Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(29)

He’d all but forgotten that she was on the plane.

Right, like you could forget.

Simon curled his fingers on the bottle until the plastic, and the water dribbling down his fingers, let him know to dial it back. She was curled into a ball on one of the couches.

His couch to sleep on, usually.

With her sweater under her cheek and her phone clutched against her chest, she looked like a little girl. Until he got a better look at that lush mouth.

Nothing about that made him think of a girl. No, that mouth was all woman and incited far too many thoughts about his cock. He walked past her and closeted himself into the bathroom.

Get a hold of yourself, man.

After the first pressing concern was taken care of, he washed his hands and cupped water over his face. Even unconscious, she coated his skin like a sunburn. Hot, sensitive to the touch, and goddamn annoying.

Getting his hands on another woman should have cleared those cobwebs, but he’d let Melissa go without taking what she was so eager to give him.

Because of this woman.

One more day.

Then he could put her back into her place. A memory. A memory far too entrenched into a song he had to sing every goddamn day, but still a memory.

A soft knock at the door pulled him out of his funk. “Just a sec.”

“Sorry.”

Fuck.

He knew that voice.

He opened the door and because she was inhabiting his brain and his sleep, he figured it was quid pro quo to make her just as uncomfortable.

Margo with her back up kept him focused and put her in her place in his head.

He lifted his hands to the top of the doorway and leaned out. “Couldn’t wait your turn, Violin Girl?”

Her huge dark eyes were heavy-lidded with sleep. Her defenses were down and he immediately wanted to pull back. This Margo was one he’d never seen before. Curious Margo, impassioned Margo, music Margo—all of those lived in his brain. But all of those facets of her were enhanced with emotion.

This was a woman who hadn’t put on her layers and shields yet.

Her gaze drifted to his neck and his mouth then to his eyes before she curled her lower lip behind her teeth. Then she seemed to realize what she’d done and she retreated against the wall of the small cubby that made up the bathroom area.

He stepped out and rested his hand on the wall beside her head. “Nervous?”

“Why would you get nervous from me being half awake?”

“Not me. I meant you.” He chuckled. “Why else would you back up a step?”

“To let you pass.” Her chin lifted. “You know that archaic thing called manners.”

“Yeah, we don’t know much about those now do we, Violin Girl?” He lowered his head until his cheek brushed hers. “Uncouth rockstars and all.”

She shivered and he wanted so much to bury his face in her neck. The honeysuckle scent of her urged him closer, clogging his brain and dissolving any better judgement.

His knee slid between her thighs. When she laid her hand on his belly, he stilled. Instead of pushing him away, her thumb slipped under his shirt and through the arrow of hair above his zipper.

“Playing with fire,” he said into her ear.

She turned her face so her lips brushed his ear. “Which of us is the flame?”

He drew back and looked down at her. She didn’t try to look away, didn’t veil her eyes, and didn’t even try to hide behind her many cool masks.

No.

There was naked need there.

The kind that he remembered from that day and even more damning...the kind that echoed inside of him. As if there was no other option, they moved closer. There were only a few inches difference between them. She was tall and stacked in ways that made him itch to possess.

He drew her minted breath in and their lips hovered between touch and tease. Part of him didn’t want to connect. The almost kiss was strung so tight between them.

He flicked his tongue along the divot of her upper lip and the shaky breath could have been hers or his own. When her fingertips curled into the top of his jeans, the light scrape of her nail along his lower belly made him groan.

“Christ, get a room.”

Nick’s disgusted voice had her ducking under his arm and flying into the bathroom.

“Well, shit,” Nick muttered. “I needed to go in there.”

Simon thunked his forehead against the wall. “Jesus.”

“You think it’s smart to go there again, man?”

No. Nothing about what he’d just done was smart. His iron-hard cock had other thoughts, but the head on his shoulders was trying desperately to drag his thoughts away from anything that included Margo and a kiss.

Because they never stopped at a kiss.

Hell, they rarely kissed. The one time they’d gotten together they’d been too aggressive to actually kiss much.

But f*ck, he’d wanted to taste her.

He brushed by Nick and dropped onto the couch. Her phone lay on top of her sweater, the headphones trailing over the seat. His fingers itched to lift one of the earphones.

Was she listening to some classical masterpiece, hip hop, or rock? Enya?

“Fuck it.” He lifted one of the earphones to his ear and jammed his thumb into the bottom button of her iPhone and pressed play on the screen that lit up. Even in a locked position, music would play.