Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(30)
“The Becoming” filled his head. He flicked out the earbud and stood.
Why the hell was she listening to that? The new stuff he could understand. She needed to learn it for tonight. They were adding more violin to the pieces that hadn’t required it from the studio sessions.
This song, they knew.
Had she been drowning in memories, too?
He moved back to the big screen where Jazz was playing Mario Kart with Harper. Both women maneuvering their controllers with a belly in the way.
As far removed from his yo-yoing feelings about Margo as possible.
“I play winner.”
“You’re going down, Super Slut.” Jazz’s eyes were wide and had a maniacal gleam in them as she passed the finish line with her bonus points stacking up.
Harper tossed her controller at Simon and he caught it right before plastic met his inconveniently hard dick. He sat down and pulled his shirt out to pool in his lap.
“You’re going down, Pix.” Harper gave him a small frown but he just grinned up at her. “I’m going to smoke your rather pathetic score.”
Harper’s face smoothed. “Rematch.”
“You got it.”
* * *
Margo dug through her bag at the hotel in Los Angeles. It had been a long ride into the city from the airport and again they’d taken over a floor of a swanky hotel.
This one was glass and steel without the old world flair of New York. Much more slick and glossy like she was used to in Los Angeles.
Ripper Records had spared no expense on the hotel. It was luxury at its best with sheets that boasted high thread counts and down feather pillows and comforters.
White over gray with a pinstripe wall in the darker gray. Leather and chrome, marble over glass in the bathrooms.
Beautiful.
Cold.
It seemed even more jarring because she’d been on a slow burn for hours now. She could still feel the silky hair of his belly, the warmth of his skin, his cinnamon breath filling her mouth.
No defenses could have withstood that kind of attack.
She’d continued telling herself that after she’d returned to the belly of the plane. She avoided the couch and sat with Lila. Both of them quietly reviewing things on their phone.
She’d seemed to know that Margo needed the quiet and no questions.
Margo had read a book for the rest of the flight. What book, she had no flipping idea. The words had kept her mind busy but she hadn’t retained a damn thing.
She’d ridden with Lila to the hotel and left the band to travel together. Simon’s gaze had trailed her from stairs to concrete, to blacktop to leather interior.
His eyes had burned through the silk of her blouse, the summer wool of her pants. There’d been no escape after that move in the small hallway.
She hadn’t been able to hide the want. And she was so good at hiding it. She curled her fingers over the high-necked camisole that she usually wore under a suit jacket.
It left far too much of her shoulders and back visible to wear it alone.
Except tonight.
She’d own tonight. There really wasn’t anything else she could do. If she didn’t burn off some of this, she was fairly certain she was going to lose her mind.
She showered and wound her hair up into an intricate twist. She added a gold ear cuff that she wore on special occasions. Playing the violin meant she couldn’t wear a lot of earrings, but she did like the effect.
It climbed her right ear with a flourish of diamonds and aged gold leaves. She played up her eyes with liquid liner and a pale shimmer over the arch of her brow. She stained her lips a deep wine red and covered the matte finish with a mirror shine gloss.
Her sister’s bangles were still tucked into her travel case so she stacked them along her arm to jangle and flash against the jet black silk she wore. Two condoms also had gotten into her bag and she was damn sure she hadn’t put them there.
“Juliet.”
She shook her head, but tucked one into the pocket of her skirt. She was feeling too dangerous tonight. If she was going to do something stupid, at least she would do it with a level of intelligent preparation.
Her arches still hadn’t forgiven her for the last evening of heels, but she stepped into her suede heeled boots anyway. One more night of torture.
A column of black over the English rose of her skin.
She’d match Simon tonight and whatever happened after that would be that. She was tired of staying inside the lines.
8
“If one more cell phone is stuck in my face, I’m going to break it.”
“Quit your bitching, Nicky. This is the first of many weeks of interviews.” Simon tipped a bottle of water to his lips, drained it, and uncapped another one. His damn throat was like sandpaper from the interviews.
“Don’t remind me.”
Interviews and press were a necessary evil and for the most part Simon didn’t mind them. The release of Rise was definitely a lot more intense than anything they’d done yet. He didn’t want to own up to how many times he’d checked their rankings on iTunes.
And now they had another mini-concert to showcase the new songs. No matter how many times they practiced the new songs, they still felt fresh to him. Like they were finally finding who and what they were supposed to be as a band.