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

But he didn’t want her to feel bad about what had probably been a fun Wednesday into Thursday combo. The first stirrings of memory hit him when she grinned at him with her crooked eye tooth. It was adorable. He always liked the inconsistencies of a beautiful woman. Why one woman could lure and another could repel.

They’d met at a bar.

The bar across from the iHeart Radio interview with the band. Where Lila had informed him that Margo was invited to the exclusive party they’d been planning and would be playing with them on the little stage.

He’d been pissed and excited, but mostly pissed. Every time that woman got around him, he got twisted up. And it was the thought of Margo that got him all the way hard and why he pulled back.

Fuck.

He was a head case, but even he couldn’t use a woman like that.

“I gotta go, babe.”

“Just ten more minutes,” she said and rubbed her breasts against his chest. “I like you all clear-eyed. So you know it’s me.”

Shame slicked up his spine and left a bad taste in his mouth.

“We had a little too much fun the last few days. Now I have to go pay for it.”

She sighed. “I guess spending two days with a rockstar is more than most get.” She took a step back, grabbed a stretchy black dress off the chair, and slid it over her head. Not a damn stitch under it and she was mouthwateringly tight in all the right spots.

Fuck, Kagan. You are an idiot.

He should be on that like syrup on pancakes—instead he felt a little ill. The dress hugged her from shoulder to knee. She clipped her hair up and turned to him and the kick was so hard, he actually staggered back a step.

She could be Margo’s twin.

Fucked. He was so goddamn f*cked.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine.” He went to the bar and splashed another three inches of vodka into a tumbler before tossing back the liquid fire. “I just need a little hangover cure.”

She came up behind him and stroked him from shoulder to ass. “I’d play hooky more often if this is what happened. How long are you in New York for?”

“Just tonight. Then back to L.A.”

“Too bad. I have to work tonight.” She tugged on his earlobe with her teeth. “I could call in again.”

“No. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Tonight is going to be insane.”

She pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss against his cheek. “Going back to her?”

He turned his head. “What?”

“Violin Girl.”

He dropped his chin to his chest, his fingers digging into the bar.

“It’s okay. I didn’t mind being your violin girl for a few nights. She’s a lucky woman.”

“She’s no one.”

“If you say so.” She trailed her fingers over his shoulders and stepped to the side. She gathered her things and left quietly.

Simon swiped his arm across the bar. The shattering glass echoing after her.





* * *



Margo Reece slipped into her seat. She tucked her violin case under her feet and crossed her legs at the ankle. The familiar press of the case along her foot should have calmed her.

The flying didn’t bother her.

Even going on a job didn’t bother her. She’d been jetting from studio to studio for the last six weeks. Any studio work that came into her email or her agent called her about—she went to. She couldn’t afford to turn anything down right now.

She smoothed the fabric of her skirt down and laced her fingers.

No, she definitely didn’t have the luxury of turning down work.

A woman with a diaper bag, purse, and toddler in tow dropped into the seat beside her. She invaded more than half Margo’s space. The little girl on her shoulder wrapped her chubby little fists around Margo’s braid. “No, Patsy. Sorry.”

Margo tugged her hair out of the child’s hand with a wince and tucked herself back against the window. “It’s fine.”

“She’s just discovered hair. It’s why I chopped mine off.” The harried mother sighed and transferred the child to her other side, but little Patsy had other ideas. Squealing at top volume until her mother set her back on her right shoulder, for instance.

Margo pressed her lips together when a man that had to be pushing three hundred pounds paused at their row. Really? Because sharing the space with a baby wasn’t bad enough? Now the baby would practically be in her lap regardless.

She reached into her pocket and took out her phone and Bluetooth headphones. Noise-canceling headphones to be more precise. She tucked the foamy plastic molds into her ears and flicked through her album list to the one she wanted. Wanted perhaps wasn’t the correct word. The album that controlled her lately. In her car, headphones, even the through the tinny speakers of her phone—it was always on.

In the middle of the night, she curled into her pillow and held herself in a tight ball and forced herself to endure silence just to give herself a break. Only to stumble around in the dark like an addict to find a fix.

Simon Kagan’s voice was her auditory affliction.

Music had always been her savior. As a small child, Bach and Mozart had inspired her. The Reece house was cultured. Cartoons and children’s songs weren’t tolerated. Rachmaninoff had transitioned into Paganini and Vivaldi as the violin had become her life.