Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(11)
Margo turned. “I can’t get all your friends in.”
“Well, how handy that I’m the one who got an invite from them. My friend Lucia works for Ripper Records. She has four invites for the festivities tonight.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t wait up. I might not be back until morning.”
Margo sighed as her sister sailed out the door, leaving her chaos in the room without a backward glance.
Perfect.
3
Simon slicked back his hair from the shower and slipped on the black button-down shirt that wouldn’t make it to show time. But with the five interviews he had to do before they got on stage, he had to have some clothes on.
He jammed his feet in his shitkickers and left the buckles open because he was too lazy to actually fasten them. Taking one last shot of Crystal Skull, he grabbed the key and his phone—though he was more than willing to leave it behind if Lila wouldn’t skin him alive for it.
The hallway was silent save for the jangle of his buckles and silver chains at his wrist. He locked his door and the solid clunk of a door opening and closing drew his attention. A woman at the far end of the hall was also locking up.
A curtain of dark chocolate hair fell across her shoulders and back. His eyebrow went up as the woman made a quarter turn. The most spectacular pair of breasts were doing their damnedest to stay inside the corset that peeked over a simple black tank.
His cock twitched in his pants. Pissed because it was another brunette that was making Simon senior take notice, he brought his eyes up and stalled at the fragile chain at her throat.
No.
His tongue burned at the memory of the sandy pearl against his teeth and rolling along the tip of his tongue before her honeysuckle scent had taken over. He looked away.
No.
The key dug into his fingers. He was seeing things.
But dammit, he hadn’t had enough vodka to make that mistake again.
He looked again and his cock surged. That familiar hip roll was exaggerated thanks to the mile-high heels she wore and skintight opaque black stockings that hugged every goddamn curve.
The curves that he still could taste. Those curves that could wake him from a dead sleep when he least expected it. A little sash at her hip swung with each step and she jangled like a goddamn gypsy.
The familiar case that was never far from her side bounced against her thigh.
Violin Girl.
Margo.
Only this wasn’t exactly the woman he remembered. This woman owned her sexuality and walked like she was going to end up in a bedroom with a door that locked for days.
She paused in the middle of the hall and in that moment, he saw the woman from the studio. Uncertain and curious. Her chin tipping up as she walked toward him. The roll in her gait had been tempered, but the rest—oh f*cking hell, the rest—was there and lured like a siren on the rocks and he was a willing victim.
No.
Not her victim again.
Hell no.
He tucked his key into his pocket, then made sure to adjust himself for her before crossing his arms. “Well, if it isn’t Violin Girl.”
“Mr. Kagan.” Her chest shuddered for the briefest moment before she squared her shoulders.
“And just what are you doing in New York City? The symphony need a standin?”
She glanced down at her outfit. “Does this look like I’m going to be playing Vivaldi?”
His eyes skimmed over her again. “You look like you’re going to a party, but I know that case in your hand.”
“Yes, there is a party involved.”
The skin between his shoulder blades was on fire. “You don’t belong at my party, Violin Girl. It’s for grownups and those that don’t wear their chastity belts like an accessory.”
“Do you see a chastity belt on me?”
No, what he did see was a tool that would cock-block him then strangle him. Even worse, he saw the writing on the wall. Margo Reece was exactly the kind of publicity stunt that Lila would pull.
The real question was, why hadn’t he been told about it?
“I don’t remember seeing you on my itinerary, Violin Girl.”
“From what I remember, you aren’t big on reading.”
Simon stepped closer and tipped his head. “Is that how this is going to go? Back to our petty little insults.” He lowered his gaze to her very full, very lush lips. Just a hint underplayed. So much like the woman he remembered.
Hiding.
Always hiding.
Except tonight, she was just a little bit wild. Unbound hair and a hint of mischief in her smoky eyes. He lifted a lock of her hair that had fallen into her cleavage and wound it around his finger.
The silky straight hair didn’t bend. It slipped away to fall back in with the rest around her shoulders. “We didn’t necessarily need words, if I remember right.”
She sucked in a corner of her lip, which plumped up the rest. The wash of blood under her skin made his cock hammer against his leathers. Instead of taking a step back, she tilted her head the other way and let her lower lip go.
“Do you honestly remember? I remember tasting the burn of vodka on your tongue.”
“And I remember the salted honey of your *.”
Her eyes flashed wide and she did step back this time.
He let his trademark smirk slide across his face and lifted a brow. “Oh, I remember everything about that night, Violin Girl.”