Logan E-Book

Liz Gavin

• Herausgeber: Elessar Books LLC
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

I’m broken.
Rejected.
Love was never in the cards for me.
All the millions in my bank account can’t make up for the void inside me.
I’ve found solace in steamy encounters between cold sheets.
And countless bottles of whiskey.
Until Ally rescued me.
Literally.
She saved me from a mob of too-eager fans.
Now I’m hooked on her bright smile and gentle soul.
Yet her heart is just as battered as mine.
She deserves much more than I can give her.
I should walk away.
I should let her go.
Except, I’m a selfish billionaire.
So I offer her one night of wild passion believing that is all I need.
But after a taste of her sweetness, I crave more.
Even if it means ruining both our careers.
I always get what I want.
And I want Ally.
One-click this today for a guaranteed happily-ever-after.
No cheating or cliffhangers.
Fans of L. J. Shen, Vi Keeland, and Skye Warren will devour this steamy dark romance.

This dark billionaire romance deals with sensitive topics that, although not depicted in detail, might not be suitable for all readers.

Leseprobe

Logan

A Dark Billionaire Romance

Muse of Darkness

Book One

Liz Gavin

Edited byAuthor Bunnies

Illustrated byBookin’It Designs

Elessar Books LLC

Logan © copyright 2022 Liz Gavin

Edited by Author Bunnies

Cover by Bookin’It Designs

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Created with Vellum

Synopsis

I’m broken.

Rejected.

Love was never in the cards for me.

All the millions in my bank account can’t make up for the void inside me.

I’ve found solace in steamy encounters between cold sheets.

And countless bottles of whiskey.

Until Ally rescued me.

Literally.

She saved me from a mob of too-eager fans.

Now I’m hooked on her bright smile and gentle soul.

Yet her heart is just as battered as mine.

She deserves much more than I can give her.

I should walk away. 

I should let her go.

Except, I’m a selfish billionaire.

So I offer her one night of wildpassion believing that is all I need.

But after a taste of her sweetness, I crave more.

Even if it means ruining both our careers.

I always get what I want.

And I want Ally.

One-click this today for a guaranteed happily-ever-after.

No cheating or cliffhangers.

Fans of L. J. Shen, Vi Keeland, and Skye Warren will devour this steamy dark romance.

This dark billionaire romance deals with sensitive topics that, although not depicted in detail, might not be suitable for all readers.

Contents

Logan

1. Logan

2. Ally

3. Logan

4. Ally

5. Logan

6. Ally

7. Logan

8. Ally

9. Logan

10. Ally

11. Logan

12. Ally

13. Logan

14. Ally

15. Logan

16. Ally

17. Ally

18. Logan

19. Ally

20. Logan

21. Logan

22. Ally

23. Logan

24. Ally

25. Logan

26. Ally

Epilogue

Thank YOU

About the Author

Also by Liz Gavin

Logan

Muse of Darkness - Book 2

1

Logan

Three Years Ago

A never-ending hum seeped through the chaotic dreamland where I’d have rather stayed. Heavy lids, and heavier muscles, refused to obey my brain cells as they urged them to move. When they finally obeyed, I groaned. My numb fingers stretched with effort, snagging on unknown obstacles, until they reached the softness of a pillow. Lying flat on my stomach, with eyes still shut, I lifted the feather-filled rectangle and placed it on top of my head. It covered my ears, as I’d intended. Sadly, it didn’t block out the annoying roar of the engines of the Boeing Dreamliner. As a consequence, it did little to lull me back to sleep.

Realizing it was a lost battle, I gave up. I forced myself to prop up on my forearms, before flipping over to sit up against the headboard. Leaning my head back, I moaned when the world around me spun out of control.

“Pretty sure the captain isn’t part of some air show squadron. More like downing too much tequila last night,” I muttered under my breath, wincing when my stomach plunged again at the thought.

Because closed eyelids worsen dizziness, I dragged mine up through their heaviness. When my eyes adjusted their focus, I chuckled at the sight of entangled limbs beside me. A mop of light brown hair, sticking up whichever way, covered Wes Baron’s face. A flash of memory from the previous night popped up in my mind. The drummer of Muse of Darkness and I met a couple of fans backstage after our concert in the outskirts of Amsterdam.

I rubbed the back of my neck, squinting. If only I could remember what else we had done. More importantly, I had no idea if those giddy fans in Holland were the same two women now lying in bed with us. Fuck! What the hell did we do?

“Better dial down the booze, if I want to recall stuff,” I grunted, swinging my legs over the side of the crowded king-size bed, resting my forearms on my thighs.

My head hung down, chin a hairsbreadth away from my naked chest. On second thought, did I really want to remember every fucking detail of every minute of each day? Icy, invisible fingers raced down my spine. Hell, no! What would be the point of drinking myself into a stupor? Better leave some things buried deep down in the dungeons of my mind. Allowing them to return to the surface had never done me any good.

I rubbed the back of my neck where an insidious pressure promised to become a blinding headache soon, if I didn’t do something about it beforehand.

Stretching my right leg, I pinched the pair of briefs from the floor using my toes and brought the underwear to my hand. As if in slow motion, I stuck both feet through their holes, pulling the briefs I wore yesterday up my legs and under my butt.

A new wave of nausea threatened to undo me, so I braced myself, digging my fingers into the side of the mattress. Queasy stomach and high heart rate didn’t make for a comfortable combination. So, I inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly until my lungs processed breathing without a hitch.

With deliberate movements, I got to my feet and glanced around the room in search of the rest of my stuff. Telling apart clothes that belonged to four individuals in the partial darkness of the bedroom proved harder than I’d imagined. Not to mention the fact that we didn’t exactly fold our outfits and arranged them into neat piles last night.

It took me a couple of beats to spot the jeans I wore yesterday. Now they hung from a lamp on the top of a small desk beside the bed. I slid in my right leg, waited for the dizziness to subside, before inserting the other. I hopped in place to close the zipper of the fucking skin-tight piece of clothing.

When I lifted my head, black spots clouded my vision, so I dropped my ass on a chair facing the desk, scratching the carpeted floor. One of the women stirred in her sleep, kicking the sheet away, and mumbling something in a foreign language. I believed she spoke in French. She could well have spoken Martian for all I knew. My brain cells barely processed simple sensations and basic emotions at that point. Language belonged to a much more sophisticated group of high brain functions I couldn’t access at the moment.

The cowboy-style boots I’d toed off yesterday by the chair, remained there. I snatched them up and tucked them under my left arm. Standing up again, I staggered to the door, turned the knob, and opened it. Bumping off the walls of a narrow corridor, I stumbled down the passageway and reached the bottom of the stairs that led to the upper lounge.

I began climbing the steps like a human being but switched to a creepy-crawly halfway up. Once I got to the top, I straightened my back and grabbed the railing for support until I got my sea legs back. Meanwhile, I eyeballed the counter designed as a wave that ran along the wall on the left side of the airplane. Indirect purple lighting showcased an impressive variety of bottles of top-shelf alcoholic beverages and crystal tumblers and glasses. Kim, the band manager, always made sure that this bar was stocked up with the finest brands. Only the best for her favorite rock stars.

“I need a drink,” I murmured, lurching toward the nearest end of the counter and wrapping my fingers around its edge.

“I’d say you’ve had more than enough,” Erik Crawford scolded me.

Jumping out of my skin, I whirled around to face my longtime friend, the singer of Muse of Darkness. He perched himself on one of the leather-covered seats dotted around the lounge. His deep-set brown eyes held mine before he dropped them to the guitar on his lap, plucking at the strings. I guessed he had nothing else to say to me.

I plopped myself on a tan chair across from him. While I put on the boots, he hummed a random melody, accompanying it with chords from the guitar, and ignored me.

I nudged his shin with the metallic tip of my boot. “That a new song? Sounds great.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about her a lot.”

“Carlotta?” I frowned.

He winced. “God, no. The angel. That young redhead from Boston.”

I tilted my head, furrowing my eyebrows deeper. “Still? Thought you’d dreamed her up.”

“Me too, but since I cleaned up my act, the memories have become increasingly stronger.” He shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. At least, she inspires me to write good music.”

I snickered. “We all thank her for that, whoever she is.”

He placed the guitar on its stand beside his seat, leaned forward, and pinned me with a pointed stare. “Speaking of sobering up, what will it take for you to get your act together, man? Our bank account balances have more digits than I’m comfortable admitting. We’ve just played to packed stadiums all over Europe, chock-full of adoring fans screaming your name every fucking night. Isn’t that validation enough for you?”

Despite the rising temperature of my cheeks and the tips of my ears, I refused to admit he made a good point.

Instead, I scoffed, “Said the pot to the kettle.” Then, I hit back where I knew would hurt him the most. “Because when the plane lands in San Francisco, you’ll go back home to a loving family, won’t you?”

His nostrils flared, he pursed his lips, and growled, “Fuck you, Logan. Drown yourself in a pool of vodka, for all I care.” He rose to his feet, staring me down his nose. “Or go back to puking your guts out every time the world is unfair to you.”

His words sucker punched me, stealing my ability to breathe or strike back. I gawked at him as he huffed his way down the stairs. Nick Tennant, the fourth member of Muse of Darkness emerged from a side door and took the seat Erik had just vacated.

He eyed me for a couple of beats before deadpanning in an uncharacteristic serious tone, “He’s not wrong, you know.”

I rolled my eyes, dropped my head back, and groaned. “You guys think I wouldn’t jump at the idea of finding the one? I’m fed up of feeling alone. Why you think I drink so much?”

“To forget,” he offered.

My heart thudded against my ribcage. “That too. But mostly because it numbs me. That way I don’t have to face the fact I’ll never find a woman who’d stay by my side, no matter what.”

Nick guffawed. “Sorry to be the one to set you straight, my friend, but Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny also don’t exist.”

Before I could tell the guitar player to fuck off, one of the women I’d left in my bed popped out of nowhere and climbed on my lap. Her black minidress barely covered her sex and the lower curve of her ass wiggled against my thighs as she settled.

Cupping my face in her cold hands, she whispered, “Logan not sleep? I wake up, not find you. Let’s go back?”

She drops her hands to my bare chest. Her blue eyes sparkled at me, but their hue reminded me of someone else’s gaze I’d spent years erasing from my mind. Adrenaline rushed through me, but it didn’t match the intense desire in her expression. It resulted from the memories churning in my head.

Fighting a sudden discharge of bile that burned my stomach, I scooped her off my lap and onto the seat beside mine.

“Not in the mood for it. Just scram.”

Her command of English wasn’t solid enough to allow her to understand my meaning because she just stared back into my eyes.

I couldn’t stand her gaze another second.

Miming, I waved both hands and pointed at her, then to the stairs. “Go.”

I stood to find a toilet before I hurled last night’s liquid dinner in the middle of the lounge.

Nick grabbed my forearm. “Hey, that was uncalled for. Also, not you at all. Why did you treat her like shit?”

“Just nipping it at the bud.” I sank my shoulders as if the situation hadn’t affected me. “She was going to leave me anyway. Everyone leaves eventually,” I murmured. “Better to speed up the process this way to avoid heartache down the road.”

Despite the brave face I put on, my heart crumbled inside my chest like a house of cards.

2

Ally

Three Years Ago

As Ty went on ranting, I focused on the rubber tips of my sneakers, willing the bitter tears to quit pricking the back of my eyes. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of watching me crumble.

“And that’s only considering the differences in our personal tastes.” He stopped pacing the length of the ten-thousand-dollar Persian rug under the coffee table. Now his shiny Italian shoes pointed at me, doubling down the accusation in his voice. “If I were to be honest—and I’m trying for our benefit because I want to fix this—I’d say we haven’t been compatible in the bedroom either. In the year we’ve been going out, you had what? Two orgasms? Maybe three?”

Blinding outrage gave me the impulse I didn’t know I needed. It strengthened my shaky legs as I surged from the armchair that I’d been occupying for the last half hour.

“Whoa, stop right there,” I uttered, hoarse from shoving emotions down my own throat. I stepped into his personal space, jabbing my index finger against his broad chest. It was a good thing anger blinded me because it prevented me from losing myself in the forest green of his eyes, which was a welcome novelty. “Ever thought maybe you’re not that good in the sack?”

“No,” he replied without hesitation. “You’re frigid.”

A slap on my face would have stung less.

Without thinking, I struck out, punching his turned-up nose with a right hook. Too bad my five-foot-three body didn’t carry as much power as his six-foot-two. Still, the droplet of blood trickling down his nostril gave me a small degree of satisfaction.

“Not everybody enjoys being tied up like a hog ready for slaughter, asshole.” I snatched my backpack from the floor, slipping an arm under its leather strap. I fumed, adding in the same condescending tone he’d been using with me, “Just so you’re clear, I’m dumping your fucking ass, not trying to fix this,” I spat the last words with an air quote, spun around, and stomped toward the front door of his parents’ home. I swung it open and glared at him over my shoulder. “Ass spanking doesn’t live up to all the hype, either.”

I slammed the heavy oak rectangle shut with such force; I still heard the clinking of the windowpanes rattling against their frames as I jogged down the hundred yards of the driveway. Once on the sidewalk, I tugged the cuffs of my oversized sweatshirt, covering my fists. I rubbed the right sleeve against the corners of my eyes and over my cheeks, blaming the icy Santa Ana winds for making me cry as I treaded the endless mile and a half back home.

After turning the corner onto Fifth Avenue, it was one straight shot to my childhood street. It could as well have been a galaxy far, far away. The ten-bedroom mansions with sprawling front yards that surrounded Ty’s shrunk to regular-sized houses as I progressed toward mine. It always amazed me that the contrasting neighborhoods of Redlands, California, stood just a stone’s throw apart.

Maybe that had fed me the deceiving notion that Ty and I belonged in the same universe. Then again, at nineteen and still a virgin, I didn’t think twice before jumping head-first into a relationship with the hottest guy on campus. A year, and a couple of embarrassing trips to the ER, later, I’d begun to rethink my choices. After all, how many more times would I have to endure the embarrassment of having nurses pluck foreign objects out of my body, before I learned my lesson? Shocking, I know, but not everything one reads in kinky romances holds up in real life, no matter how many times Ty tried to convince me otherwise.

When said hunk pulled a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde on me on a regular basis, it was time to cut him loose. Even if it felt like a metaphorical knife was digging into my own flesh. I had to do it. My mental health came first.

When I spotted a neighbor strolling toward me, I pretended to sneeze into my bent elbow. That way the kind lady would think my red nose and puffy eyes resulted from a severe case of the common cold.

“Afternoon, Ally.” Condensation from Mrs. Harris’s mouth and nostrils drifted around her flushed face as she greeted me.

I nodded in response, before tilting my head to the caramel ball of fur she had on a leash. “Isn’t today too cold for little Nina?” The corgi licked the mud off my sneakers as I knelt beside her to scratch her back. She stretched against my fingers, and I guffawed. Leave it to doggies to lift one’s spirits. They’ll never fail you.

“She almost clawed a hole in my front door screen begging to go outside. She refuses to do her business in the pads I insist on spreading around the house.” A broad grin curved her lips as she gazed at her eight-year-old dog. A flitting shadow crossed her sparkling brown eyes when they held mine. Instead of commenting on my appearance, she offered, “Is there anything I can do for you, dear?”

The pieces of my heart broke into smaller shards remembering why I cried. A second later, my chest swelled at the thought there was still a lot of good people in the world.

Shaking my head, I stood up and squeezed her forearm. “Thanks, Mrs. Harris. You already did.”

With a vibrant smooch on her cheek, I left the bewildered woman behind as I sprinted the last couple of yards to my house.

I had broken up with the asshole for a laundry list of valid reasons. Being the arrogant prick he was, Ty tried to get back at me by undermining my self-esteem.

A sharp pang in my stomach reminded me of my poor track record with the subject as I turned the knob of the front door of my parents’ house.

I shook my head to dissipate the memories and shouted, “Mom! Dad! I’m home!”

As I pulled the sweatshirt over my head and hung it in the coat closet by the entrance, my mom’s muffled voice reached my ears. “Stop it, Roger.”

Tina and Roger Howard never missed a chance to grope each other. I’d learned a long time ago to announce my entrances as loudly as I could just to avoid getting mortified.

Now, their giggles made me smile. I gave them time to get decent before I climbed down the two steps to the living room. The couch was empty, so I proceeded to the kitchen where the appliances had been moved from the island to the side counter, while packages of food now scattered the floor. My parents stood on the other side of the island. Dad’s unbuttoned shirt and ruffled sandy hair matched Mom’s disheveled raven ponytail and wrinkled maxi sundress.

I dropped my head until my chin touched my chest and shot my hands up into the air. “You, guys. I don’t want to know,” I snickered. Keeping my head down, I spun around. “Just holler when dinner’s ready please?”

“But I thought…” Dad started saying, but Mom shushed him.

“Will do,” she promised as I took the stairs to my bedroom, oblivious as to what day it was.

An hour later, we sat at the dining room table. I had a plate of piping-hot lasagna in front of me. “Glad I didn’t ruin your plans for Valentine’s dinner.” I winked at them. “Well, I kind of spoiled the appetizers when I got home.”

Mom squeezed the hand I used to hold the knife beside the plate. “You didn’t. We’ve got reservations for nine.”

I glanced at the grandfather clock beside the cherrywood buffet cabinet. Plenty of time to get to Riverside.

I nodded. “I see you’ve dressed up already.”

Dad cleared his throat. “We wouldn’t leave you alone on Valentine’s night.”

I smiled into his warm blue eyes. “A not-at-all subtle reference to Ty.”

“I wasn’t aiming at subtle. What kind of heartless person breaks up with someone on Valentine’s?”

I laughed out loud. “Me.”

Mom elbowed Dad, scowling at him so darkly I feared he would have trouble enjoying his Valentine’s later. She returned her attention to me with love pouring out of her whole body. “Good job, hon. He’s not good enough for you.”

“You can say that again,” I murmured before stuffing my mouth with her delicious pasta, thankful they didn’t press for details.

I loved my parents to pieces, but they didn’t always acknowledge – or respect – boundaries.

“Speaking of doing a good job, how did the interview with the musical producer go this morning?” Dad’s face beamed as he changed the subject.

It was a well-intended gesture from my very loving parent. Except, my heart sank like a boulder plummeting into a lake.

I shrugged. “The usual disaster.”

“Second strikeout, Roger Howard,” Mom scoffed.

I shook my head. “It’s fine, Mom. You guys are trying to cheer me up and I appreciate you for it. But he’s just the last in a mile-long list of people in the music industry to turn me down over the years.”

At this point, my heart couldn’t take any more rejections. I cast my eyes to the plate. The thick golden crust of cheese au gratin swam in front of me, and I poked at it with the fork.

Mom swapped her chair for the one on my right while Dad plopped himself on the seat to my left. They sandwiched me in a tight embrace. It was all I could do not to break down bawling. I did get a couple of sniffs in though.

Dad laced our fingers together.

Mom’s lips smooched my cheek before she sat back straight.

She whispered, “You’ve got such a unique voice. I don’t get it. Are they deaf or something?”

I chuckled, without joy. “Not at all. Most execs tell me my voice is amazing, but my face isn’t symmetric enough.”

Not too different from the kids in high school.

Out loud, I added, “At this point, it’s pretty clear to me I need a nose job.”

“No way!” Dad dropped my hand and slapped the table. “First, there’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”

Resting the silverware on the plate, I scoffed, “You don’t count, Dad. You and Mom think I hung the moon or something.”

Mom countered, “You’ve got a phenomenal gift in your voice, sweetheart. Plus, you’re smart, loving, and gorgeous.”

I shook my head, mumbling, “Tell that to my old classmates who used to call me She-Hawk.” A searing burn charred the inside of my chest as faded laughter from the not-distant past echoed in my head.

Dad cupped my chin to force me to stare into his serene expression. “Don’t let the bullies win. They’ll be the ones breaking their back in dead-end jobs while you’ll be on top of the world. Mark my words.”

I blew raspberries in response. “Yeah, right.”

“But that will only happen if you don’t touch this.” He slid a finger along the hump in the middle of my nose, tapping its tip. “Changing it would ruin your voice.”

When I opened my mouth to argue, my cell phone went off. I fished it from the back pocket of my jeans and held it to my ear. “Hello?”

“Ms. Allyson Howard? Josh Newman, here. Not sure you remember me, but we talked a couple of months ago.”

A parched throat made my voice come out raspy. “Of course, I remember, sir.”

The thudding of my heart muffled his words as I dove into a dreamlike reality where infinite possibilities existed for me. Flashes of my sole encounter with him popped in my head. I’d auditioned for a supporting role in a musical play in L.A. he was producing. The casting director had cut me off mid-song. She’d sent me home with a nonchalant ‘don’t-call-us-we-will-call-you’ remark.

Now he was on the phone offering me an opportunity. For what? Where?

I slapped my forehead.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Newman. Can you say that again?”

“I’ve got an opening for an understudy in a show in Las Vegas.”

My bruised heart flatlined for a beat before restarting with a sluggish rhythm. The fool should have known better. We both should have.

I stuttered, “I-I appreciate the offer, sir. But I don’t turn twenty-one for another couple of months.”

The legal age for someone to be allowed to work in casinos.

He replied, “That’s not an issue for entertainers.”

I’d never heard more beautiful words.

“Count me in, then,” I promised in a strangled murmur.

“I’ll forward you the details.”

I hung up, with a smile as broad as the Pacific Ocean splitting my lips. I gave my parents the good news as I skipped up and down around the dinner table.

Stooping to kiss them, I murmured, “I’ve got to go and start packing.” I rushed to the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, and shouted at the top of my lungs, “First Vegas, then the world!”

3

Logan

Present Day

I stare at the patterns the shadows paint on the ceiling from my position lying on the floor of the sunken living room. I push the button on the remote resting on my chest and the curtains open on a whir to allow the garish lights of The Strip in. They flash through the arched windows and hit me in the face with the power of a right cross from a heavy-weight champion. With a groan, I hit the control again to close the damn curtains.

Blissful darkness reins as I inch up to a sitting position. As I kneel to brace myself to stand up, I kick the bottle of tequila I forgot I’d dropped on the carpet by my side after drying it up. Clinking, it rolls away to hide under the couch.

“Oh, fuck it! I’ll try to get to it tomorrow,” I scoff, propping myself on the oak coffee table to hoist my ass up.

After I do, I stiffen my legs to brave the sudden spiraling nosedive the room takes. When the undulating floor returns to its flatness, I cross the hotel suite to the dining area and yank the cupboard door open to find out there’s no alcohol left.

I lift the cordless phone out of its cradle, and someone picks up before I punch in a number. “Room service. How may I help you?” A male voice asks in a professional tone. Perks of staying on the Prestige Club floor, I presume.

“Two bottles of tequila, two of whiskey, and two of vodka.”

“Absolutely. Did you guys also need some champagne?”

The proactive man probably thinks I’m throwing a party. Unable to control my urge to taunt, I snicker, “Champagne? Not really celebrating. I’ll be the only motherfucker guzzling those.”

“S-s-sorry, sir. I meant no offense.”

I guffaw, reassuring him. “None taken. You’re fine.”

He adds with a titter, “Honest mistake, right? Being New Year’s Eve and all.”

The walls of the fifteen-hundred-square-foot suite close in on me and an invisible band of steel clutches my chest like a vise. Fuck! It’s been years since the last time the date bothered me. Why now? Why sneak up on me like a fucking murderer in the middle of the night?

With an effort, I murmur into the mouthpiece, “Forget that order. Thanks.”

I set the phone down on the counter and press the heels of my hands to my temples, releasing the pressure in a gut-wrenching howl.

“I need to get the fuck out of here,” I mumble, patting the front of my leather jacket to confirm my wallet is in the pocket.

A quick glance down my chest tells me the black T-shirt I wore for the concert doesn’t have too many wrinkles. However, it doesn’t pass the smell test. With a quick trip to the bedroom, I exchange it for a navy-blue button-down, tucking it inside the waist of the stone-washed jeans.

As I slide my arms inside the sleeves of the leather jacket, the heels of my dress shoes click on the Italian marble of the foyer as I stalk to the double doors.

When I swing them toward me, I find Wes and Erik standing on the other side. The singer’s hand hangs in the air halfway toward a knock on the thick wooden pane.

I let my shoulders droop. “Checking up on me? Really? I’m okay.”

Erik’s eyebrows shoot up. “What? No. We’re on the way to Nick’s room for the party. Remember?” He sniffs the air between us. “Bet you don’t. Fuck, Logan. You reek worse than a bootlegger making bathtub gin.”

Wes slants his head toward Erik. “You go ahead. I’ll drag Logan under a cold shower before I hurl his sorry ass to bed.”

“I’m not drunk.” I grimace at their skeptical glares. “I drank, but I’m fine. Just going out for fresh air. Promise.”

They exchange glances and I cross my arms watching them decide if they can trust me. If I were a gambler, I’d put all my chips on the ‘hell no’ option. With my track record, I don’t blame my friends. Wes scratches his head while Erik rubs a palm over the scruff on his jaw.

I dig my fingers into their shoulders. “Guys. Do. Not. Worry.” I give them a light squeeze. “Go enjoy the party. I’ll take a stroll down The Strip and come back in a jiffy.” Their frowns tickle my funny bone. I shrug. “Or not. Maybe I’ll meet my better half, elope, and you’ll never see me again.”

They crack up, slap me on the back, and continue down the hall toward Nick’s suite. I turn to the elevator hall. Although they have their backs to me, I steel my spine and take extra care not to stumble as the loud design of the carpet plays tricks on my eyes.

Thankful for riding alone to the casino floor, I manage to take a few steps out of the metal box before a fan intercepts my way.

A dark-haired man in his late twenties pops up in front of me. “Dude, you’ve got to be shitting me. Logan Fucking Maine. You rock, man.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, eyes glued to the floor, taking a step to my right.

His sneakers follow suit, blocking my exit. In general, I don’t mind this kind of interaction. It comes with the territory in my business. Tonight, I feel caged.

The tip of my ears burns. I snap my head up to meet his eager stare. It kills my impulse to lash out.

Instead, I whisper, “Sorry. Today isn’t a good day, pal.”

He shakes his head, raising his hands up in the air. “No. I get it. My bad.”

With a brief nod, I set my eyes on the front doors. It doesn’t take long for me to find myself surrounded by at least half a dozen bubbly teenagers. I roll my eyes. Fuck. I don’t want to be an asshole to these young fans. But I don’t feel equipped to deal with them either.

Where the hell is Kim when I need her? I cast my eyes around in a vain attempt to locate the band manager, who should be upstairs in the party she’s put together for me and my bandmates.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” Their shouts echo inside my fuzzy brain as they bounce around me, snapping the camera app on their cell phones.

I need to get out of here before they switch to selfies. My wondering eyes meet a pair of dark blue ones. They shine with amusement as the woman they belong to stands a couple of feet away from my predicament. Brown curls cascade around a heart-shaped face, past her shoulders, to rest on her breasts. The beaded flowers on the bodice of her dress glitter under the bright lights. I zap my gaze back up to find her chuckling.

That’s when arms snake around my waist and I drop my eyes to discover three of the army of teens have sandwiched me while their friends take pictures. When I lose my footing, alarm bells go off in my head. If I grab at one of these young women for support, chances are I’ll land a hand on some part of their anatomy I should not ever touch—in private or in public. Let alone with cameras to capture the moment. Panic sets in as I struggle not to fall on my ass while treading the thin line of inappropriate behavior.

“Party’s over, ladies!” A raspy voice calls out to my right as the brunette with mesmerizing eyes parts the small crowd of teenagers on her way to my side. “This one’s taken.”

She wraps her arm around my waist as if claiming me. In fact, she manages to counterbalance my center of gravity, avoiding my fall from grace in so many senses of the expression.

Sliding into the role she’s cast for me, I kiss the top of her head, inhaling an intoxicating mix of fruity scent and female independence.