zander’s stylist and dietitian-sharing a bottle of Moet.
They were up to their necks in bubbles, inside as well as out. This was the third time his brother’s P.A. had hit on Devin tonight. He was about to shut her down once and for all when Rachel spoke behind him.
“Where’s Mark?”
Devin pivoted. “I told you to go.”
“No more girls,” Dimity called petulantly from the spa. “We want Devin to ourselves.”
“Not without Mark.” Rachel’s anxiety gave her away.
Devin leaned back against the railing. “Worried I’ll tell him?”
“Tell me what?”
Rachel froze, her expression stricken as she held Devin’s gaze. Another painful reminder that she’d never trusted him.
“Dev?” It was natural for Mark to turn to him first. Guilt twisted in Devin’s gut. He was supposed to be the boy’s mentor, his friend, and he’d put a stupid infatuation before that.
Mark stood by the side of the house, exposed to the northerly wind, his borrowed shirt whipping behind his skinny body like a superhero’s cape. His fair hair tangled over his eyes, and he swept it back as he looked past Devin to Rachel.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Rachel said hoarsely.
Devin laughed. Behind him, Rachel murmured, “Please.”
The three women in the hot tub were whispering among themselves. “You can come in, Devin’s friend,” called the dietitian, a skinny blonde. “But only if you bring Devin with you.”
A wet, black bikini top landed with a plop at Mark’s feet. He blushed fiery red, visible even under the outdoor lights. It brought Devin to his senses. However much he despised Rachel right now, he couldn’t tell Mark here.
“We broke up,” he said. “Do me a favor, buddy. Take her back to Auckland.”
Color crept back into her pale face. “Thank you,” she mouthed. Turning away, she hesitated. “I have to clear one thing up. It wasn’t just about…what you thought it was.”
He’d thought it was about love. Devin started unbuttoning his shirt. “Yeah, well, like you said. No longer important.” One benefit of living in the public eye was the ability to pretend you didn’t give a damn. “Make room for me, ladies.”
He kicked off his boots, then unbuckled his belt. Rachel looked from him to the spa, then back again. She seemed unable to move.
Unzipping his jeans, Devin dropped his pants, to whistles of appreciation from the spa, and stood in black briefs. “So, was there anything else?” he inquired impatiently.
“Yes.” Her voice was a whisper. “You don’t fool me.” Leaving him feeling like an idiot, she turned and walked away. When she reached Mark, he put his arm around her shoulder as he glared back at Devin. Tough. The kid would get over it. They disappeared from sight.
A gust of wind made Devin shiver even though it wasn’t cold. Briefly, he closed his eyes, then picked up his clothes and began dressing, his movements tight, economical, verging on vicious.
Heartbreaker. He’d thrown down the challenge and it had come back to haunt him with a vengeance.
“Wait a minute!” Dimity stood up in the spa, her skin as red as an overcooked lobster, her blond hair dripping. “Aren’t you joining us?”
He shook his head. “Sorry, girls. Party’s over.”