She pushed back her sweaty hair. A refreshing woman that wasn’t afraid to get involved in a show. Most of the pretty girls made the least amount of movements so their makeup and hair survived until the end of the night. So they remained the glossy, too perfect version of a fan. Ones that he never went for at a show these days.
He’d had his fill on the first tour.
Now, he wanted the one who knew the lyrics instead of just wanting a piece of his fame. He didn’t mind the fantasy, but he hated being only a fantasy.
He wasn’t quite sure when that had changed.
“Melissa, right?”
She nodded. “What song do you want to hear, Melissa?”
“‘Too Still’. It’s my favorite.”
His eyebrows shot up. “We rarely play that one.”
“I know. That should change.”
He grinned and lifted her hand to his mouth. “You got it.” He spun on his butt and stood. “Think you can make that happen?” he asked Nick. It was his song.
Nicky grinned and the achingly dark chords flowed out into the darkness. Simon swiped his hand down his dripping chest and caught a towel that came sailing from the side stage. He wiped off his mic and then his chest before dropping it at his feet
The long intro melted into lyrics that were one with the darkness of Carson and their past. He snapped his mic into the stand and fell into the old and felt it juxtapose with the new.
The growth of them as a band instead of loosely connected musicians forced into accepting an amalgam of Nick’s vision over theirs. In the early days of Oblivion, Nick had been the principal songwriter and he was damn good.
But it was a sad song of being alone. And none of them were alone anymore.
When he finished the song, he gave Melissa a thumbs up. “That was a nice trip down memory lane. But I think we need to kick it up a notch, yes?”
He lifted his hand up and fingers splayed as their single started. “Sugar Kiss” with the dirty lyrics that had culminated into a hot video he’d never thought they’d do.
But it fit.
The pieces of Gray and Jazz and the band as it was now.
Up against the wall
Or on the floor
I’ll take what I need
Anytime at all
He dredged up the sinewy vocals reminiscent of Axl Rose’s good years and added the sex dripping honey. He dragged his hand down his chest and to his belt as he ground his hips against the mic stand with a laugh before unhooking his mic and kicking the stand out of the way.
The rest of the set flew by with the last of the new songs from the album until they had to play their biggest hit. The epic flavor of “The Becoming” was something he’d been dreading the entire night.
He’d ignored Margo as long as he could.
She’d played on the outskirts and came into the center stage with Deacon during one of their new songs that she’d been a part of, but this is where it had all begun.
This was where he’d fallen.
Picking up those pieces again required all his concentration. He turned to Margo as Deacon’s bass teased out of the smoke and strobing lights.
Her bow sliced out of the night. The silvered edge caught the light and he was lost. He sang to her and only her. They circled each other, the echoing lyrics bleeding into her strings.
Jazz stood in the back as the drums acted as a heartbeat to match Deacon’s bass. She sung the verse under his chorus. The new addition to the song that they’d practiced at the end of the last tour.
That had made the song theirs instead of the soundtrack version it had started out as. Her sweet, pure voice soared and his seedy darkness quivered under the bass line.
Then there was Margo.
The final piece.
The bombastic part they hadn’t ever had on stage.
Instead of allowing the crowd a break, a breath—even a moment—to recover, the seesawing bow of Margo’s instrument slipped into the iconic start of “Kashmir”.
The first verse was hers.
She owned it and he had no choice but to give it to her. Until the “Oh”s of the song started. He shut out that intense stare. The too big eyes and their swimming emotion. Emotion which was usually veiled under polite indifference.
This Margo was the one who’d come to him in that booth.
He backed out of the moment, returned to the front of the stage, and rocked out to the song that they killed.
The rehearsal had been magic.
The reality was hedonistic.
When the lights went down and the crowd screamed for more, Simon stumbled back to his band mates for the bows.
Escape.
He needed it.
He jumped into the crowd and led the charge to the bar with a war cry for booze. He needed to be away from her and the voodoo that was them in the middle of a haze of music.
* * *
Margo escaped to the backstage area after the show. She just didn’t fit in with the band dynamic. Jazz was in the center of them all like a happy puppy.
Simon had escaped like a demon was on his back. The fearless way he jumped into the crowd and onto the lighting rig had stalled her heart a few times. She didn’t know if he had absolutely no regard for his safety or he was just that confident in his surroundings.
All she knew was that her corset was pinching every rib and she was so very tired of only taking half a breath.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Margo stopped at the side door. “Backstage to change.”
“No, you are going to mingle.” Her sister hooked her arm through hers and dragged her down the side stairs to the ground floor.
“I can’t breathe in this thing, Juliet.” She was tired and exasperated and just uncomfortable enough to snap at her.
Juliet’s eyebrows shot up. “Feisty. I like it.”
“How did you get that pass?”
“Gave a roadie a blow job.”
“Oh my God.”
Juliet laughed and dragged her deeper into the crowd. “You’re adorable. I just dropped your name and got one.”
Horrified, she stopped in the middle of the floor. “You didn’t go to Lila.”
“Nah. I just told the scrawny dude that follows her around like a puppy.”
Margo tried to place the name, but there had been way too many people in Lila’s charge today. No way could Margo remember any of them. “Juliet.”
“Now don’t get that prissy tone with me. Not after you just rocked it out of the park with the band. Seriously. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Margo flushed. Damn English skin. Why couldn’t she have perfect skin like her sister? Margo felt like a melted candle and Juliet looked like she just walked off a photo shoot. “It was pretty amazing.”
“Yes. And now you need a drink.”
“Now, I need to get this corset off before I faint,” she growled.
“Oh.” Juliet tipped her head. “You do look a little peaked.”
“Great.”
Juliet dragged her to the VIP bathrooms and flashed her laminated pass, sailing through the doors to the huge mirrored room with five sinks and four stalls. Three were occupied.
“Take that off.”
“I don’t have anything to change into.”
Juliet whipped off her T-shirt. “Give me your little tank top.”
“I can’t wear that shirt.” Margo looked down at the baby doll-style shirt.
“Sure you can.” Juliet turned her around and lifted off the camisole.
“Seriously?” Her wide dark eyes met Juliet’s in the mirror. “Anyone could come in or—”
A blond came out of the stall with her perfect waterfall of hair and body-hugging pink dress over a size two body. She went to the sink and washed her hands. “Great corset. Wish I had the boobs to pull one off.”
“It pushes up anything you have times two.” Horrified, Margo snapped her mouth shut. What had gotten into her tonight?
; The blond laughed. “I need a water bra to make anything of my tits. And your girlfriend—”
“Sister,” Juliet interjected.
“Huh. You two are totally built differently.”
Margo tipped her head back. “To my eternal struggle.”
Juliet snorted.
“Your sister is right, that shirt will never fit with her rockin’ tits.” The blond took the baby doll shirt and opened her purse. She pulled out a tiny makeup case and unearthed a pair of small scissors. She cut a notch out of the shirt and then ripped it open wider. “Now try.”
Juliet slipped Margo’s camisole on. Her red and black lace bra peeked out, but her sister wasn’t exactly flat-chested. Just not quite as endowed as Margo.
Margo quickly pulled on the T-shirt before her sister could unhook the last of her corset.
“Unleash the Kraken,” Juliet said with a flourish as she whipped off the corset.
Margo’s unencumbered breasts filled out the cotton and stretched it to the limit, but it held.
The blond and Juliet both nodded. “Now you are ready for the dance floor,” the woman said.
Juliet laughed. “You so aren’t paying for any drinks.”
Margo just stared at herself in the mirror. “I can’t go out there like that.”
“Honey, we only have these tits for so long in our twenties. It’s time to take them for a test drive.”
The T-shirt was too small. It showed off her midriff and was tight at the shoulder and of course, the chest.
Juliet undid a hair clip from her belt loop and wound Margo’s hair into a messy knot. She jammed the clip under it so her usually stick-straight hair was a mass on top of her head, making her neck look even longer and her eyes bigger.
“Okay. Now you’re ready to go kick some ass.”
Before she could say another word, Juliet was dragging her out of the bathroom. “I can’t—”
“If I hear you say ‘you can’t’ anything else tonight, I’m going to scream. You can. You are a sexual woman who has been hiding behind a violin and under an Oxford shirt for far too long. You were on stage with a rock band tonight. A band that is just about to hit number one on the charts, I’m pretty sure. The night is yours, Margo. Go out there and take it.”
She lifted her chin and let her sister drag her into the throng of people. They made it to the bar and before she could open her mouth, a martini glass was sitting in front of her.
“From the guy at the end of the bar,” the bartender said with a smile.
“What did I tell you?” Juliet punched her arm. She waved back at the guy.
Margo lifted the glass and swore under her breath as the guy came down the bar.
“Now be cool. You just need to flirt a little. If he’s a creep, you just blow him off.”
Margo’s eyes widened. “Is that what you do?”
“All the time.”
“And how long is ‘all the time’?”
Juliet rolled her eyes. “I’ve been going to clubs in Boston since I was seventeen.”
Margo choked on the strong drink. “How?”
Juliet shrugged. “Mom and Dad were never around much.”
“I didn’t know.”
“How could you? You were always practicing or in class.”
Before she could say anything else, the man from the other end of the bar came up to them. “I had no idea a violin could be so incredibly hot.”
Juliet leaned on the bar, her back to the guy. She rolled her eyes and turned to him. “Never heard of Lindsey Sterling?”
The guy was attractive enough, but his face was rather orange with self-tanner. He’d paired an off-the-rack suit with a fifty-dollar shirt with French cuffs to make it seem much more than it was.
Margo took a deeper swig of her martini. And he probably had a small dick if the bling on his wrist and pinky finger were anything to go by.
God, what had gotten into her tonight?
She tried to pay attention as he told her he was a PR person from some firm in the city. By the end of the second martini, she’d ascertained that he probably was a junior executive with a corner desk near the bathrooms.
Juliet was having a little too much fun with him. Her sister was obviously baiting him for the drinks he was providing.
The gin was going to Margo’s head—especially since she had barely eaten. “I need some air,” she said to Juliet.
Her sister flipped off her all access pass. “There’s a corridor right through there. They’ll let you back in with that.”
“Thanks.”
The room was a million degrees and there were just too many people milling around. The band was set up on a dais with a long table and tons of food and water, but she hadn’t felt right going up there. She was just a visitor.
Margo trailed her fingers over the steel walls and grommets that were part decoration, part construction. Industrial all the way from floor to ceiling. The glowing red and blue lights were making her dizzy as she fuzzed with alcohol and fatigue.
Her only focus was the corridor she was headed toward. It was roped off with a VIP sign over the doorway. She skimmed around people and ducked under the velvet ropes.
She didn’t know they actually still had velvet ropes anymore. New York City, ever the glam under the slick. The holes in the steel walls teased her fingertips as she used the support to keep steady.
The noise brought her around first.
The club was so very loud, but here it was almost insulated. She heard the sigh followed by a groan.
“Turn around, Margo.” She took a step back when she caught two people wrapped around each other. But her feet wouldn’t move.
Long legs ending in heavy, unbuckled motorcycle boots tried to dent her consciousness. Were those familiar?
She couldn’t focus. Not when long fingers pulled a woman’s knee up on his hip and slid under her denim skirt to cup her bottom.
The man’s other hand was in her wild blond hair. The grip was strong and sure as he dragged her head back so he could get at her neck.
The woman moaned and ground herself against his front.
Turn around.
Turn around now.
But she couldn’t.
The slash of a nose and furrowed brow with ebony eyebrows locked her feet in place. Wild silver-blue eyes rimmed in smudged kohl zeroed in on her.
He stopped for a moment then dragged his teeth over the woman’s chin and to her lips.
Memories flooded her belly and thighs, instantly pulsing between her legs.
Simon.
His eyes never strayed from hers as he licked his way into the woman’s mouth. She sucked on the tip of his tongue and his attention wavered for a moment. The fingers that were under her skirt tightened and she saw the bunch of knuckle under the material.
Was he touching her? Or just gripping the flesh there?
Why couldn’t she look away?
6
Simon tasted peppermint schnapps on Melissa’s tongue. The exuberant fan had cornered him at the bathrooms and asked for a signature, then asked for a hug and a kiss.
Somehow it had become more than that.
He’d dragged her down this hallway to get the memory and taste of Margo out of his system and he’d almost succeeded.
Until now.
Until she’d appeared at the end of the hallway to the side door. Her bee-stung lips bright red as she scraped her teeth over the lower one, her gaze riveted on him.
On them.
The instinct to pull back and away from Melissa was strong. So much so that he forced himself to deepen the kiss.
If Violin Girl wanted to drive him crazy tonight, she was succeeding. On stage when they were so in sync, off stage when she tried to pull the veil of class over her shoulders like a shawl even with a corset and black shirt that barely covered her ass as her costume. And now here, watching him.
The lust lit her dark eyes like a gas lamp.
He hadn’t had nearly enough vodka to k
eep her in that shadowy, fuzzy realm that he liked to keep her.
No, he could see perfectly clearly as the blue and red lights glowed off the too pale skin of Margo’s arms and neck. And the shirt that was obviously making a valiant effort at keeping her tits in check.
Too bad the hot pink and black Oblivion shirt was stretched so tight. He might have been able to put an end to the madness until her nipples tightened under the cotton like bullets.
His grip tightened on the Melissa’s hair and she groaned in reaction. Completely into this. And he was performing.
Again.
For her.
Guilt throbbed under the pulse of blood that filled his cock. The girl in his arms didn’t deserve to be a replacement for Margo.
Because she was.
He could see it now. And why could he see it? Because he was too goddamn sober for this shit.
Simon dragged his lips down Melissa’s neck again. His teeth sunk into her shoulder as he pushed her bra strap out of the way.
Turn around.
GO.
He urged her in his head even as he dragged his tongue over Melissa’s pulse point before latching his mouth around that throbbing vein.
There was something so fragile and consuming about feeling life under his tongue. Probably why he loved the taste of a woman.
Some men hated the thought of getting between a woman’s thighs. He loved it. Each one of them tasted different. Some more memorable than others.
Like Margo with her honeyed spice and smoke flavor.
And now he knew the scent of cloves would stick to her skin.
Would it change the taste of her?
Would he ever know the taste of her again?
He lifted his fingers from under Melissa’s skirt and brought them to his lips.
Margo’s lips went slack and her hand went to her neck. In the process, she rubbed her forearm across her tight nipple. He wanted her to tug on it.
To pull it away from her skin so he could watch it snap back tighter and redder.
He slid his hand down between them and under the girl’s skirt. She was wet for him. Hardly a surprise since she’d been grinding against his dick since he’d led her down the hall.
Margo’s fingers gripped the long column of her neck and her chest heaved.
Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion #3) Page 7
