Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(46)

“Do you need to hear that it was you?”

Simon’s eyes glittered.

“The millions of adoring fans aren’t enough. Do you need to hear one more woman can’t resist you?” Angry at him, at herself, and the fact that she couldn’t feel this way with anyone but him, she pushed at him. “You. It needed to be you.”

He curled his hands around her upper arms and drove her back into the wall.

She winced and he tried to back up. She could see the horror on his face. She gripped his belt loops. “You’re right about me. I had a plan. I’ve always had a schedule, a goal, an endgame. And now I’m starting over. And I like this feeling.” She brushed her thumb over the rigid muscles of his belly and the ultra-soft arrow of hair above his zipper. “I’m not ashamed to want more of it.”

He cupped her face, his fingers twining in her hair. His eyes blazed a silvery blue that haunted her dreams. Seeing them again, the way he looked at her—it would follow her for days. “You make me f*cking nuts.”

“I like when we’re nuts.”

He brought his other hand up to frame her face. “Then come back to my hotel.”

She twisted her fingers into his suspenders. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why? Because that would make it real?”

“Actually, that’s pretty much it.”

His nostrils flared and his brows snapped down. “I’m good enough to f*ck in an alley, but not a bed?”

“I’ve had guys in a bed. I want this.” She knotted her fingers into his shirt. “I’m tired of being traditional.”

Simon blew out a breath. “And I’m your ticket to non-traditional, huh?”

“Golden ticket.”

“At least there’s that.” He leaned into her. “Well, if you’re not going to use my bed for some exceptional gymnastics, then this is goodbye.” He coasted his mouth over her chin and to her neck. He skimmed down to the vee of her shirt and flicked his tongue over her cleavage. “Goodbye perfect boobs.”

She pushed him back. “Pig.”

He looked down at his chest then stuffed his hat back on his head. “This is obvious.”

“The shirt is a bit much.”

He shrugged. “I like the expressions on people’s faces when they figure it out.”

“You would.”

The smirk she’d been missing slid across his face as he hooked his thumbs into his suspenders. “Never a dull moment, Violin Girl.”

The warmth in his voice when he said that made her tuck a hand behind her back to steady herself. Simon could make anything feel like a sexual innuendo, even playing with a pair of suspenders. “You guys are almost done with the promo stuff?”

He nodded. “A few more days then we’re off to someplace in upstate New York to rehearse.”

“Where?”

“Gonna come find me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Just wondering.”

“Someplace with an S. Horses—lots of horses are there or from there. Something.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Saratoga?”

“Yeah.” He frowned. “How did you pull that out of your head?”

“Saratoga Racetrack, and it’s one of the most famous outdoor venues for the ballet and orchestra.”

“Ah. Violin Girl knows her classical.”

“That I do.”

“Then if you get a wild hair to visit the venue, you know where I’ll be.”

She snapped his suspender. “You never know.”

But she did know. This was one more goodbye, but at least this one was civil. He turned on his heel and headed toward the crowds and the music, to the streets of Boston that wanted him and his band.

Watching him go shouldn’t leave her ready to chase after him.

But it did.





11





Margo skimmed her email as she sipped from a wide red mug of French roast on her back terrace. Three possible jobs and a message from her mother that she was studiously ignoring were the only things worth reading.

Summers were notoriously busy for her since that was when she made most of her money with the studio work. So she could ignore her mother for a few more days, thank God.

When her phone chimed, she debated ignoring it. For the first time in weeks, she was actually enjoying her solitary cup of coffee. No restless night to recover from, nothing on her schedule. A day to herself.

She didn’t want to examine the fact that Simon and last night’s impromptu concert had a large part to do with that. She simply wanted to enjoy her afterglow.

When a second message popped up, she sighed and glanced at the phone.

Please don’t be Mother.

Lila Shawcross.

What did she want?

She frowned and picked up her phone



Are you home?



Are you alone?



Margo thumbed back a yes. Almost immediately there was a reply.



Then open your door.



Surprised, she moved back through her house to the front. She checked the peep hole and swung the door open. “Hi.”

Lila was on her stoop but she definitely didn’t look like the usual woman who was barking out instructions and reminders. She wore white shorts and a navy and white striped cotton shirt.