Logan stepped onto the private balcony, blue eyes roaming over me from tip to toe. Dressed for the gig tonight, he wore his favorite jeans—faded with holes in both knees—and a black T-shirt that fit like a second skin.

His hair had grown out since we started the tour and fell over his eyes, messy in all the right ways. And he hadn’t bothered to shave. All and all, he looked every inch the rock god. And suddenly, the thought of thousands of women checking him out did things to my stomach.

Bad things.

Painful things.

Dropping into the chair beside my lounger, Logan frowned as he continued his slow perusal of my body. Even though we’d been naked together for the majority of the last three days, this was different. Stretched out on my stomach under the unforgiving sun in just a bikini, I felt more exposed than I ever had when we were in bed.

I was about to sit up and pull on my robe when he said, “You’re going to burn, baby. How long have you been out here?”

I smiled. “Not long. And I won’t burn.”

He picked up my foot, and I almost purred as he began to rub small circles on my instep. “I’m not so sure about that. You look a little pink.”

My eyes drifted closed. “Trust me, I never burn. I’m half-Mexican.”

He stopped rubbing. “Really?”

“Um-hmm … on my mother’s side.” When he didn’t say anything, I twisted to look at him. “You seem surprised.”

And how could I blame him? My bronze glow had faded years ago. With the exception of my yearly trip to the Guadalupe River in the spring, I never got any sun.

“No, I can see it,” he said, returning to his task. “I was just thinking about Zoe. I assumed your mom was blond, since your sister’s so …”

He squirmed, and I smiled. “Fair?” If there was a politically correct term for “white,” that was it. But I hated mincing words. “Chalky? Pasty? Kind of like you?”

One brow quirked high. “I’m not chalky, princess.”

I laughed, resting my cheek on my folded arms. “Whatever you say. But … Zoe … she’s adopted. Kind of.”

“How is someone ‘kind of’ adopted?”

“She’s a foster child.” My tone turned wistful as I thought about my sister, the way she’d looked the first day I saw her. “She’s been with my parents since she was four. Courtney, her birth mother, is in prison, but,” I heaved a sigh, “she hasn’t given up her rights.”

Logan’s heavy gaze found mine. “Why?”

He’d done it again—unearthed something so personal. Without even trying.

“Because of me, I think. The first Damaged album hit right after Zoe was placed in my parents’ care. I’m not sure, but I think Courtney might be looking for a payday when she gets out.”

“And when will that be?”

“Soon. Trevor’s on it, though. He says we don’t have anything to worry about.”

But I was worried. And I think Logan sensed it. Because he didn’t say anything more.

After a long moment, I felt the cushion on my lounger dip when he dropped a knee onto the side.

“Come to the show tonight?” He tugged on the string holding my bikini bottom together and, sweeping the fabric aside, pressed a kiss to my ass cheek. “Please.”

“I don’t know.”

Slipping his hand around to my stomach, his fingers dipped lower, finding the slick heat between my thighs.

“Come …” he roughed out, nipping the back of my neck. “Can you?”

“To the show?”

He smiled against my skin. “Sure. That too.” Two fingers slid into my core, and he pumped hard, eliciting a harsh moan. “You look so fucking hot right now, Victoria.”

I loved the way he said my name. It sounded so sinful on his lips. But then I remembered where we were.

“What if someone sees us?” I panted.

“Nobody’s going to see us unless they have a helicopter.”

It sounded logical. And honestly, I was too far gone to argue. It was like all the years without sex had turned me into some wild thing. Or maybe it was Logan. I wanted him. All the time. His mouth. His fingers. His cock. His dirty words.

Lost to the rhythm, I squeezed my eyes shut, grinding mercilessly against his hand.

“Fuck … Lo … God … I’m going to come.”

His teeth grazed my earlobe, and I felt him smile. “So do it. Let me hear you.”

I flew apart, his name spilling from my lips like a prayer as he pressed open mouth kisses along my spine. Before the final spasm wracked my body, I heard his jeans slide down his hips, followed by the crinkle of the condom wrapper.

“Up, baby,” he rasped as he pulled me onto all fours. And then he was inside me, buried to the hilt. “Am I hurting you?”

Every time. He asked me that every time.

I pushed back against him. “No. Please …”

“Please what?” he growled. “Fuck you? Tell me you want me to fuck you.”

My eyes rolled back. “I do. Oh, God. I do.”

“Then say it.” I gasped when his hand came down on my left ass cheek. Not hard. Just enough to sting. “Say it, baby.”

“Fuck me, Lo … Please.”

He cursed and then pulled all the way out. Panicked, I whipped my head around.

Sunlight framed him, and I couldn’t make out his expression. But his voice was demanding. “Roll over.”

In this position, with my pussy bared to him, I couldn’t have been more exposed. Unless I was on my back. In the sun. With nowhere to hide. Gripping the towel beneath me, I did as he asked.

“Don’t hide from me, Victoria.”

It was a standoff. And one I couldn’t win. So I took a breath, and shoved the terry cloth aside.

He stepped out of his denim and then climbed on top of me.

“Why this way?” I asked as he pushed inside me again.

His lips ghosted mine, and he smiled. “Didn’t you say kissing was the best part?”