Lost For You: Rockstar Romance (Sixth Street Bands Book 4)

by Jayne Frost

  He eased on top of me, his rock-hard erection digging into my thigh.

  “Franklin’s or me?” When I hesitated for a millisecond, a laugh erupted from his chest. “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.”

  After sliding the condom in place, he took my hands and pinned them to the headboard. My back bowed, and he smiled, sucking one nipple into his mouth.

  Wrapping both my wrists in one of his large hands, he kept me immobilized as he moved to the other breast. “Stop squirming.” He bit down on the pebbled peak. “Or no barbecue for you.”

  He slid inside me with one thrust. My fingers throbbed as he tightened his grip. “I missed you,” he growled. “Fuck … I did.”

  Our eyes met, and for a moment I felt a connection so deep it took my breath away. Before I could question it, his mouth was on mine and our tongues collided. His hand snaked between us, and with only the lightest touch to my needy bud, I shattered, taking him along with me.

  “Fuck … fuck … Taryn …” He released my wrists as the spasms wracked his body. “What are you doing to me?” Rolling onto his back, he threw his arm over his face. “I think you’re trying to kill me.”

  Struggling to drag air into my lungs, I nodded. “Yeah, that was intense.”

  Chase propped on his elbow and his smile evaporated. “Jesus, did I hurt you?”

  I stopped rubbing my wrist, which I wasn’t aware I was doing. “No, I didn’t even notice.”

  Entwining our fingers, he brought my wrists to his lips for a kiss. “Just … you know … tell me next time.”

  Tugging his hair, I forced his troubled gaze to mine. “You didn’t hurt me. I would’ve said something. I don’t like pain.”

  The admission rang in my ears. Pain had been my constant companion for five years. An unwelcome guest. And I didn’t feel it as acutely when I was with Chase. But I couldn’t tell him that. Admitting it probably crossed some kind of friendship boundary.

  I was still mulling it over when he returned from the bathroom. He scooped up the bag on his way to the bed. “Let’s see what we have in here.”

  Pulling a piece of brisket out of the Styrofoam container, he took a bite and then groaned. “Damn, this is good.”

  He pulled box after box from the bottomless bag.

  “You know …” he said, feeding me a piece of brisket, “indulging in comfort food can be a sign of sexual frustration.”

  The sheet slipped to my waist when I sat up, staring at my rapidly disappearing dinner. Chase had managed to inhale three ribs to my one.

  “I wouldn’t know since you’re eating all the food.”

  He laughed as he prepared another heaping serving. Propping some pillows behind him, he reclined against the headboard. “There’s plenty, baby. Come here.”

  Since there was no way I could match his pace, I grabbed the plate, growling when he reached for a home fry.

  “Greedy girl.”

  We inhaled the entire contents of the bag in minutes, and then Chase ripped open a towelette, wiping the grease off my fingers. Rolling onto my back, I absently rubbed my belly. “That was so good.”

  Chase dug around in the bag and produced one final treat. “Mmm … pie.”

  Swiping a pillow while he was busy looking for the discarded packet of plastic ware, I shoved it behind my head.

  Placing the container with the pecan pie on my stomach, Chase scooped a bite onto the spoon. The morsel wobbled as he lifted it to my mouth, but it slid off before it reached its target, landing with a plop on my chest.

  Sweeping his tongue over the gooey sweetness, Chase winked. “Now that’s some good fucking pie.”

  I brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, and when he smiled, I knew—he was going to kill me. Break my heart and leave it in a million pieces when this all faded away.

  Chapter 21

  Chase

  I stared at the shadows on the ceiling in Taryn’s loft, the cherry on my cigarette glowing brightly as I took a big puff. I’d given in and bought a pack on my way here. But only after Taryn fell asleep did I feel the need to smoke one.

  She quieted my mind, even as her presence spoke to everything wrong about what I was doing. What I was risking.

  She stirred, snuggling into my side. “This is new,” she mused, taking the butt from my hand. Smiling, she lifted the Marlboro to her lips and took a drag. “Fall off the wagon, did you?”

  And though I knew she was talking about the cigarette, my stomach dropped.

  I threw back the covers. “Nope. But I have to take off. I’ve got an early meeting.”

  Taryn propped on her elbow, and I saw it on her face. The disappointment. “Okay … call me tomorrow.”

  It came out like a question, so I nodded. She dropped back to the pillow and watched me step into my boxers. I stalked to the bathroom, avoiding her gaze and that damn magnetic pull. Loitering as I gathered the rest of my clothes, I took stock of myself in the mirror.

  I needed to spend the night in my own bed. Get my head clear. Wash Taryn’s scent off my skin.

  But I did none of those things. Instead, I grabbed the bottle of Chardonnay from the ledge of the tub and inspected the contents. Half full.

  The crisp, fruity liquid slid down my throat easily, but didn’t provide the courage I desired.

  Go.

  My brain barked the order, but it only took seconds for the alcohol to argue the logic. Shuffling back to Taryn’s bed, I slipped under the covers, keeping my back to her. A small compromise.

  She pressed a kiss to my shoulder. “I thought you were leaving?”

  I am. I was.

  I rolled over, and the tendrils of hair in her face begged for my touch. “You want me to leave?” I tucked a wayward strand behind her ear. “Say the word, baby.”

  She smiled a dreamy smile. “No. I want you to stay.”

  Pulling her forward, my hand slid to her ass. “Why’s that?”

  “Because I want you to make me breakfast in the morning.”

  I traced a finger along the ridge of her spine, cursing my inability to keep my hands to myself for one fucking second. “Is that all you want?”

  Despite the wine fogging my brain, my cock sprang to life when her fingers coiled around my shaft. “No.”

  She gave me a saucy grin, so I pinned her on her back. “You are a greedy girl. Twice in one night.”

  Grabbing a condom from the nightstand, she pressed the foil packet into my hand. “You’re one to talk.”

  She kissed my neck, and any bit of resolve fell by the wayside. I rolled the latex into place and, positioning myself at her entrance, I sank in an inch. “Is this what you want?”

  All you want?

  I pushed all the way in, swallowing the small cry when she moaned. As I moved inside her, it was easy to forget all the things that made this—whatever it was—such a bad idea.

  In the dark, there was nothing but her. The feel of her skin and the sound of her voice. But things that happened in the dark had a funny way of forcing themselves into the light. I knew that better than most, and still, I couldn’t stop myself.

  But then, I never could.

  Chapter 22

  Taryn

  Bright sunshine poured through the window, warming my skin and coaxing me from sleep. My smile fell away as I patted the empty space next to me. I sat up, and looked around with bleary eyes.

  A tray sat on the bench at the foot of my bed, a piece of paper tucked between the cup of coffee and plate of waffles.

  Frowning, I recalled the notes Beckett used to leave strewn around the loft before he’d go on tour. As if his abandoned trail of breadcrumbs and sweet nothings would cushion my fall after they led me off the cliff. And there was always a cliff.

  He’s not Beckett.

  I picked up the lukewarm cup of coffee and stared at the frothy contents. Sweet with extra cream, just the way I liked it.

  Gazing at the note, I took a sip, but before I got the nerve to sneak a peek, my phone shrilled.

&
nbsp; Scrambling to retrieve the device from the pocket of my jeans, I debated answering Tori’s call.

  “Hey, Belle.”

  “Do you know what I’m looking at?” she asked without preamble.

  I picked at the crispy edges of the waffle. “No clue.”

  “A bill from the Omni Hotel, charged to Twin Souls for a four-night stay.”

  Groaning inwardly, I kicked myself for using my corporate American Express card to pay for Harper’s room. “And?”

  When I heard teeth gnashing, I could almost picture the vein bulging in Tori’s neck. “What was she doing here, Taryn? I told you—”

  My guise of serenity crumbled into a cloud of anger. “I didn’t meet her in the office.” Shoving to my feet, I stormed to my desk. “She’s my client, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Our client, apparently, since she’s signed at Twin Souls.”

  Not really, but oh well. I wasn’t going to bother explaining the finer nuances of Harper’s contract to Tori at the moment.

  Yanking open the desk drawer, I searched for my super-secret hidden pack of cigarettes. After sneaking a couple of puffs of Chase’s smoke last night, I was craving a hit. Big time.

  I stopped digging when I pulled out a long-forgotten photo shoved in the back of the drawer. Damaged, Leveraged, Revenged Theory and Drafthouse, all standing below a banner for the Sixth Street Takeover Tour.

  And me, wrapped in Beckett’s arms, with Paige on one side and Tori on the other.

  “Nothing happened between Harper and Dylan.”

  The lie slipped out in a whisper as I closed the drawer.

  Tori sighed. “What’s done is done. I just … I don’t want …”

  To lose anything else.

  Knowing her as well as I did, I could finish the sentence that she never would. But Dylan wasn’t Tori’s to lose, not when she’d never claimed him.

  Sinking onto the bed, I stared out at the wisps of white fluff dotting the blue sky. “There won’t be any publicity. I’ve already told the label the story’s bullshit.”

  After a long moment, Tori cleared her throat. “I saw the article in the Statesman. The one about you and Beckett.”

  My stomach twisted. “Really, it’s out?”

  She hummed. “Yep … this morning.”

  In the end, Beckett’s misguided loyalty wouldn’t do any good. The next time he was spotted with a supermodel or a fangirl, the speculation would start again. The whispers.

  I wonder what happened? I bet it’s Taryn. Poor Beckett.

  I released a staggered breath. “Beckett doesn’t want to be linked to Maddy. So he just …”

  Used me.

  “I don’t think so. He said—”

  I picked up my fork and stabbed at the waffles. “I know what he said. It doesn’t matter. I’ve moved on.”

  “Yeah, he told me about that guy,” Tori said quietly. “Are you still seeing him?”

  Since I’d yet to provide any details, the hurt edging her tone was justified.

  My focus shifted to the note on the tray. “We’re just friends.”

  Friends, at least …

  “Well, you can tell me all about your friend tonight.”

  “What’s happening tonight?”

  “Caged is playing the Parish. They’re down a manager.”

  “I know. I’ve gotten a few emails from Logan Cage. But there’s something … Hold on…” I plucked my iPad from the nightstand and then did a quick search. “Here it is. Their last manager said they were trouble.” Scanning to the end of the article, I rolled my eyes. “Never mind. I know that bitch. She’s the problem. Dylan mentioned them a few months back, but I’ve been too busy to set up a meet.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Sarcasm infused Tori’s tone. “Anyway, I think we should sign them.”

  “Sign them?” I laughed. “That’s not how it works, Belle. You know that. I need to take a look and then—”

  “That’s why I’m asking you to come along. I want to be involved in the vetting from now on.”

  Tori was serious about extracting a little payback for Harper. And I had to wonder if she’d resort to such immature tactics if we hadn’t been friends since kindergarten. But the stakes were higher now. Higher than she realized.

  “So, do you want to go, or what?” Tori pressed.

  A headache threatened, but I willed it away. “Of course, I want to go. What time?”

  “We’ll pick you up at eight.”

  Fuck.

  Dropping my head into my hand, I rubbed my temples. “Who’s ‘we’?”

  “Dylan and Beckett and me.”

  “Why would you invite them, Belle?”

  “Because I want their opinion,” she snapped.

  Since my opinion was the only one that mattered, I needed to remind Tori of that by going along on her little adventure. “Fine. I’ll see you at eight.”

  Ending the call, I tossed the phone on the bed, and since my day couldn’t get worse, I plucked Chase’s note from the tray.

  Taryn,

  Enjoy your breakfast. We’ll talk soon.

  A brushoff …

  I guess a week and a half was the shelf life for a fling. Especially one involving a superstar ex and newspaper articles full of angsty confessions.

  At least he made me breakfast.

  Disappointment swam in my gut as I dropped the note on top of the waffles. I watched the ink run as the butter spread across the paper. And when the scrawl was too opaque to read, I pushed to my feet and shuffled to my closet to choose my suit of armor for the day.

  Chapter 23

  Chase

  The bouncer covering the back door at the Parish leaned against the wall, his heavy boot scuffing the paint. Chuckling as he looked down at his phone, he didn’t notice me until I was on him. Eyes wide, he fumbled to pocket the device.

  “Keep that damn thing out of sight while you’re working,” I barked as I marched past him. “I’m not paying you to watch videos.”

  Ignoring his stammered apology, I kept on walking, the copy of the Statesman burning a hole in my back pocket.

  Once inside my office, I tossed the rag onto my desk and dropped into the chair, glaring at the headline.

  Beckett’s Side: Leveraged Guitarist Sets the Record Straight on Fame, Music, and Taryn.

  Yanking open my bottom drawer, I found the bottle of Jack and poured a liberal amount into my coffee cup before spreading the paper out. I nearly choked on my first sip when I read Beckett’s opening quote.

  “There’s been a lot of rumors going around about my personal life,” Brennin said. “False reports from people who know nothing about me. For the record, Taryn is the only woman in my life.”

  Ignoring the rest of Beckett’s delusional ramblings, I scanned the rest of the print for anything resembling a response from Taryn.

  Ayers has been tightlipped about the status of her relationship with Brennin. It has long been speculated that the two are secretly wed. Though a license was issued in Nevada in 2014, no marriage was ever recorded.

  I chuckled dryly into my next gulp of bourbon.

  Nothing about Taryn’s life was private. Her darkest secrets and deepest pain were out there for anyone with an Internet connection or the price of a newspaper. Something as monumental as a wedding couldn’t be covered up.

  Like a stint in rehab? Having a rock star for a brother? An unfulfilled six-figure record contract?

  The anxiety over my undisclosed past drifted away when I found the only quote ascribed to Taryn at the very end of the piece.

  “When asked for a comment, Ayers simply stated: I love Beckett. Always.”

  I should have been happy. Or at least relieved.

  Every minute I spent with Taryn made it just a little easier to believe that we were something more than casual. But now I had proof that the feeling wasn’t mutual. So there was no reason to risk continuing our little fling.

  Resolved, I downed the rest of my drink and then tossed the newspaper in
the trash on my way out of the office.

  Maria, my back of the house manager, rushed toward me as I made my way to the dressing room.

  “You’ll never believe who’s coming tonight.”

  Distracted, I checked my phone. “No clue.”

  A flush colored her cheeks as she exclaimed, “Dylan Booth, Beckett Brennin, and Tori Grayson! Can you believe it? “

  The world slowed to half speed along with my steps. “Party of three?” I asked, hopeful, because surely, I couldn’t be that unlucky.

  Glancing at her clipboard, she shook her head. “Four.”

  I exhaled a slow breath, mostly to see if there was oxygen in my lungs.

  “Make sure we have security in place.”

  She jotted down a note, her grin still intact. “No worries. Logan asked me to have Zeke keep an eye out. His sister’s here tonight.”

  Shit.

  Against my better judgment, I blew past the dressing room and hit the main floor. The bartender shot me a smile when I slid a hip onto the stool.

  “Shiner?” he asked, dropping a cocktail napkin in front of me.

  “Jack, three fingers. Straight up.”

  As I waited for my drink, my gaze traveled over the crowd to the VIP area, and I glimpsed Laurel and Calista at a small table.

  “Anything else?” The bartender asked, pocketing the ten spot I left for a tip.

  “Nope.”

  Skirting the crowd, I emerged by the stage where Logan was sucking face with a girl in a pink wig. I nudged him as I passed. “Don’t you be making any plans for after the show. Calista’s not taking care of Laurel all night.”

  Logan made eye contact long enough to acknowledge my comment while Pinkie continued to nibble his neck.

  Rolling my eyes, I joined Cameron a few feet away.

  “I thought you were cutting out early tonight?” he said as he tuned his guitar.

  “Changed my mind.”

  When the house lights dimmed, the guys formed their usual huddle to go over the set list. And that’s when I saw the four figures climbing the stairs in the VIP area. Dylan Booth was in the lead, Tori Grayson a step behind. But all my attention was on Beckett’s hand, resting at the small of Taryn’s back as he ushered her to the table. I’d never wanted to break someone’s hand so badly in my life.