Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(25)

Nick laughed. “Whiskey dick?”

“Number two reason I usually drink vodka.”

“Because you’re an uncouth bastard. Only girls drink the clear booze.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“I will, with the eighty-year-old bourbon I have stashed in my bar.”

“Now that I could get behind.”

“Nope. Not for the likes of you.” Nick came over to the sink that Simon stood at and slapped his arm. “I’m here to collect you for a photo op.”

“Eh, f*ck.”

“I had the same sentiment, but Lila beckons and I answer.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Simon muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Got something to say?” Nick crossed his arms over his chest.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” Simon said with a waggle of his brows.

“Then you ready to blow this joint?”

“Picture op then beer pong?” Simon asked hopefully.

“Hell yes.”

Helluva better alternative than schmoozing with a room full of people. Once the show was over, he wasn’t interested. Either a babe to fall under or over, or his bed as a solo project.

Didn’t matter which happened as far as he was concerned.

But tonight he’d go with a belly full of beer and insults. It was a helluva lot easier.





* * *



Margo escaped the party with her dignity in tatters and her body on fire. Sleep had been elusive—not shocking—since she was so wound up she couldn’t even think, let alone settle.

She sighed as her phone buzzed. With one eye open, she read her sister’s text.



Had a blast.

Behave in L.A., but don’t behave too well.



Margo rolled onto her back and dropped her phone to her chest. The fact that her sister had texted Margo an hour before her alarm was supposed to go off meant Juliet had far more fun than she had last night.

She stared at the ceiling of her room, counting the bands of shadow from the balcony that she hadn’t had time to look at, let alone stand out on.

And because that was much more appealing than brooding in her very big, very empty luxury bed, she slipped out and across the room to the sliding door. Lemon-tinged skies peeked from the crowding spears of steel and glass that made up Times Square.

She opened the door and let the cool morning air in. The rattan couch on the small patio was inviting. She swiped the throw blanket off the bottom of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. The sights and sounds of the city had never really stopped, but this was a different version of New York City.

This was the business of the city. Commuters coming in to work the shops and the corporate buildings that constantly crept into the tourist areas because they were all running out of space.

Everyone wanted a piece of New York.

Except her.

She’d been happy in Boston. She’d made sojourns into the city for her career—working in the studios, both small and large, that littered the boroughs—but she’d never wanted to stay. Never felt part of it.

She liked the history and winding streets of Boston. Liked being in the know about the small eateries, hidden diners, and the off-color shops that wound around the tourist traps. She knew New York City had the same places, but she’d never been tempted to find them.

But she did like to listen to the city sounds. That was one thing she always looked forward to. She curled onto the couch and tugged the pillow under her cheek. She’d just enjoy that anonymity for a little while before she was herded onto Donovan Lewis’s private plane.

She almost wished she hadn’t been invited into the inner circle. Even coach was preferable to spending hours on a plane with Simon. The early hour meant that maybe he’d spend the entire ride in a vodka-induced sleep.

It was easier than facing him.

Not after what she’d seen. What she’d watched with fascination and longing. The sounds lived inside her head and had followed her into the restless night.

Abandon.

Lust.

Pleasure.

God, so much pleasure.

She could have gotten past that. Could have turned away and given them their privacy.

Are you sure?

She squeezed her eyes tighter against the vivid memory behind her eyelids.

Maybe.

Maybe she’d have been able to turn away.

But not after he’d met her gaze. Not when he’d made sure she could see exactly what he was doing and where his hands had been.

Not when he’d given that young woman a thigh-shuddering orgasm while his eyes were on Margo.

She tucked her knees up against her middle until she was a ball. Then she could ignore the way her body flared to life again. As if he was standing in front of her and not a memory.

God, she didn’t need that back in her head.

As if it had left.

She covered her face with her hands and was about to roll off the couch and return to her room when she heard the giggle.

“I swear this kid is going to be a pro soccer player.”

“Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Kinda hard when you were snoring to beat the band.”

“I was not.”

“God, right there. I gotta tell you, big guy, if you didn’t have those magic hands, I’d have killed you in your sleep.”