by Cari Quinn
It wasn’t whiskey-laced Simon.
It was Simon-laced Simon.
And she loved every part of him and this moment.
Twelve
The boat rocked lightly, and the splash of water soaked the towel beneath them. He tipped his hat back off his face. They’d been lazily drifting since their little interlude. He’d been loathe to move. Margo and her sweet, romantic self was a rarity and he didn’t want to break the spell.
But the clouds above them were a little ominous.
He slid his hand down her arm and scratched lightly. She made a cute little moaning sound and turned into his arms, settling her cheek on his chest.
Cuddling in the post coital glow with a woman had never been a hardship for him. He liked the weight of one on him or snuggled up against him, but Margo was a whole different animal. He’d assumed she would be the opposite in every way.
She never seemed to want him in her space when they were doing the benefits outside the bus thing, but in his bed? She was an octopus.
And he fucking loved it.
Each of them ended up tangled up on or around the other at all times. Maybe later in their relationship they wouldn’t be, but he kinda doubted it. But they were still new in the sleeping together department. Not fucking—they knew how to do that. The closeness thing was something he could get used to.
A little too much.
She slid her knee up his thigh and rubbed lightly. He groaned as her naked breast shifted against his skin. She jumped and touched her face. “Oh, crap.” She wiggled out of his arms and up onto the deck.
He rolled up to sit and watch her and her glorious breasts rush to the front of the boat. She tipped her head and gave him her get moving glare.
His gaze drifted down to her unencumbered breasts and she swore. “Now is not the time for you to be ogling me.”
As far as he was concerned it was always the time, but he rolled to his knees and climbed out of their little nest. The rain started in earnest and the waves between the pontoons got choppier by the moment.
She dug into their bag and put his wife beater on. He’d never seen her move so fast before. She went from the front to the back of the boat in a flash. He heard the winch motor and suddenly they were released back into the current.
“Untie the sail. We need to get back to the dock before this gets worse.”
A wave batted at the starboard pontoon and knocked him off the deck and back into the netting.
Son of a bitch.
He scrambled back up and held onto the bench to get to the sail. The removable crank rolled off the box it had been resting in. When he reached to get it, he heard her voice.
It seemed to drown in the wind that had whipped up out of nowhere.
When he looked up, the arm of the sail was heading right for him. He put an arm up to block the blow but he was no match for it. Water rushed at him as he went ass over ears into the water.
He surfaced with a cough and saw the arm of the sail swing back. He quickly swam for the boat, but the current was pulling either him or the boat farther away. Being a stronger swimmer under water, he ducked under and kicked hard. When he came up for a breath, he heard Margo screaming his name. She was reaching over the side of the boat, her eyes huge with fear.
He waved to her.
She sagged for a moment and then tossed a rope over the side with a buoy attached. “Of course I had to rescue you.”
He dipped under the water and pushed his hair back. Damn that woman and her sassy mouth lately. She hauled him in with a yank.
Jesus fuck, she was strong.
He floated to the stairs along the outside of the pontoon. Margo helped him climb over the side and they both slumped onto the bench.
“I didn’t see you.” She pushed his hair back and wetness dotted her eyelashes. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was from the rain or for him. His breath whooshed out as she wrapped her arms around his neck and held onto him tightly. Her free breasts were squashed to his chest and he had to bite back a groan. Her heart was slamming against her chest hard enough that he could feel it.
Man, he really had scared her.
“I didn’t see you. And every terrible boat movie went through my head. I was just waiting to see blood in the water.”
He pushed her back and cupped her face. He mouthed, “I’m fine.”
Physically, he was fine. His pride was probably still in the ocean and would be for the next few days.
She kissed him, hard. She wrapped herself around him for a moment. Again, her tits were far too distracting. Now that there was no danger of drowning, his body could only focus on the whole wet T-shirt contest and bikini bottom action he was getting.
“Don’t do that again.”
He grinned and saluted her. Twice.
She looked down at his rapidly hardening cock. “Really?”
He shrugged and mouthed, “My hero.”
She rolled her eyes and pushed him into the cushions. “Sit there.” She scooped up the crank and headed back to the sail, ducking under the arm like a pro. She’d grabbed his ball cap and stuffed her hair under it.
A minute later, the white and blue canvas was snapping out into the wind. His girl was at the wheel and turning the boat expertly. Good fuck, she was magnificent. The sun was at her back, trying to break through the storm clouds, and her mile-long legs braced as she turned into the wind and back to the coastline.
As soon as they got to dry land, he was going to fuck her until she was unconscious.
She yelled at him to gather their stuff out of the net and throw it below deck. The water got rougher by the minute and he was clinging to the sides of the boat by the time they could see the shoreline. The weather kept pushing them farther out, but his girl was not to be deterred.
Finally, they broke free of the current and the storm clouds dissipated.
She yelled for him to drop the sail and they smoothly came into dock. She jumped off the boat and tied off. Her shoulders rose and fell with the effort of doing most of it on her own. He’d been woefully incompetent as a first mate. When he stepped off the boat, he hauled her against him and kissed her. He pushed the hat off her head and fisted her heavy fall of salt-crusted hair.
She wrapped her legs around him and he had to shift to take her. They were of a similar height, but he didn’t want her to see him struggle.
Not about this.
He loved how solid and beautiful she was. How her skin had darkened with just a little bit of sun and her happiness hit him like the waves that had stolen his breath just an hour before. He moved them down the dock to the sand and sloshed through the ankle deep surf.
He went down on his knees in the powdery soft sand and lowered himself between her legs. She lifted her arms over her head and looked up at him. “What a day.”
He smoothed his hand over the sand and wrote perfect with his finger.
“Well, except you trying to scare ten years off of me.”
He waggled his eyebrows. He made a clean slate in the sand.
You saved me like a boss.
“I did, didn’t I?” She grinned into his mouth as he covered her again. She hooked her ankles at his lower back. “I can’t believe that all came back to me. I used to sail with my dad when I was a girl.”
“Like a boss,” he mouthed.
“The storms come up so fast. I should have been prepared for it, but I was so…”
He patted the sand.
Post coitus maximus.
“That’s one way to say it.” She feathered her thumb over his brow. “I’m glad you got to see my favorite place.”
Now he was part of her favorite place. He didn’t have the words to explain to her how important that was to him. He’d never been anyone’s anything. Just a fuck buddy or a night of uncomplicated sex. Even when he’d been looking for something more with a woman, they were always looking for a fling. He’d never been worthy of more.
Until her.
He only hoped he could
keep being worthy.
With his voice on the rocks, he really had no future attached to him. What was he supposed to do if he didn’t sing?
“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it. Just enjoy us and this.”
He nodded and buried his face in her neck.
The urge to find his way into her bikini faded when her hand slid over his side. Salt water and sand and a strong right cross by a sail arm had left him a bit more sore than he wanted to own up to. He looked down at her with her magnificent breasts sliding out the sides of his shirt—that also happened to be riding up to show her smooth, gorgeous midriff.
Every part of this was movie-perfect for sex.
Except how wrecked he was.
When she winced and flexed her arms, he smiled softly at her. He swiped at the sand.
Home.
Shower.
Food.
“Yes,” she hissed. “God, yes.”
With a grunt, he got up.
“Hey, none of that.”
He rolled his eyes. He’d be happy to get past this first week so he could talk a little. It was a pain in the ass, man. Even the tiny bit of talking he would finally be allowed to do would be better than this eternal silence.
He hauled her up with him and looked around the beach to make sure there was no one else around. He sneaked his hands under her shirt and cupped her breasts together, flicking his thumb over each tip until they were tight as hell.
“Home,” he mouthed.
She nodded and dashed back to the boat. She threw one of the bags onto the dock and skipped around the boat, buttoning it down. He gathered the soggy towels and dug out his sneakers. Within five minutes, she was back and the boat was moored to the dock with two ties.
She was ridiculously hot and efficient.
He held up her shoes and she took them with a grin. “Thanks.”
Margo took his hand and they flew down the end of the dock and jumped to the sand. She scooted through the dunes and grass to the path that led up to the house. The rocks were slick from the rain and humidity, but she monkeyed up them like she was a damn ten-year-old.
He tried to keep up, but gave up. He enjoyed the view instead and lagged behind a few yards. By the time they got to the top, his entire side hurt from the tattoo, the bashing, and the sun. He dragged his ass up the stairs and dropped his bag inside the door.
“Oh, my God.”
He went face first onto the couch. Everything hurt.
He desperately needed a shower, but he didn’t have the strength to take his sandy ass up the stairs.
Margo went into the kitchen and he heard the refrigerator door then a bottle of water was tucked into his arm. “Drink.”
He didn’t want to.
He wanted to lay there and be a bum-ass loser. But his head hurt and his throat was aching. He rolled over with a groan and uncapped his water. He shifted and winced at something hard under his arm. Stupid remote.
He tried to move it and the TV blipped on. If he was allowed to groan, he would have when Mark McGrath filled the screen. Is that where he was headed? No singing career anymore and now he was doing entertainment reporting?
Fucking phenomenal.
When his own face blipped on the screen, he held up the remote to change the channel.
“In music news, Oblivion frontman Simon Kagan’s spectacular swan dive on the stage shocked a lot of worried fans. There’s been little to no details on Simon from the Oblivion camp. Eyewitness accounts say he went down in a pool of blood. That really doesn’t sound good.”
Ya think?
Simon hit the guide key. He really didn’t want to hear a play-by-play of his last performance. It was a video in his head at all times.
“Simon.”
He turned his head at Margo’s voice. She stood there with her hand over her mouth, her shoulders huddling forward.
He stood up, his body screamed, but it didn’t matter. The horror on her face was enough to get him moving. He rounded the couch and pulled her into his arms. As shitty as it was for him to remember that night, it had been far worse on the people in his band. It hadn’t been a ton of blood, but more than enough to leave the stage looking like a horror movie.
And she’d been so brave. Right by his side at the hospital, and he was pretty sure right with him for almost all of it. He tightened his hold with a soft shush as she shook. For most of the last week it had been all about him, taking care of him, keeping his spirits up.
Simon brushed a kiss over her temple as the news story kept on going.
Christ, didn’t they have something better to talk about?
“As if that wasn’t enough for the drama pot, that same night original drummer and ex-member William Scotsman was found dead. He’d just made headlines by going public with his suit against Oblivion for breach of contract issues. Man, talk about bad luck. Authorities haven’t ruled out foul play at this time. I don’t know about you viewers, but that sounds really suspicious to me. Talk about interesting timing. We’ll report more details as they become available.”
Simon’s arms fell away.
Foul play?
He’d just assumed that Snake had overdosed. So many times, he’d found him on the floor and half an inch away from death. Every time had stalled his heart and left him nauseous with the reality of what the band had become.
Even after he’d made his peace with replacing Snake, the guilt had remained. Drugs were a part of the lifestyle. Hell, it had even touched them again with Gray and his troubles with coke. But nothing like Snake.
The needle in his arm, and the lies, the countless trips to rehab, and finally, they’d just had to move on without him.
But foul play?
What did that even mean?
Murder?
Overdose?
He swallowed hard and willed down the tickle in his throat. He stepped back from Margo and grabbed his water again.
She walked around the couch and found the remote, turning off the television until silence filled the space once more. “I’m sorry. We didn’t know how to tell you.”
He folded his arms and lifted a brow.
“We still don’t know much. The police won’t give us any real details. Just that it was an accident. But no one was with him when it happened. So that’s why it looks suspicious.”
“What happened?” he mouthed.
“He drowned.”
Simon frowned. Snake was a surfer. He’d rather be on his board more than even his kit. There was no way he’d drown.
“His body turned up off of Redondo Beach.”
It wasn’t unheard of for surfers to get hurt. Between the breakers and the reef, there were more than a few pitfalls. One of the reasons he’d never surfed on the regular. He’d rather swim than trust a huge wave on a big board.
He dug around in the beach bag and found his whiteboard.
Why foul play?
“Because he went out with a bunch of friends and just disappeared.” Margo pulled him down to sit next to her. “They questioned his friends because no one saw him get into trouble. He just disappeared and turned up down the beach. But not until the next morning.”
He slumped against the couch.
He’d been all alone?
As much as he wanted to shove his fist into Snake’s face for the lawsuit, he didn’t ever wish death on him. And definitely not drowning. Though if you had to go, he supposed that was definitely the better way to go.
Just peacefully sinking down.
He threaded his fingers into his hair.
Christ. He didn’t even know how to swallow that information. Was it wrong to be relieved that the Snake chapter was over?
Or would that be the most interesting bit in the Behind the Music—Where Are They Now broadcast? If they even did that show anymore. Maybe they’d just fade into obscurity and be included on a Spotify playlist.
He stood up, disgusted with his brain and the thoughts that were crowding him.
He wanted a shower
.
She stood up.
He reached for the marker board.
I need a few. Okay?
She nodded. “Sure. I understand.”
Her huge dark eyes were sad and worried. He hated to see it, but he just couldn’t deal right now. He wanted a long hot shower and really wanted a drink.
One out of two would have to do.
Thirteen
She wanted to kick herself. That hadn’t been the way she wanted to tell him about Snake. Hell, she hadn’t been totally sure what he’d known anyway. He wasn’t the type to be on his phone all day like some of the band members, but he wasn’t exactly out of the loop either.
Of course up here the signal was crappy to say the least, but he’d been away from her for a few days as well. And he’d been with the band—but Nick hadn’t mentioned anything. Not exactly surprising. They all wanted Simon to focus on getting better, not the ex-bandmate that might have committed suicide, or just died in a tragic accident.
Suicide had definitely been an aspect that the police had mentioned. What wasn’t public knowledge was that Donovan’s lawyers had decimated Snake’s claims.
He—or in this case, his heirs, if he had any—wasn’t getting a dime from the Oblivion camp. And even if he’d wanted to find another lawyer to make a claim, no one would touch him. Not with Donovan Lewis involved. And she only knew this because of Lila.
Middle of the night texts were becoming their norm. Lila didn’t seem to sleep and when Margo had been away from Simon, sleep had been less than forthcoming for her too.
She walked a fine line of being part of the band and being an outsider. Her relationship with Simon made her just a little more than hired gun to everyone except Nick. She was pretty sure that even if she’d been an actual band member for ten years, she still wouldn’t be considered inner circle by his standards.
The pang under her breastbone made her curl onto her side on the couch. Did she really want to be a full-fledged member of the band?
