Down To You: Rockstar Romance (Sixth Street Bands Book 5)

by Jayne Frost

  With a resigned sigh, I returned to the bedroom. And once I was safely tucked inside a loose-fitting T-shirt, I picked up my phone so I could text Logan.

  I’m tired. I think I’m going to turn in early. Raincheck on dinner?

  My thumb hovered over the send button. What was my deal? It was only dinner. But even I didn’t believe that. My insides were only as strong as the seams that held me together. And tonight I couldn’t bear to count the stitches. So I sent the message.

  Chewing my lip, I glanced over at my backpack and thought seriously about taking a sleeping pill. Before I could act on the impulse, a loud knock threatened to bring down the walls.

  “Victoria!”

  With a groan, I climbed out of bed. Once I made it downstairs, I plastered on a tight smile and opened the door. “Hey.”

  “What’s the matter?” Concern threaded Logan’s tone as he pushed his way inside. “Are you in pain?”

  Surprise parted my lips as his fingers sunk into my hair. Tipping my chin with his thumb, his gaze roamed all over my face as if he could figure out the answer for himself. And maybe he could.

  Shaking my head, I placed my palms flat on his chest. “I’m not in pain.”

  “What is it then?”

  I couldn’t think with him so close, so I stepped to the side, but he shadowed the move.

  “This … us … it isn’t a good idea,” I said to his throat, since looking into those baby blues would only weaken my resolve. “I don’t do one-night stands.”

  I cringed at the silence that followed my declaration. What if all Logan had in mind was a meal?

  Reluctantly, I looked up and found him smiling. A wicked smile that made my blood heat and my heart pound.

  Breathe.

  Coiling a strand of my hair around his finger, he tipped forward like he was about to share a secret. “No worries, princess. We’ve got a couple months left on the tour. I’m sure I could pencil you in for a repeat.”

  Rocked from the force of his words, I tried to keep my expression neutral. I guess I didn’t do a very good job because he cocked his head.

  “That was a joke,” he said, but I wasn’t sure if he believed it.

  I sure didn’t.

  This time when I made a move to scoot around him, he didn’t stop me.

  “It wasn’t funny,” I shot back as I climbed the stairs.

  By the time I reached the landing, Logan was right behind me. “Come on, it was a little funny.”

  Ignoring him, I crawled onto the bed and focused on the television, hoping he’d take the hint and leave.

  Scratching his head, he looked around at the mess I’d made. “What happened in here?”

  “Wardrobe malfunction.”

  Pushing aside some of the piles of clothes, he plopped down in front of me and reclined on his elbow. “So, besides your aversion to one-night stands, what else makes this such a bad thing?”

  Since he was blocking my view, I had no choice but to look at him. “I’m not your type.”

  Sadly, it was true. But then, I didn’t think I was anybody’s type.

  He thought about it for a moment. “Fair enough. I don’t usually go for the stick up your ass kind of girl.”

  Before we started hanging out, these kinds of barbs were commonplace. Now they just hurt. And I was over it.

  “If that’s the case, why the fuck did you come over here to begin with?” As my anger spilled over, my voice rose, and he sat up, surprised. But I didn’t stop. “I’m trying to give you an out! Why don’t you take it?”

  In the blink of an eye, I was flat on my back, Logan straddling my hips. Planting his hands on either side of my head, he tipped forward. “Who says I want an out?”

  “You would, if you knew … if you saw …” I closed my eyes. “My body … it’s …”

  Scarred. Damaged. Broken.

  Easing on top of me, he ran his nose along my jaw. “Show me.”

  “Show you what?”

  “You.”

  I wasn’t sure Tori was aware she was rocking under me. That all of her soft was pressing against my hard with each tiny motion of her hips. “I can’t show you,” she said. “But maybe if you felt them. Then you’d understand.”

  She made a noise like clearing her throat, but not. More like she was choking on her words. Doubt etched her features, all consuming.

  I nodded, afraid if I said anything, I’d screw it up, this gift she was giving me. Because that’s what it felt like. A gift.

  “Roll over,” she whispered hoarsely.

  I did as she asked, and she flicked off the light, plunging the room into darkness. My eyes adjusted quickly, thanks to the moonlight pouring in through the windows. The sky was big here, the stars bright.

  Tori climbed on top of me, thighs molding my ribs. I could see the outline of her heart shaped face. And the silhouette of her body. She was so small, not larger than life like she appeared in the daylight. And so fucking soft.

  “Give me your hand,” she said, voice quaking.

  My cock pulsed beneath my zipper when she guided me under her T-shirt. With second base so close, I resisted the urge to sprint. Patience. I prayed for it as we inched closer to her perfect tits. But she stopped just short.

  “Do you feel that?” she asked.

  Loosening her grip, she let me explore. Two fingers skated over a thick ridge that spanned—seven inches? Eight? And suddenly I stopped thinking about the warmth between her thighs.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I continued to stroke her skin. “What’s it from?”

  Idiot. I knew what it was from.

  Before I could amend the question to something more specific, Tori said. “That’s where they removed my spleen during the initial surgery.”

  After a moment, her hand was on mine again, and lower we went, just past the curve of her waist. She flattened my palm, her hand covering mine. Holding. Pausing. “I told you about all the damage to my hip. This is … everything.”

  With some hesitation, my thumb glided across the braided rope that spanned … Jesus. The scar ran from front to back in an arc, starting just above her mound and ending on her ass cheek.

  “You’ve seen my back and my thigh,” she said, voice dull.

  And on cue, her hand found mine again, and she guided the exploration to the uneven patch of skin on her leg that I’d felt many times during our stretching sessions.

  I could see her eyes now, faintly shining in the near darkness.

  My palm glided over the art on her back, past her shoulder, and into the raven curtain of silk. Cupping her nape, my thumb stroked the little notch on her neck. “Victoria …”

  “There’s one more.”

  She inched two of my fingers to the base of her skull.

  “I don’t feel anything,” I said, my voice gravel.

  She gathered her hair in her free hand. “They inserted a stent to keep the swelling down in my brain. There’s a groove.”

  My fingers sank into the little divot, and she let her head fall forward. We stayed like that for a long moment while I took it all in. I think she expected me to bolt.

  Instead, I gently pulled her against me. “You scared me for a minute, baby,” I said. “I thought you were going to show me something really bad.”

  It was bad. We both knew it. But it was also her. And that made it beautiful. She searched my face, eyes roaming over me in the darkness. And then her lips parted, and I stole her words, and her breath. My tongue dipped inside her mouth, dancing with hers like a long-lost partner. And fuck, she was sweet.

  Tori broke our connection when my hand moved to her waist. “I’ve only been with one man. I’m not sure if I can … if I’m …”

  “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  The wet spot on my jeans begged to differ, but that was her body. I wanted more. I wanted it all. So I twisted a lock of her hair around my finger and gave her a smile. “There are other things we can do.”

  She tilted her he
ad, so innocent. “Like?”

  Rolling her onto her back, I pressed a kiss to her mouth. “Since you taste like a cookie,” I nipped her jaw, “I thought I might eat you.”

  Her hands slid into my hair, and I knew … she wanted this. Maybe not all of it. Not yet. And that was okay.

  Working my way to her breast, I scored my teeth over the pebbled peak through her T-shirt. Her back bowed … and the noises she made. Fuck. Continuing my trek, I went down and down. When I passed the target, her fingers gripped my hair so tight, I winced. And that said a lot, since I didn’t mind a little pain.

  I sank my teeth into the flesh of her inner thigh, and she moaned louder. “Lo.”

  Peering up, I hoped to find her eyes. But she was gone. Lost in pleasure. And I hadn’t even started yet.

  Six years.

  I tried to take it slow, but when her hips came off the bed, I lost the battle. Her panties came apart in my hand, the delicate seams ripping as I tore them off. Her knees fell open in offering, and I couldn’t resist. My tongue slid between her folds, and there was nothing but her sweet taste and her whispered words.

  “Yes,” and “more,” and, “please.” And then my name. “Logan. Logan. Logan.”

  When I knew she couldn’t take much more, I slid a finger into her pussy. She gasped, her walls tightening around me. I felt the storm gathering at the base of my spine, but this was about her and not me, so I ignored the ache and continued to suck her sweet bud.

  Adding another finger, I gazed up and found her staring at me. And it was so fucking hot.

  “Come,” I whispered against her slick heat.

  And she did.

  29

  When I woke the next morning, I was alone. Like, really alone. There was no moment of disorientation. No fog. Just an empty bed and the lingering scent of Logan on my skin.

  I didn’t have much—or any—dating experience, but I was pretty sure that riding someone’s face into five mind blowing orgasms, then rolling over and passing out without returning the favor was a breach of etiquette.

  Groaning, I sat up, grinding the heel of my palm into my eye.

  This was bad. So bad.

  Out of habit, I reached for my phone to call Taryn. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Because I knew that any sentence that began with “I almost slept with Logan Cage” would end with her at my door. And probably Chase too.

  And for what?

  Logan had done nothing wrong. I’d told him I didn’t do one-night stands, and he’d assured me that he was down for a repeat. But he never offered to spoon me or stick around for breakfast. I’d agreed to the terms, so there was no use unleashing the wrath of my best friend. On either of us. Because she’d be just as pissed at me.

  Sweeping the covers aside, I threw my legs over the edge of the bed and a scrap of lace fell to the floor. My panties. They were ripped in half. Beyond repair.

  I tossed them in the trash with a shake of my head. “Better you than me.”

  After a shower that only ended when the water ran cool, I put on a little makeup and did my hair.

  I did feel better. More relaxed. And hungry as hell.

  Since it was after ten, I couldn’t take advantage of the made-to-order breakfast.

  If I were honest, I hated eating alone. Eating alone in a restaurant? I’d rather have a tooth filled. Still, I decided to try. I was trying a lot of new things.

  After pairing a flowing tunic with some ripped boyfriend jeans, I shoved my feet into a pair of sandals and trotted down the stairs.

  My heart jumped into my throat when I pulled open the door and found a burly biker type waiting on the other side. He spun around in time for the wood to meet his face.

  “Ms. Grayson?” came his gruff voice.

  Everyone knew my name. Most people knew my face. A warm greeting meant nothing.

  Pulling my cell phone from my pocket in case I needed to call 911, I replied calmly, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  “Daryl Creston. Taryn Ayers hired me. I’m your new bodyguard.”

  With a shaky hand, I tapped out a quick message to my best friend.

  There’s a Hells Angel at my door. Is there something you forgot to tell me?

  While waiting for her reply, I peered out the peephole. “Not that I don’t believe you, but do you have any ID?”

  A second later he held up a laminated card with his picture. Creston Private Security.

  “Yeah, okay.” Peering down at my phone, I willed it to ring or beep or something. “Just a minute, please.”

  There was no way I was opening the door until I got a confirmation. A second later, Taryn’s face lit the screen, and I turned toward the wall to muffle my voice.

  “Taryn,” I hissed.

  “Oh God, Belle!” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry.”

  My shoulders sagged. “I’m going to kill you. Seriously, I’m going to fly home, kill you, then eat some barbecue. Because I won’t even feel guilty about killing you.”

  Ignoring the threat, she rushed to say, “His name is Daryl Creston. He’s a retired cop. He works private security for all the big country stars and …”

  While Taryn fumbled over the dude’s résumé, I flipped the lock and pulled the door open. Greeting Daryl with a smile, I held up a finger. He nodded, then wandered to the railing a few feet away, where he turned his back to give me some privacy.

  “Thanks for the heads up,” I growled when Taryn finished. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Wait!”

  Wait was never good. “Yes?”

  “Daryl’s with you for the rest of the tour.”

  My stomach dropped. “What?”

  “He’s the best. And he’s highly recommended. After what happened yesterday, I’m not taking any chances.”

  Taryn may have stammered through her initial explanation, but now her tone brooked no argument. I could pitch a fit. But it probably wouldn’t do me much good. Daryl would continue to shadow me, popping out of the bushes when I least expected it. Might as well accept it now.

  “I’m hungry,” I said, cutting Taryn off when she went in for the kill. “We’ll talk later.”

  Ending the call, I let my head fall forward.

  “Everything cool?” Daryl asked.

  Regaining my composure, I pinned on a smile and stepped outside. “Yes. Fine.” I offered my hand. “Sorry, I’m Vic … Tori.” He gave me an odd look, and I felt my cheeks flame. “You can call me Tori.”

  His beefy paw wrapped around mine, warm and reassuring. “Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he drawled.

  He wasn’t that scary after all. Except for the scar bisecting his brow. And the huge, bulging muscles. And the piercing brown eyes.

  “Are you hungry, Daryl?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Okay, well … I’m going to go grab something at the café.”

  He smiled. I think it was a smile. It looked a little foreign on his face. “Lead the way, ma’am.”

  We made polite conversation as we strolled along, but Daryl was only half invested, his eyes darting from here to there behind dark glasses.

  The smell of garlic and basil hung thick in the air as we stepped inside the restaurant. Daryl spoke to the hostess while I hung back and looked around. And that’s when I saw Logan seated at a corner table with his arm slung over his chair. Smiling up at the waitress, he appeared totally enraptured as she pointed to items on the menu.

  Reality hit me, a knife gouging my heart. Casual, I reminded myself.

  When the waitress giggled, tossing her long, sandy brown hair over her shoulder to give Logan a better view of her boobs, I scooted behind Daryl.

  “I changed my mind,” I said when he shifted his gaze over his shoulder. “I’ll just take something to go.” Peering around his bulky frame, I smiled at the hostess. “Do you have anything already prepared?”

  Her jaw came unhinged, and her eyes widened. She recognized me.

  Fuck. Focus, lady. Please.


  It took a minute, but she recovered. “We have pizza by the slice. Pepperoni. Plain cheese. Combination. And …” Her excitement got the better of her and an unrestrained smile broke on her lips. “I’m sorry … I just love your music. Damaged was my favorite band. I cried for a week when …”

  Tuning her out, I nodded. I knew this scene by heart. A sincere apology for my loss, followed by a request for an autograph and a selfie. When her mouth stopped moving, I took the notepad she offered and signed my name while I mumbled an order for a slice of pepperoni.

  Once she was gone, I said to Daryl, “I’m going to wait right over there.” His brows drew together as he followed my gaze to the alcove by the door with all the brochures for local attractions. Since I wasn’t asking for permission, and it was only ten feet away, I didn’t wait for him to reply.

  As I gathered information about wine tasting tours and the distillery on the property, I stole glances at Logan out of the corner of my eye. He was alone now, staring out the window at the grounds.

  A moment later, Daryl shuffled over, takeout bag in hand. “Ready, ma’am?”

  Smiling so brightly my cheeks hurt from the effort, I nodded and let him usher me out the door.

  Picking at my pizza, I gazed out at the pond while Zoe chattered away in my ear. I’d called to talk to Mama and Daddy, but my little sister had quickly commandeered the phone.

  “… and then,” she snorted, “Daddy chased the guy off the stoop and told him he’d whoop his ass if he showed up again.”

  Easing onto my back, I closed my eyes and let the sun warm my face. “Which guy was that?”

  She sighed. “Don’t you ever listen, Vic? The guy with that blog that draws dicks on people’s faces.”

  “Zoe!” My mama hollered in the background. “Language.”

  Another sigh. “Sorry, penises.”

  I chuckled when I heard a familiar thwap, and I pictured Mama’s wooden spoon meeting my sister’s behind.

  Zoe howled.

  “You big baby,” Mama grumbled. “You know that didn’t hurt. Now give me the phone.”

  My sister mumbled something that could’ve been goodbye. Or maybe she was sassing our mother, because another howl nearly broke my eardrum.