Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5)

by Cari Quinn

  Margo came in and plopped on the bed next to her sister. “I believe it. She’s a savant, I swear.”

  Juliet gave him a smug smile. “Savant. Seventy-five cent word.”

  He rolled his eyes. “So, your sister is thinking of joining Warning Sign.”

  Margo’s brows snapped down. “What? Since when?”

  Juliet folded her arms over the garish pink notebook. “Since about…” She dug her phone out of her pocket. “Nineteen minutes ago.”

  “I think you need to back up a little bit.”

  Juliet sighed. “The douchebag they had on bass got all egomaniac on everyone and Molly slapped him down. He didn’t really care for it and they got into a few rounds.”

  “Rounds?”

  Juliet leaned back on the bed, propped herself on her elbows. “Yeah. It was on YouTube and everything.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. Does Lila know?”

  Juliet snorted. “If she doesn’t, she will soon.”

  Simon pulled out his phone.

  “Really?”

  He looked up at Margo. “What? I’m not the troublemaker this time. I wanna see.” He did a quick internet search. And sure enough it came up right away.

  Margo came over to sit by him on the arm of the couch. He wrapped his arm around her hips and they watched together. The body language of the rehearsal told of tensions way higher than Oblivion ever allowed on stage. They may have had their problems, but when they got on stage they left that shit behind.

  This kid tried to push Molly out of the way. Bassists didn’t have solos unless they were Flea and he was no Flea. Molly clocked him.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “I concur,” Simon said. “It wasn’t a closed rehearsal?”

  “Nope.” Juliet picked at her nails. “Some winter festival in LA.”

  “Oh, yeah Lila is going to love this one.” Margo leaned in on him.

  “I don’t think we’re actively telling her about this one. At least that’s the gist I get from Molly.” Juliet shrugged. “Michael is trying to downplay it.”

  Simon snorted. “Yeah, you don’t hide shit from Lila.”

  Juliet pushed to her feet. “Anyway. I just came to give you the news. I think it could be pretty cool. I’m going to go read through a few more of the songs. Molly gave me some vid from their rehearsals so I can learn the songs.”

  When Margo didn’t say anything, Simon tightened his hold on her. She rubbed her palms up and down her thighs. Yeah, that wasn’t a good sign. “Try not to hole up too much. It’s Christmas. Spend time with the fam and all that.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll catch you guys later.” Juliet shook her hair back and sauntered out.

  Simon waited until the door closed after her. “All right spit it out.”

  “What is she thinking?” Margo popped up and fisted her hands into her hair. “Her? In a band? Where she has to show up on time for shows?” She bent at the waist and held her knees. “I can’t even.”

  “C’mon, Violin Girl, she’s not that bad.”

  She peeked up between her bangs. “Are you drunk?”

  He sat back. “Nope.”

  “You know my sister. She’s the last person on the planet that I’d call responsible.”

  “You could have said that about me when I was her age. I still showed up for practice and every show.”

  “She didn’t show up for her own graduation.”

  “Not shocking. Bet she was at the party the night before.”

  “It’s not a joke, Simon.”

  He stood up. “Of course it’s not, but don’t be so hard on her. This might be just what she needs.”

  “Or this will be the final straw for me losing my friend.”

  “What’s Juliet got to do with that?”

  “Oh, everything.”

  “Stop being dramatic.” When she blinked at him, he clenched his fist. Real bright, Kagan. “Look, she’s a smart girl. And if she’s half as talented as you say she is, then she’s already better than the punk they had in the band.”

  “She’s talented as hell. Do you know how many symphonies approached Juliet?”

  “No.”

  “Four. Four of the leading orchestras tracked her down when she was on a bike trail in freaking Europe. They don’t do that. They don’t beg people to be first chair for the viola.”

  He didn’t know the difference between a violin and a viola, but right now didn’t seem like the best time to ask. “And she wasn’t interested?”

  “Oh, she loved being hounded. She had two of the conductors fighting over her. Then she played for three days and decided it wasn’t for her.” She paced the length of their room. “She loves the chase, loves to immerse herself in the instrument, then she gets bored and tries another.”

  He crossed to her. “That still doesn’t have anything to do with you and Lila.”

  “Of course it does.”

  He took her hands. “Juliet is her own person. Whatever she does has her own consequences attached. They’re not yours.”

  “But she—”

  He cupped her face. “She’s not even in the band yet. She’s just talking to them.”

  “She’s learning songs.” She stomped her foot. “She’s going to blow them away and they’ll be drooling for her.”

  “You give your sister a helluva lot of power.”

  “She has…I don’t know. Hoodoo or something.”

  He laughed and hauled her in against him, pressing a kiss against her neck. “Hoodoo?”

  “Mystical powers of persuasion.” She pressed her cheek into his shoulder. “It’s really ridiculous to watch in action.” She frowned and pulled back. “Funny you never seem to have a problem with the Juliet effect.”

  “Because I enjoy the Violin Girl effect way more.”

  She squinted at him. “Good answer.”

  “I have them occasionally.” He twined their fingers together. “Now, I can’t think anymore. I’m starving.”

  “Well, aren’t you the lucky one. Laverne is cooking a ridiculous feast.”

  “And I’m eating about nineteen helpings.”

  She laughed. “Good, you’ll need your strength for later.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Wait until you see what I got you for Christmas.”

  “Now that’s just mean.”

  “Well, make sure you don’t stuff yourself silly and you’ll enjoy it.”

  “Intriguing.” He slid his knee between her thighs. “Is it a toy?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Tease.”

  “Maybe a little.” She turned in his arms, her delicious ass sliding across the front of his jeans as she pulled him along to the door.

  “I’m not that hungry.”

  She laughed and hauled him through the door. “Later.”

  “I’m holding you to that, dammit,” he grumbled and closed the door behind him.

  18

  Lila

  Lila stepped into the bedroom, unsure of what she’d find. Deacon had come downstairs a little subdued, but no worse for wear. But no Nick and no Simon.

  She’d tried to give him time. To let him work it out on his own. The only problem was that it didn’t feel right. Letting him figure out something so painful on his own was more than she could stand.

  Besides, he might’ve fallen in the shower. The dumbass was still broken from yesterday. His color had been better, and he’d certainly been moving okay on his naked flight into the hall—naked, really?—but he had more adrenaline at his disposal than the average insane rocker. He could be curled up on the bathroom floor, too weak to call for help.

  Or singing his brains out in the shower while he scrubbed himself with her loofah.

  She didn’t know if she was amused or disgusted. She’d asked him not to touch her loofah. Repeatedly. She had no idea what he did with it. Didn’t want to know, truly.

  The song changed to George Michael’s “Faith,” and Nick’s voice only got louder. She winced. He wasn�
��t completely tone deaf—all his years in bands had to have had some effect—but Lord, he was close. Thank God he was better on a guitar than he was at vocals.

  So much better.

  She lurked in the doorway until he fell to his knees and she ripped open the nearly opaque shower curtain to see him with his eyes closed and his hands cupping her loofah like a microphone.

  Her ears might be bleeding but he wasn’t hurt in the slightest.

  His eyes popped open and focused on hers. Instead of being embarrassed as anyone should be with a voice like that, he grinned and grabbed her wrist, hauling her inside under the spray, clothes and all. He pinned her to the wall and continued the song, faintly screaming in her face while she shrieked and pushed at him to no avail.

  The man was certifiable. And cute as hell singing in the buff with his shaggy blond hair all slicked back from his golden eyes.

  Golden all the rest of him too, in spite of Simon’s low blow about pale dicks. As far as she could tell, his was just fine.

  Yes, she was looking. The thing was jabbing her in the belly, so how could she not?

  Somehow she found herself singing along with him. Since he was bellowing the lyrics, it was either sing too or possibly kick him in the nuts. Since he’d already been wounded yesterday, she’d give him a pass for drenching her.

  This blouse was silk, dammit.

  He knew all the words. She didn’t doubt he’d know the guitar line too. As he grabbed her hand and placed it over his heart, she stopped singing in favor of doubling over laughing. She laughed so hard she inhaled water up her nose and had to lean back against the tile wall to catch her breath in between fits of coughing.

  The water turned from lukewarm to ice cold, but he didn’t seem to care. He just shifted himself under the direct line of fire and her out of the way, oh so casually undoing the buttons of her blouse as if he wasn’t doing anything at all. Her nipples were already as hard as diamonds, and the friction from the fabric as he peeled it away made her swallow a moan. Then he nudged her back against the wall and slipped his hand into her panties, strumming her as easily as he would a guitar while he sung softly in her ear.

  And she wasn’t laughing any more.

  He slipped a single finger inside her, pressing deeply until he found that spot that made her rise up on her tiptoes. She threw her head back and he licked the droplets off her throat while he got her wet in a whole new way. It was seamless with him, the transition from amusement to passion. To need so thick and unrelenting she didn’t know how she’d ever taken a full breath without knowing its power.

  His thumb coasted over her swollen clit, rubbing just right. Tipping her into an orgasm muffled only because of the radio now playing a song about the fineness of Mickey.

  She was feeling fairly fine at the moment herself.

  He slid his lips down her jaw and across to her mouth, covering hers silkily. Slipping her tongue into his mouth felt as natural as reaching down to cup his ass. His perfect ass. The one she’d oh so happily grip as he fucked her into next Tuesday.

  Adeptly reading her mind, he nudged her panties and pants down one-handed and she stepped out of them, not really caring if they floated away. He pushed her blouse off her shoulders and dispatched her bra, tossing them in the corner too. Silk, what silk?

  His mouth closed over hers and he hoisted her up the wall one-handed before she could remind him about his knuckles. He didn’t need her help. Before she’d gathered breath to question him, he parted her thighs and drove inside, finding his way to the heart of her as unerringly as if they’d been doing this since the beginning of time. It didn’t require thought or precision, just the scrape of her nails down his back to his ass and the band of his arm under her thighs as he shoved her higher. He was inside her, and nothing else existed.

  Hair streaming down to shield them both, she gave him back what he offered. Those slow, deep thrusts became the rhythmic squeeze and slide of her body around his, tighter, so tight that breath became impossible. Still, he made more room inside her, flaying her open at the same time he filled her up. She couldn’t do anything but accept.

  Take. And give.

  He shifted her and she lifted her dazed eyes at the jostle of his hips. He kicked out at the faucet and stopped the icy flow, closing them in the white-walled chamber with only the drip of the water and the uneven staccato of their breaths. Of her moans at the retreat and slam of his cock into her where she was so soft and swollen for him. He moved just right to stimulate her clit, tumbling her into another climax, this one not so easily hidden. Even the music couldn’t cover her scream.

  He absorbed her cries with his mouth, swallowing them as if they were his own. While she shuddered and broke around him, he fused her back together so he could crash through every one of her walls again. Rebuilt only to be destroyed one more time.

  This time, he was with her. Hips surging against hers, he stroked deep one last time and held, so full and hard. The explosion rocked her where she stood, trembling through muscles and nerves still weak and shaky from her own release. Flooding her with aftershocks that made her whimper and drop her head to his shoulder until his big hand came up to hold her there.

  Somehow, some way he was soothing her. He was still falling apart, still shaking himself, yet he wrapped himself around her to keep her upright.

  Lifting her head, she saw the truth in his eyes. That steady gold shined into hers like candlelight. It would never go out. He would always be there for her, always wait. He was her safety. Her home.

  Never, ever would he let her fall.

  He reached up to brush his thumb over her lip with his sore hand. The rawness of his knuckles drew her attention until she realized he was speaking. She could barely hear him over the thunder of her heartbeat.

  “Marry me, Lila.”

  She blinked, frowned. Her eyes were still full of water. She could barely see him outside the gold of his irises. They were twin beacons, and the droplets obscured everything else.

  In his pupils, she saw herself. But his question echoed in her head, louder even than her still raging pulse.

  He’d asked her to marry him. All on his own.

  Then reality clicked in. Not all on his own. There was the fact they’d just had great—spectacular—sex and even a relative newbie to the ways of lovemaking knew never to trust what a guy said when he was still balls-deep. Then there was the fact she’d oh, proposed herself the night before. Ineptly, true. But she’d posed the question, sort of, and he’d given her an answer of absolutely nothing. Bedside delirium aside.

  “Okay, so now I’m getting how it feels not to get a reply to that question.” He adjusted her and his wince gave her momentary pleasure, since he’d brought up last night’s major screwup. She felt guilty soon after.

  She loved the asshole. She didn’t want him to hurt. Especially not when his thick cock was waking up inside her—

  Focus, Ronson.

  “Can we have this discussion when you’re not playing plant a flag inside my private areas?”

  He rolled his eyes and set her down. “Better?”

  “A little.” She unkinked her neck as he retrieved her soggy clothes and dumped them on the lip of the tub. “Next step is to be dry and warm.”

  Before she could even blink, he’d pulled open the shower curtain, picked her up again and placed her outside the tub. More doll action. Good times.

  He climbed out and grabbed a giant fluffy towel. After drying her hair briskly, he wrapped it around her and tucked in the edge. Still naked, he held up a finger. “Forgot something. Wait here. Please.”

  She almost argued. Hell, she was practically duty bound to argue. It was their foreplay, midplay and afterplay. But he’d said please, a rare and treasured event, so she bided her time.

  Nick returned, a small box in hand.

  A small box.

  She didn’t have a chance to quell her shock, because he magnified it one hundred fold by dropping to his knees on the damp bath mat.
Yes, he was still naked, and he evidently didn’t get the whole “one knee only” thing, but he had a box and he had an earnest expression that so didn’t go with the massive cock.

  Yep, focus was pretty much gone.

  Then he popped up again. “Yeah, yeah, I know you can’t get engaged while I’m naked. Hang on.” He grabbed another towel and wrapped it around himself, then dropped down on both knees and proffered the ring. He’d managed to cover the most distracting parts at least. “You have to marry me. I’m down here. Let’s make it happen.”

  She gawked at him for a full minute before she started to giggle. Not laugh like a grown, mature woman. Giggle like a silly teenager with stars in her eyes and glitter in her nether regions.

  “You’re laughing.” He sat back on his haunches, wearing the most adorable hurt expression. “That’s even worse than silence.”

  “Show me the ring.”

  He had a ring. He had a ring.

  She’d probably chant that to herself for the rest of her existence.

  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. First proposal and all.” He popped the top of the box and shoved it at her. “I measured your finger when you were sleeping. It should fit. I know you said you have swelling issues.”

  Wasn’t that terribly sexy? Well, actually, it was kind of sexy to be known that thoroughly by someone who still wanted to marry her. Who had bought her a ring.

  The most beautiful ring she’d ever seen.

  A circle of black pearls surrounded a pear shaped ruby as big as her knuckle. Diamonds surrounded the pearls. The sparkle was almost blinding even in the filtered light from the overcast day coming in through the bathroom window. She couldn’t catch her breath.

  No, she didn’t have any breath left.

  “When did you buy this?” she whispered.

  He tilted the box toward him and pried out a tiny piece of paper. “November 27th.”

  “You kept the receipt?”

  “Well, if you didn’t like it, what am I going to do with a chick’s ring? Of course I kept the receipt.”

  “It’s custom made. You can’t return it.”

  “Oh. Dammit.”

  She laughed because it was better than crying, and she was sorely tempted to do both. “Oh my God, I love you.”