Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(18)

Once tonight would be enough.

“I think Simon wanted to go for an organic groove there. Not to rush it.”

Lila made a noncommittal noise.

She had a feeling that this woman’s bullshit meter was about as astute as her mother’s. Her mother was going for a gold medal and Lila was definitely in her league.

“It feels good.” She hadn’t meant to own up to it. In fact, she didn’t really want to even think it. But Lila had amazing contacts and if she was going to make a life as a studio musician, she wanted one of the most influential women in the music scene to be in her corner.

Ripper Records might be small, but Donovan Lewis was a force in the business world. What he was involved in was noticed, whether it was music or brokering a deal. She’d do well to remember that and getting on Lila’s good side was a necessary evil.

No matter how much her belly jittered with it.

“I had a feeling.” Lila hugged her iPad to her chest. “Your magic in the studio was translatable to the stage with just a nudge.”

“I’m not sure about that.” Margo’s gaze followed Jazz and Gray as they came together like polarized magnets. As a unit, they moved to Nick and Deacon. The four of them were so easy with each other. Like the instruments were just a conduit for them to have a reason to be in the same space.

Add in the fire of Simon’s voice and nothing could stop them as a group. Simon was the front man that all bands wanted. He owned the stage and could interact with each and every member of the band individually without breaking stride.

But it was how he connected to the crowd that was awe-inspiring. Even here when it was the jaded industry people with tech people crawling around doing their job.

She’d watched them stop and turn to the stage. His magnetic personality and innate sexuality drew the eye whether you were male or female.

And when he’d faced her and turned that power on her, she’d had no choice but to come out of her shell. Her music reached for him just as she had. That night in the studio had been similar.

The bass that exuded sex and the giving power of two bodies overrode any protective instinct she’d had. “Kashmir” had done the same. The symphonic composition had been created for strings—both classical and electric.

But his voice was the truth that the song required.

Led Zeppelin’s truth had always been in the music. Regardless of egos and drugs, there had been a core talent. And Oblivion had that with each successive album. Each one was more special than the last, but the truth was the stage.

She’d sneaked into more than one show since she’d contributed to “The Becoming”. Never letting on that she was there, never intruding on that dynamic.

But now that she’d tasted it, she wanted it.

On a level that she’d never known with the symphony. Shame should have followed that thought, but it just couldn’t.

Music was music, whether it included a conductor or a lead singer that owned the crowd. There was no sense of camaraderie in her old world. Only who was better, who would be remembered, who would bump another from the top spot.

This was a relationship. If Gray took the lead, Nick would follow it up with a duel. Not to only one up each other—though she had a feeling there was a little rivalry there—but because he wanted in on the action. Wanted that song to sink into him, too.

That was what she’d missed in all her years with the Philharmonic. And she’d soak it in tonight and tomorrow and hope it was enough.

To have just a small moment of that magic in her life was worth it.





5





Simon gargled with salt water—heavy on the salt—with a vodka chaser waiting for him. He’d talked himself blue with the last of the interviews. He’d tried to take a backseat in the band interview, but the shenanigans had been too heightened with excitement as the club filled.

Lila kept interjecting numbers and the overhead screen was a live feed from the iHeart Radio’s release party coverage from the club. All of it was feeding the frenzy.

Nothing like their last album.

This was much more fluid and fun. And the stark difference between Ripper Records and Trident was even more obvious. Lila and her staff had created the perfect venue for them. The lights and the murmur of people was the buzz he lived for. As much as he loved the bigger stages they’d been playing as of late, the clubs would always speak to him on a visceral level.

He braced his hands on the side of the sink as the door opened behind him.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Margo’s huge dark eyes met his in the mirror. Her hair had been smoothed down around her shoulders again and her ample cleavage trapped the shorter strands that fell forward.

Hair that he wanted to wrap around his hand and use to drag her mouth to his.

The fact that he wanted it so bad caused him to knock back his drink and snap the glass down on the porcelain a little too forcefully. “Ready for the stage, Violin Girl? Think you can keep up with the adults?”

“If there was an adult in the room, I could answer that question.”

He turned and untucked his tank from his back pocket. Her eyes skimmed down his chest once before arrowing back up to his face. “Like what you see?” His buckle was open for him to tuck the shirt in. Well, for as long as it lasted on his body. He hated when shirts bunched up. Hated wearing clothes on stage, period. They were too tight and restrictive when he wanted to prowl around.