Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(13)

Don’t let him know it matters.

Don’t let him see.

His eyebrow speared up as he waited to see what she’d do.

That smug smile full of power and sex. She knew it was the charisma he carried around like a pheromone, and she knew many women fell for it right before their panties hit the floor.

Hers had. As galling as it was, she couldn’t deny it.

She kept her face blank as she turned and slid her bottom across the front of his thighs and stepped into the car. The urge to cross one foot behind her ankle in the prim pose that suited her former life was ingrained. Legs together, back straight. She heard her mother’s voice in her ear as clearly now as she had from toddlerhood.

Today, she crossed her legs and tucked her knees down against the luxury leather so her calves and heels were on display. The silky drape of her skirt rose high on her thigh, and she tucked her case behind her knees.

She caught one look before Simon shielded his eyes with his shades and sprawled in the seat, his arm across the back. The aviators hid everything and his sardonic smirk was in place, but he tightened one hand on his thigh and his first finger tapped restlessly.

“So tell me, when did Lila invite you to the festivities?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“I see.” Simon’s tapping grew in speed.

She’d said no at first. The season was over at the Boston Philharmonic Opera. Even before she’d lost her spot, she’d have been able to do the guest spot. But playing in the studio was far different from the stage. She was a puzzle piece from a Monet, locking in with a cityscape from Los Angeles. They weren’t even the same genre, let alone time period.

She didn’t belong.

But her obsession with the music had to be handled. This seemed like the perfect way. Two days and she could kill the curiosity and burn the remains.

She could get back to auditions and the life she’d been born for.

This fairytale could end.

“I only said yes a week ago. Lila sent me another request.” More like a command via a FaceTime call. A sleepless night and a weak moment were all someone like Lila needed to get her way.

And here she was, in New York City to play with a rock band.

“She gets what she wants.” He turned to her, the fingertips of his stretched out hand brushed against her hair. He dragged a lock away from her shoulder, the calloused tip flicking across her skin before he gently rubbed the stick-straight strands between his thumb and first two fingers. “It usually works out in my favor.”

She cupped her hand around her neck and tugged her hair out of his reach to let it fall down her opposite shoulder and the front of her corset. “We can use this time to decide on a cover song for the set. You can use me.”

He tipped his shades down. “Oh, Violin Girl, I’d love to use you.”

A flash of memory choked her. Her fingers wrapped around the back of that wide-backed velvet chair as he took her from behind. She crossed her arms under her corset—she didn’t exactly have a choice there—and gave him a bland stare.

He made a little twirling gesture with his finger. “Dirty Violin Girl had a thought. I knew the ice princess thing hid a freak.”

The way he said freak—emphasizing the k until it was its own word, its own exclamation—made her bury any reaction. The wild dreams and ache she fought against every night was too close to the surface.

“I’m here to work. My job is to enhance the sound you have and give it another layer. To make tonight and tomorrow night special. No more, no less.” She drew her phone out of the small pouch she had near the handle of her case. “There’s your songs, of course, but Lila thought I could add to a fun cover song—the strings in ‘Kashmir’.”

“Yes. Yes, that needs to happen. Nick and Gray would kill that and Pixie wouldn’t mind a break on the drums. All preggo and such. But it has a big build—long song, though. We’ve played it a million times when f*cking around. You know, Zep and all.”

“Won’t take much rehearsal then. It’s a good one to fire up the crowd. Open with it.”

“Not sure the crowd we play to will be as appreciative of the glory that is Led Zeppelin.”

“Yes, but your...” She bit her lower lip. How did you tell a man like Simon that his sex appeal on stage was another instrument? Especially without stroking his ego until he puffed up like a peacock. She was fairly sure he knew that it was his instrument. He’d let go of the guitar and embraced that aspect of himself.

“But my...” He scraped his fingers through his messy head of inky hair. “Spit it out.”

She sighed. “You have the sexual nature to pull off the song.”

“The sexual nature?” He crossed his arms, tucking his hands into his jacket. “Are you trying to tell me I’m sexy? I like it.”

“You are well aware of your strengths, Mr. Kagan. I don’t need to tell you about them, nor to stroke your healthy ego.”

“Not the only healthy thing on me. But then again, you know that.”

Her spine stiffened and she glanced up at the driver. As with all drivers, he didn’t blink, didn’t even have a facial expression beyond bored. But he heard Simon. She knew that for sure.

“What happens between two consenting adults is not what we’re talking about here.”