by Lisa Swallow
Forever Sky
Lisa Swallow
Contents
Forever Sky
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Read a sample of Cadence (Ruby Riot #1)
The Ruby Riot Series
The Blue Phoenix Series
Other Books by Lisa Swallow
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 Lisa Swallow
Cover designed by Najla Qamber Designs
Photo by Lindee Robinson Photography
Models: Madison Wayne & Chad Feyrer
Editing by Hot Tree Editing
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
For Peggy, for taking care of my boys and their girls on my journey with Blue Phoenix over the last couple of years.
FOREVER SKY
(Blue Phoenix #6)
From the bestselling Blue Phoenix rock star romance series. Forever Sky is the conclusion to Dylan and Sky’s story and the final book. The books contains spoilers for the other books in the series and must be read after Summer Sky and Falling Sky.
Sky and Dylan have found their forever, wrapped in a world away from rock star Dylan’s fame. For Sky, a future with Dylan is a life with the man who closed the book on his past for a future with her.
The deeper into her new life Sky goes, the harder she finds dealing with the public scrutiny and holding onto who she is. When a third person enters her new life with Dylan, Sky also struggles to meet the expectations she has of herself.
Dylan believes in fairytale endings and his unwavering love for Sky, and he will fight anything that threatens their life together. But the world can throw curveballs that even the strongest couple would struggle to dodge. Including a face from the past.
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1
SEPTEMBER 2014
SKY
The world tour we embarked on four months ago pauses here, aboard a yacht moored on the Mediterranean. We’re hidden amongst the other luxury boats, close to the St Tropez shore, but not near enough to be seen. The peace is at odds with busy Paris we left two days ago, and it’s a relief.
Dylan can’t understand why I want to return to England, but four months is a long time to stay away when previously the longest holiday I’d had was two weeks in Greece with Grant. I don’t count the crazy Blue Phoenix tour I was part of earlier this year. That trip around the States almost blew the band—and us—apart.
Dylan’s already visited many of the places we passed through over the weeks but is as clueless as me about where to go and what to do. We also underestimate the press attention. There’re weekly shots of me and Dylan. We don’t need a holiday diary; they’re creating a travelogue for us.
Pissed off with the constant intrusion, Dylan borrows a boat from an actor friend. I was wary at first, remembering the last boat trip we took to the island, which resulted in me almost vomiting over Dylan’s shoes. However, the thirty-three meter yacht worth more than my old house is incomparable to a small speedboat, and thankfully my stomach contents remain where they should be.
My first time on a yacht, and this isn’t what I expected. A floating hotel with plushly decorated suites, every inch meticulously clean, and the chrome shining. The boat usually comes with crew, but Dylan rejected them, protective of our privacy.
I recline on the outdoor seats, glass of wine in hand, thankful we’re moored far enough away from shore to avoid cameras, or at least see them coming. Nearby boats are far enough away not to be intrusive, the situation peaceful after the city stays recently. The large, blue cushioned chairs half cover the deck at the rear of the boat, and nearby is a gated part, which leads straight into the water. Not for me though.
My broad-brimmed hat casts shadows across my bare legs; legs tanned over the last few months, and I secretly admire my new colour. Annoyingly, this brings my freckles out too; an all over beautiful tan can never be mine. Dylan spends a lot of time suggesting I sunbathe topless to complete my tan, but the sparkle in his eye, and the fact I didn’t stay in the sun long the first time I did, has stopped me repeating the exercise. Not that I ever need persuading into Dylan’s bed, and despite the fact we’re together 24/7, our relationship stays strong.
Dylan appears and I appraise him from behind my large sunglasses. As if even possible, the new bronze to his toned body increases his heat level, the tight abs begging for my nails to scrape across them. My eyes follow the curve of the muscle to his black board shorts low on his hips, and to the v shape disappearing into them.
Moistening my lips, I look up to greet him, but his full mouth is pursed, brow dipped as he taps the screen of the phone in his hand. I remove my sunglasses; Dylan rarely looks stressed these days and his consternation worries me.
“You okay?” I ask as he crosses and sits on the edge of the seats. His warm leg touches mine, and I run my fingers along the tribal tattoo snaking around his thigh.
“Liam’s engaged,” he says, continuing to tap a message on his phone.
“Oh wow, awesome news.” I smile, happy for the band’s bass player and the lovely Cerys. She deserves Liam much more than the actress he almost married. I like Cerys, she’s normal, but this has all happened quickly for the pair. Dylan’s face remains stony. “Or not?”
“And they set a date.”
A prickling realisation why Dylan is pouting begins. “You think he’s rushing into this after Honey?” I ask, knowing full well this isn’t the answer.
For a long moment, Dylan gazes out across the azure sea, where the midday sun ripples light across the water; the surroundings calmer than the atmosphere growing between us.
“December,” he says eventually. “Three days before Christmas.”
“How romantic,” I say, then immediately regret the words as Dylan’s frown grows.
“So you want a December wedding?” he asks.
I curl my fingers around his. “Don’t.”
“But we got engaged first,” he protests.
“Seriously? Do you know how childish that sounds?” I sit forward and poke him in the chest. �
��It’s not a competition.”
“At this rate everybody will be married before we are!”
“Jesus, Dylan, don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit? I don’t exactly see Jem or Bryn beating you to the altar.”
Dylan huffs. “I just want to marry you, Sky. Why are we waiting? What for?”
His eyes reflect confusion, and I attempt to hide my nerves. Hasn’t Dylan learned not to push me into something I’m worried about? Over a year since we met, and he hasn’t learnt his lesson.
“Don’t….” I warn him.
“You never give me a straight answer when I ask.”
Because I don’t have one. The overwhelming intensity of how I feel around Dylan, the weird idea that without him, I’m only part of myself continues and still frightens me. I have no doubt about Dylan’s feelings, no worry he’ll return to his rock star ways and grow bored of me. We fought enough to be where we are, for each other, for a new life, and we’re living it.
I spent five years with somebody else who never asked me to marry him. At the time, marriage was all I wanted, and nowadays I know why. I was insecure, doubted the strength of my relationship with Grant, and saw getting married as a way to hang onto him. As we drifted apart, I used talk of weddings to pull him back. My idea of marriage confuses insecurity with love.
I stroke Dylan’s face with the back of my hand, his scruff scraping at my soft skin. He catches my fingers and kisses them. “I will marry you, Dylan. When the time is right.”
“Tomorrow?” he says with a small smile.
“It’s always tomorrow with you, isn’t it?” I whisper and place my lips on his. He hesitates and this hurts, as if he’s pushing me away because I won’t do what he wants. I pull back, searching his eyes. “Why do we always have this conversation? Can’t you just be happy to live in the moment we’re in?”
“I want the whole world to know we’re forever,” he says, repeating words I hear weekly. “I want to wake up with Sky Morgan and know she’ll always be there,” he whispers.
His sincere words tug at my heart, and at my resolve. Why am I denying us both our final happy ever after?
Because I’m scared it won’t be; that as soon as we reach the peak, things will start falling downhill.
Climbing onto Dylan’s lap, I wind my arms around his neck and rest my head on his heating skin. My head fits into the perfect spot beneath his chin, and he closes his arms around my waist, a tickling touch as his fingers delve to the waistband of my blue bikini. As ever, my arousal is instant, the ache for his touch grows as my body reminds me of the amazing things this man can do to me without trying.
“I remember the day you told me you didn’t own a bikini,” he murmurs, lips travelling across my skin, and he lightly nips the edge of my collarbone.
“I never used to,” I say, wriggling against the fingers now stroking the outside of my bikini briefs.
“No idea why because you look fucking gorgeous in one.” Dylan shifts and pulls my legs around so I’m straddling him. “Although you look better out of one.”
I catch the hand that’s found its way between the briefs and my ass.
“Dylan, not here.”
“Nobody’s around.” He shifts to tug on the spaghetti strap tied around my back.
“I don’t trust there isn’t,” I say and catch his arm.
He winds his fingers into my hair too. I recognise his switch tripped into heated desire as his hands become more insistent, and harsher against my skin. “Here.”
“No!”
“Wrong answer.” He grabs my hips and tips me over onto the lounger. “Keep your hat on and they won’t recognise you.”
I giggle at him and trail my fingers along the abs I was admiring minutes ago. “I don’t think that’ll work.”
Dylan’s lips curl into his familiar grin. “Hmm. Well, I got you covered.”
“I hope so.” I move my hand to the edge of his shorts, and run light fingers across his length.
Dylan groans and grips my thigh, then pulls my head to his. We kiss deeply, the need and frustration pouring from him. In the silence surrounding, I lose myself in Dylan, my soul mate, my missing part, my everything. There’s no room for anybody or anything but us anymore.
Four months of bliss with Dylan. Why would I want to leave this behind? We could live away from the ugly and stay in our bubble of happiness.
We have everything we wanted a year ago. Each other. I need to let go of my unfounded fears and marry Dylan.
2
OCTOBER 2014
SKY
Heathrow Airport’s bright light bounces off the tiled floor and into my tired eyes as I prepare to negotiate my way through the terminal with Dylan. Following ten hours cocooned in first class on a flight from LA, we’re back to blinding reality. I steel myself for the inevitable press attention. London is always the worst, and despite my desire to be back on home soil, I dread running the gauntlet of photographers and reporters.
Dylan and I haven’t been seen in public recently, which means worse attention than usual heading our way. Who knows what reason the gossip mags have concocted to explain our “disappearance” on holiday? Jim, one of Blue Phoenix’s security detail, meets us at the gate. We don’t chat. The bulky man with his taciturn face shares our desire to exit the airport as soon as possible.
Dylan grips my hand as we head along the wide hallway, equally anxious to reach the car stationed outside the airport.
“Looks like somebody tipped them off,” he mutters as we approach a doorway where a crowd, some with cameras, gather on the other side.
A dark look crosses Dylan’s face, and he pulls the plain blue baseball cap lower. The peak obscures his face, pushing regrowing curls against his ears. I’ve wrapped myself up in a black padded jacket with a large hood. I gave up trying to tame my hair and pulled it into a ponytail, which means my face isn’t as obscured as I’d like. I look like crap too. Foreign cuisine doesn’t agree with me. I’m on my third bout of gastro since we embarked on our worldwide travels several months ago.
Before anybody notices us, I halt at the edge of the doorway and take a deep breath as my pulse rate picks up. Will I ever get used to this?
Dylan stops too. “Are you okay?”
Aware I’m digging my nails into his hand, I loosen my fingers. His ocean blue eyes are concerned but tired, the time zone shifts affecting us both. I touch Dylan’s face with the back of my hand. “You look exhausted.”
“Don’t change the subject. You’ve been quiet for most of the flight,” he replies.
“I find this hard to deal with.” I gesture at the waiting media.
Dylan pushes down my hood, the concern on his face growing. I look back at him as we pull back to us, to the world we share nobody is part of. When Dylan places his lips on my forehead, the calm he manages to exude takes over as if he’s poured some of his confidence into me.
He slides his hand along my back, and under my hair, until his fingers rest at the nape of my neck. “Your face is clammy. Is this just nerves about those idiots?” he murmurs, lips moving against my skin.
“I’m still feeling rough, long flight. Not a great combination.”
Dylan tips my chin with his long fingers and kisses me softly. “We can wait somewhere else until you feel ready to deal with them?”
“No, I want to go home.”
Dylan’s face brightens into a smile. “Home. Our place.”
“Yeah, the little house in the country.” I poke him. Dylan suggested we spend a couple of days at his place in London, but I’m not ready for the craziness of city living just yet. I need to ease back into the real world.
“Come on, let’s get this over with.” I tug his hand and stride through the door towards the waiting cameras. Instead of bowing my head, I stare straight ahead and disconnect. These people aren’t here. They’re not part of my life.
But they are if Dylan Morgan is.
Immediately our names are called, cameras flashing as
the photographers jostle for their exclusive shot. Through the crowd, I spot a group of young teenage girls hovering at the edge of the pack, not calling our names or pointing cameras, holding pictures of Dylan and the band. Two of the girls jump up and down, clutching at each other and repeating omigod as they see us. The third, a girl with short brown hair dressed in a Blue Phoenix T-shirt, stares silently at the pair of us with eyes the size of saucers.
I slow, but Dylan keeps walking. He stops and turns. “Come on!”
“Speak to them,” I say quietly.
“Who?”
I indicate the girls with my head. All the while the excited journalists flash cameras and shout questions we refuse to answer, thrilled we’ve stopped walking. Whoever the girls are, they’ve taken a lot of trouble to find Dylan as our travel plans were last minute. This normally annoys me, but their lack of screaming or grabbing hands is unusual.
“The girls.”
“Why?”
“Because they love you, Mr Rock Star, go and make their day. It’s 3:00 a.m. and they’re here for you.”
He hesitates. I know Dylan hates this, everybody wanting a piece of him, but he needs to accept this will always happen. Jim watches warily, standing between us and the journalists.
“You want me to talk to them?” Dylan asks in surprise.
“Go on, I know the attention-loving Dylan is still in there somewhere.” I smile at him. “They seem like nice kids.”
When Dylan approaches the girls, I move so I’m obscured by Jim, but the cameras switch to Dylan. He chats to the teens and signs their posters and clothes. I smile to myself as the pink-faced girls take turns to snap selfies with a tired-looking Dylan, the consummate professional.
