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

by Jayne Frost

  Once I was undressed, I joined her. There was no place to hide. Nothing to cover us. “Ever since you left, I haven’t been able to sleep. The sheets in every hotel smelled … well, not like you. And when I got home, it was the same.”

  She settled against the only covered pillow. “What about this one?”

  I sighed, easing on top of her. “That’s not my pillow, it’s yours. I stole it from the hotel in Paris.”

  A laugh tripped from her lips. “You stole a pillow?”

  It seemed fair, since she’d stolen everything else. “Yes, and I’d do it again.”

  I pressed a kiss to her mouth, my tongue sweeping inside. So fucking sweet. Tori’s fingers threaded my hair, and she sighed. A breathy little pant gave way to a moan as I worked my way to her pert nipples. She shivered as I ran my nose over the furled peak. Then she tightened her grip.

  So impatient.

  “You want me, baby?”

  Her legs fell open, and I smiled, scoring my teeth across her nipple while my fingertips skimmed the length of her. All the skin I could reach. And when I made it to the heaven between her thighs, she gasped.

  Parting her slick folds, I worked two fingers inside her pussy while my palm applied even pressure to her clit.

  Lifting my gaze, I found her staring at me, lips parted and cheeks pink.

  “I love you,” she breathed, and then her eyes rolled back, and she was gone. She came undone a second later, surprising me with the intensity of her orgasm.

  Before she’d even finished, my face was buried between her thighs. A guttural moan escaped from deep in her throat. And yes, yes, fuck yes, give it to me.

  I wanted it all. All of her sounds, her taste, this sweet pussy. Mine. Finally, mine.

  “Logan … please.”

  When I managed to work my way back up, she peered at me with hooded eyes.

  “What, baby?” I asked, brushing the hair out of her face.

  Curving a hand around my neck, she pulled me in for a kiss, hips tilting at just the right angle for me to slide home. So I did. And somehow, I’d forgotten this part. The absolute contentment I found inside her body. I wanted to live here. Right here, in this moment. Forever. But we’d have plenty of moments. A lifetime. So I started to move. And an even more wondrous moment unfurled. Her eyes widened, and that honied gaze locked me down. And it was like staring into the sun. Blinding, but not.

  “This is where forever lives,” I whispered against her lips.

  And she nodded.

  And I nodded.

  And we fell.

  67

  Daryl, along with four other hired guns stood next to the elevated table in the extra-large tent at Zilker Park where my press event was being held. The other bands had already completed their sets, leaving only my performance. The main event.

  With less than a half hour before my show was scheduled to begin, my stomach churned. A quick glance in my direction and Taryn assessed my nerves. My inner turmoil. And thats why she was running the show and not Elise. Taryn knew me, all my tells.

  She gave me a soft smile, then tipped forward to speak into her microphone. “We’ve got to get a move on, y’all. Last question.”

  Shifting my focus to a friendly face in the front row, I gave Ash Devonshire from the Austin Statesman the nod. He winked at me, a smile hitching one corner of his lips as he pushed to his feet.

  And for the hundredth time today, tears stung the back of my eyes. But nobody could see them behind my oversized sunglasses.

  Yeah, I was in full rock star mode. Clad in painted-on jeans, a barely there blouse, and sky-high boots, I looked nothing like myself. Which was only fitting. Because today, I was Belle Grayson. And I had a job to do. Something I should’ve done long ago. Not just for me, or Miles, but for the fans. Seventy-five thousand strong right outside the tent. Plus a million seven streaming live on Pay-Per-View. And the untold number who’d watch from the comfort of their homes when HBO aired the taped special next month.

  All-in-all, this concert was slated to be the highest grossing event of the year, or the last ten years if the projections were on point.

  “It’s good to see you, Belle,” said Ash.

  I gave him a genuine smile, my first of the day. “Hey, Ash. Good to see you too.”

  Shifting his feet, he glanced down at the prearranged question. “Will this show signal your permanent return to the stage?”

  His smile wilted just a bit in preparation for my answer, which he already knew. Ash had been covering Damaged since the beginning. So it was only right he’d be here at the end.

  Clearing my throat, I took Miles's hand under the table. “Today marks my official retirement.” Ignoring the shouts from the reporters who jumped to their feet to ask a follow up question, I tipped forward and smiled. “Sorry y’all. It’s been an awesome ride. But it ends here.”

  Where it began.

  Taryn fussed with the ties on my blouse.

  “Make sure to reinforce those,” I said, peering out of the curtain at the sea of people. “There’s barely any fabric there as it is. One slip and the whole planet is going to see my goodies.”

  Deep in conversation with his boys some five feet away, I saw Logan snap to attention. Pale blue eyes, iridescent in the ambient light, shifted my way. Looking me over from tip to toe with a feral gaze, his tongue slid over his bottom lip. Still, he made no move to approach. Partly because of the camera crew shadowing my every move. But mostly because today, I wasn’t his. Not completely. Today I belonged to all the girls in the crowd with purple and blue streaks in their hair. And to all the members of the bands who’d performed in tribute to who I once was. Today … I belonged to Rhenn, Paige, and Miles.

  But tonight, and every moment after, I’d be his.

  I smiled, and he smiled back.

  “You’ve got six feeds going live to the satellite locations,” Taryn said in a shaky voice. “The screens to the right and left of the stage will pan in from time to time to give you crowd reaction.”

  I swept a lock of chestnut hair out of her face. “And where will you be?”

  Chase was going to take in the show with Logan and the guys. But I wasn’t sure about Taryn.

  She pointed to a large group on the opposite side of the stage. Dylan was there, along with Beckett, and all the other members of the Big Three.

  “It’s only right,” she said. “Full circle and all that.”

  A shadow appeared at the back of the stage. Miles. Though I barely noticed his limp, he was self-conscious about it, so he’d arranged to take his place behind the kit before the announcement was made.

  Taryn sucked in a breath. “That’s my cue. I’m heading to the other side.”

  As she took a step, I grabbed her arm, pulling her into my embrace. “I love you, T-Rex. Thank you for everything.”

  And I meant all of it. From kindergarten to now. And whatever would come in the future.

  She hung on for a long moment before breaking our connection. “I love you back.”

  And then she was gone. And I was alone. Seventy-five thousand people, and I was by myself, staring out at three X’s on the stage.

  A single spotlight pierced the darkness, and then Dylan was there, in front of the microphone. It took a good few minutes of cajoling for the audience to settle enough for him to speak.

  “I’m Dylan,” he shouted when he got the chance. “And I’d like y’all to help me welcome the original Sixth Street band, Damaged!”

  The stage shook as the audience roared, and instinctively, I took a step back.

  But then Rhenn’s voice drifted through the massive speakers, and the world went quiet. So still. Everyone hanging onto the edge of their seats.

  “You know, we’re just a little old band from Austin. We never expected all of this.” A beam of light shot from the rafters, and his hologram appeared. So handsome, with his long dark hair and his favorite guitar hanging low on his hip.

  And then Paige’s voice, gentle as a
breeze. “We love coming out to play for y’all. Isn’t that right, Belle?” Another flicker from the heavens and she was there too. Bright smile and long, red hair flowing in the non-existent breeze.

  The sound and lighting crew had spliced together pieces from old interviews and shows to make this an interactive experience. And it was, because the sight of them mere feet away brought a torrent of tears I could hardly contain. But I did. And one last time, I stepped into the light of the Sixth Street Legacy.

  To say goodbye.

  An hour and a half into the performance, Tori stepped up to the organ. It was the first time she’d ventured very far from her mark. Since I knew what was coming, I inched closer to the stage. Just far enough for her to see me if she looked.

  I’m here, baby.

  And for the first time since she’d emerged into the spotlight, her gaze swung my way.

  I nodded, lending whatever silent encouragement I could.

  Tori nodded back and then took a deep breath, resting her fingers on the keys. I’d played in front of some monster crowds in my life. Watched from the wings as some of the biggest bands in the world performed in front of audiences of nearly a hundred thousand. But I’d never heard anything like the collective roar that rose up when Tori played the opening bars for “Free Bird,” the old Lynyrd Skynyrd standard that was eerily appropriate for this show.

  A second later, the stage went dark, but for the two holograms. And then the rest of the instruments fell away, and the song morphed in an acoustic version with only Rhenn and Paige on guitar.

  Overcome by the weight of the moment, the audience grew so quiet, you’d never know there were seventy-five thousand people in attendance. Except for the sea of lights that went on and on for as far as the eye could see.

  What they failed to notice was my girl, gliding toward the curtain with her head down. She walked straight into my arms, and nobody knew. It was as if she’d left Belle on the stage, and only Victoria remained. And that was fine with me.

  Tucking her to my side, I headed for the private lot where my Mustang waited, our bags in the trunk. She didn’t even flinch when the crowd erupted behind us.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked, as if the thought had just occurred to her.

  I kissed her temple. “I don’t know. Where do you want to go?”

  I knew, and my GPS was already programed. But still, I waited for the words.

  She peered up at me. “How does Nashville sound?”

  And I smiled. “Like heaven.”

  Epilogue

  Three Years Later

  Eyes bleary, I padded down the hallway, two bottles in hand. The nursery was dark, and I shook my head and kept on walking. At the door to our bedroom, I paused to take in the scene. Logan was sprawled on the bed, back against the headboard, with Lizzy curled in the crook of his arm, and Lucky on his back on top of his daddy’s legs.

  “What do you think is going to happen next?” Logan asked, smiling at our babies as he turned the page of the picture book. “I think the little pig is in deep shit.”

  I bit down a grin as he continued with the story, adding little sound effects. There was huffing and puffing, and a loud crash when the first pig lost his house. Lizzy started to fuss, but Logan didn’t miss a beat. He kept right on reading as he rocked her gently, and she quieted down.

  We’d never planned on twins. But when it came to the sorcery that was in vitro fertilization, sometimes you got more than you bargained for. Plus, according to Logan—super sperm. He had it. He knew it. And there was no convincing him otherwise. He wasn’t the least bit shocked when the doctor confirmed that our surrogate had two buns in the oven. Since I was sure that my eggs were faulty, I was worried enough for both of us.

  But nine months after the first IVF treatment, and only fourteen months after Logan and I married in a little church in Nashville, Elizabeth Paige and Logan Sean made their debut.

  Lizzy and Lucky.

  Lizzy was born first. Dark blond hair that flirted with brunette. Amber eyes like mine. Face shaped like a heart.

  I loved her at first sight. A deep, abiding love that I knew could never be duplicated.

  Until Lucky entered the world two minutes later. Bright blue eyes like his daddy. A shock of black hair. He was the quiet one. Circumspect. Like a little old man in a tiny baby body.

  I pulled myself out of my daydream when Logan noticed me standing there.

  A smile curved his lips, and I wondered how he did it—made me feel sexy with spit up on my night shirt and my dirty hair in a top knot. But he did. His gaze followed me as I crossed the room and climbed onto the bed.

  “Look who’s here,” he said to Lizzy who blinked up at him with adoring eyes. “It’s Mama.”

  Gently, I lifted Lucky off his daddy’s legs and my baby boy gave me a sleepy smile. I sifted through his hair, and his heavy lids fell to half-mast.

  Scooting closer to Logan, I rested my head on his shoulder.

  “What should we read next?” he asked Lizzy, and then took a moment as if she might answer. But at six months old, that wasn’t going to happen, no matter how gifted my husband proclaimed our children to be.

  “Winnie the Pooh it is,” he said, reaching for another book from the pile on his nightstand.

  Lifting my gaze, I peered up at the man I loved. And God, how I loved him. And our life. So much that it scared me sometimes, because how could I be this happy? How could anyone?

  Logan smiled, looking down at me. “What’s the matter, Mama, you don’t like the Pooh?”

  “I like the Pooh. Read me the Pooh.”

  He brushed a kiss to my forehead, snuggled a little closer, and then he did just that.

  The End …

  As we close out the Caged portion of the series, I thought I’d share the original idea for the Sixth Street Bands. I was in Austin one day in 2005 and I saw a bronze statue of Stevie Ray Vaughan at Towne Lake. In case you’re not familiar, Stevie was killed in a helicopter crash in 1990. I started thinking about his family. His dreams. His legacy. And then I wondered —who came after to fill his shoes? Who was the next great Austin band?

  Being a writer with a wildly active imagination, I answered my own question by making up a fictional band. But not just one. I envisioned a band family, all 6th Street originals.

  And at the center of it all was the lead singer of one of those bands —Logan Cage.

  Although there are four books that came before Down To You, it was always about Logan in my head. He was the prize.

  So, thank you Logan. In the end … it all came down to you.

  Thank y’all for reading. Until next time. :D

  First … thank you to all my readers. Y’all are the best. I can’t express how grateful I am for your support.

  Maria … there are too many things to thank you for. Covers, teasers, reading every word I write. But mostly, thank you for your friendship. Love you.

  Victoria … I know you think you’re too old to live at home. You are. I get it. But I still demand one night a week. Non-negotiable. To the moon and back, I love you.

  Patricia … you’re the best editor. I’m not just saying that. I couldn’t do any of this without you. Love you.

  Marla Esposito … thank you for accommodating my crazy schedule. I keep saying I’m going to get better. Spoiler alert: I probably won’t.

  Frost’s Faves … I cherish each and every one of you. Thank you for all your support. The posts and the pictures keep me going. Y’all are the best of the best!

  GONE FOR YOU

  SIXTH STREET BANDS BOOK #1

  FALL WITH ME

  SIXTH STREET BANDS BOOK #2

  MISSING FROM ME

  SIXTH STREET BANDS #3

  LOST FOR YOU

  SIXTH STREET BANDS #4

  Jayne Frost, author of the Sixth Street Bands Romance Series, grew up in California with a dream of moving to Seattle to become a rock star. When the grunge thing didn't work out (she never even made it to the
Washington border) Jayne set her sights on Austin, Texas. After quickly becoming immersed in the Sixth Street Music scene...and discovering she couldn't actually sing, Jayne decided to do the next best thing--write kick ass romances about hot rockstars and the women that steal their hearts.