Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(12)

“Margo,” she corrected.

He swept her hair back over her shoulder and was rewarded with a slight tremble. He remembered that reaction before he ripped her pantyhose open and tasted her for the first time. Remembered that she’d corrected him that night too.

Remembered that she’d walked away.

He stepped aside and bowed, his arm out. “Looks like we’re going to the same place.” He looked up at her from the shag of his bangs and choppy hair. “Care to join me?”

She lifted her chin and walked ahead of him. “A car is waiting for me.”

“I can guarantee mine’s better.”

“Because you expect it?”

“No, because the fans expect it and Lila doesn’t like to disappoint the fans.”

Her step faltered a little before she continued toward the elevator, but she shook her hair back and he got a good look at all the curves she hid under shapeless clothes and high collars.

Fuck, he needed a drink.

He unhooked his sunglasses from the inside pocket of his jacket and beat her to the elevator. He leaned against the gold wall with the brass fixture. “We can break in the backseat on the ride over.”

“In your dreams.”

“Well, I’ve done it a few times, so maybe a memory?” The minute he’d said it, he wished he hadn’t.

She stepped into the elevator and turned to face him. The chilly Violin Girl retreated back under her armor and her almost smile was replaced with serene grace.

He hated that face. It always was followed by a retreating back.





* * *



Margo curled her fingers under the bar behind her back. She wasn’t ready to see him. She’d been prepared to see him at rehearsal—even at a few of the interviews, but not there.

Not at the hotel. Not smelling of that leather and cinnamon combination that lived in her head. Now it was sitting in her damn sinuses because he’d walked right into her space. As if he had the right or the privilege. He hadn’t even given her the chance to put him in his place about it. He’d just been there. Too close. The heat and scent of him enveloping her like fingers of fog. Pervasive and overwhelming.

And she’d just stood there like an idiot.

Thank all the sinners that she’d had the heavy boning of the corset to hold in all the proof of her body’s traitorous reactions. Her breasts ached and her tights felt constricting. His coarse words and those stunning eyes had bored into her until she’d been all but defenseless.

No, she’d definitely not shored up her brick-and-mortar foundation against the instant softening that happened when he was in her vicinity. But she’d have to do it now. Or she’d do something insane like take him up on the idea of Lincoln Town Car sex.

How many of those restrictive cars had she traveled in over the years? Between her parents and the few times a year that she worked in the city, she’d ridden in many of them. How many of the cars had kneeprints in them?

She looked down at the floor.

Why did she want to have her own imprint on the floor? This one, maybe, or the car’s. Perhaps both.

The elevator door opened and Simon slapped his hand over the sensor. He gave her that head tilt that saw far too much and waited patiently for her to exit. She sailed out of the elevator and Frank came around the desk.

“Your car is here, Ms. Reece and Mr. Kagan. I assumed one car would be fine?”

Margo’s fingers itched to curl around the concierge’s perfect neck, but manners had been instilled in her long before she’d taken up her bow. “Thank you, Frank.”

Simon came up behind her. Too close.

God, way too close.

“Thanks, Frankie. I do love to travel in style.”

“Yes, sir.” Frank led the way across the marble tile and through the ornate doors.

Simon’s hand settled on her lower back. It shouldn’t have felt proprietary, but it did. Probably because his lack of distance made it seem all the more intimate.

She didn’t want intimate.

It was bad enough that she had to be in the same car. She really didn’t need his cinnamon and leather scent to be all over her. Nor the memory of his touch to be so intrusive.

So long ago and yet it felt like no time had passed at all. The memory strong and true as the blinding orgasm she’d experienced—one that had never been duplicated. She’d never been a sexual creature. It didn’t fit with her lifestyle. She’d had one purpose—to practice and move up the chain at the philharmonic.

But now there was new purpose and being around this man only made her realize what she’d been missing. She didn’t like it. Didn’t like how out of control he always made her feel. No matter if it was one day or one hour, or a year, Simon Kagan burrowed under her skin. She couldn’t handle him touching her.

Not now.

Not when everything already felt too unbalanced. With her costume, with her lies, and a nebulous goal she was trying to create.

She picked up her step so he didn’t touch her, but his long legs ate up just as much marble and sidewalk as hers. And the more he knew she was affected by him, the more he’d try to take.

That part she remembered all too clearly as well.

He beat the driver to the door and held it open for her, but instead of standing back like a gentleman, he framed the door with his body. She looked up at him—those few inches that separated them all that leather and heat.