Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(38)

But she’d been standing there alone and the endorphin rush from the show was still bubbling under his skin.

She’d still been under his skin from the show.

And he’d pushed her buttons. The anger from wanting her as if no time had passed had landed him here. His cock still wet from her. It didn’t matter that latex was between them, her silky heat was on his fingers, had transferred onto his leathers, and the scent of them together was back in his head.

He tied off the condom and backed away. Because he couldn’t take the thought of her walking away from him again, he stuffed himself into his pants and turned away from her.

He got three steps away.

“Simon.”

He stopped. He didn’t turn back. Couldn’t have any more of her in his head right now.

“I...”

He fisted his hand at his side. When she didn’t say anything more, he strode across the catwalk to the stairs. He slid down the railing and pitched the condom in the garbage.

“There you are.”

“Not now, Pix.”

“We have a photo op.”

“Fuck the photo op.” His voice broke on the shout and he swallowed the need to cough. His goddamn throat was on fire.

Jazz backed up a step, her hand instantly covering her baby bump.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.”

She held up a hand. “It’s fine.” But the wariness didn’t leave her eyes.

“Just give me a minute. I’ll be out in a few.”

She just nodded.

He turned away. “Jazz, I’m sorry. It’s not you. I just...need a minute, all right?”

“Sure, Simon.”

He took the stairs at a dead run and crossed the sea of people like a shark in the water. Whomever was in his path seemed to know that he wasn’t to be f*cked with.

Lila waved him over in his periphery, but he ignored her. Just before he hit the bathrooms, a woman stopped in front of him. Slim and an almost colorless blond, she was the antithesis of Margo. The urge to snarl at her was like a living thing inside him.

Instead he flashed the wicked smile he used in interviews at her. “Do me a favor, get me a vodka tonic, hold the tonic and meet me back here in five minutes.”

“Can do.”

“Christ, I hope she’s old enough to order,” he muttered as he slammed the door open. He went right to the sinks and dunked his head under the stream. Icy cold and cleansing was the key to getting his head back in the game.

He cupped handfuls of water and rinsed his mouth. He hadn’t even gotten his mouth on hers, but that honeysuckle and mint scent had infiltrated every part of him.

He flipped his hair back and hissed at the cold rivulets of water that soaked his T-shirt. He scrubbed away the remnants of the black liner he wore on stage until his skin was pink and raw.

Awesome for pictures.

He gripped the sides of the sink and stared into the mirror. “It was just sex. Just f*cking. Nothing else. Pull it together.”

Resisting the impulse to smash his fist into his reflection, he left the bathroom. The blond was waiting for him.

“Well, hello sweetheart.”

“Your vodka tonic, no tonic,” she said with a giggle.

He took the tall, thin glass from her. “You have my eternal gratitude.”

“I’ll take a kiss instead.”

Simon laughed and leaned down to brush her cheek. The young woman turned her face and he got a very thorough, very tongue-intensive kiss for his trouble.

When he pulled back, he caught a movement in the crowd. Margo’s eyes locked on them. This was nothing like the moment in the corridor from New York.

There wasn’t a wild, voyeuristic flavor between them tonight.

She backed up and the crowd of dancers and minglers swallowed her before he could take two steps after her.

He wanted to chase her, to explain, and because he wanted to do that so very badly, he stopped in the middle of the crowd.

What would be the point?

She’d still be on a flight in a few hours. She’d still be one more memory he’d have to fight to find sleep.

He drained the vodka on the rocks and pushed the glass into the first outstretched hand he could find and made his way over to the crush of cameras.

That was exactly where he should be. Not chasing a woman who didn’t want to be caught.

He smiled for the camera that zeroed in on him and dug his phone out of his pocket to take a picture back. And because his job was to post selfies and stupid pictures, he opened his Instagram program and winged the picture off into the ether with a quippy little comment about photos.

“Where’s Margo?” Deacon asked. “We’ve got to do those pictures.”

“She had to run to catch a flight,” Lila chimed in.

His smile faltered for a minute before he hung his arm around Nick’s neck. “Helluva show tonight, huh?”

Nick allowed the affection for about three seconds, then shrugged Simon off. “C’mon, man.”

“Just giving the photographers what they want.”

“Why are you hugging up on me? Nobody wants to see that.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Jazz piped up.

“I do not want to know,” Nick said.

“Good, because you don’t have time for that.” Lila raised her voice. “Everyone line up.”