Simon gargled with salt water—heavy on the salt—with a vodka chaser waiting for him. He’d talked himself blue with the last of the interviews. He’d tried to take a backseat in the band interview, but the shenanigans had been too heightened with excitement as the club filled.

Lila kept interjecting numbers and the overhead screen was a live feed from the iHeart Radio’s release party coverage from the club. All of it was feeding the frenzy.

Nothing like their last album.

This was much more fluid and fun. And the stark difference between Ripper Records and Trident was even more obvious. Lila and her staff had created the perfect venue for them. The lights and the murmur of people was the buzz he lived for. As much as he loved the bigger stages they’d been playing as of late, the clubs would always speak to him on a visceral level.

He braced his hands on the side of the sink as the door opened behind him.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Margo’s huge dark eyes met his in the mirror. Her hair had been smoothed down around her shoulders again and her ample cleavage trapped the shorter strands that fell forward.

Hair that he wanted to wrap around his hand and use to drag her mouth to his.

The fact that he wanted it so badly had caused him to knock back his drink and snap the glass down on the porcelain a little too forcefully. “Ready for the stage, Violin Girl? Think you can keep up with the adults?”

“If there was an adult in the room, I could answer that question.”

He turned and untucked his tank from his back pocket. Her eyes skimmed down his chest once before arrowing back up to his face. “Like what you see?” His buckle was open for him to tuck the shirt in. Well, for as long as it lasted on his body. He hated when shirts bunched up. Hated wearing clothes on stage, period. They were too tight and restrictive when he wanted to prowl around.

But it was much more effective to take them off for the crowd and to play to the screams. He knew how to play the game. Hell, he lived for the game. The other twenty hours in the day were merely killing time so he could get on the stage.

He needed to tour again.

Needed to feed that addiction.

They’d been off the road for too long now.

But the way he felt around Margo could mirror that. And he hated her for it. Those moments in her arms had been as thrilling as the stage. Enough that he’d offered himself to a woman for more than a night and she’d run as far and fast as possible in the opposite direction.

He hated her even more now that he’d seen how affected she really was. Here she couldn’t hide it. When they were alone, she couldn’t hide behind a cool mask.

He moved closer until her honeysuckle scent teased his nose and tried to draw him closer. Mixed with smoke from the machines and the spice of something else. Cloves.

He leaned into her hair where it clung.

“Why, Violin Girl, did you sneak away for a clove cigarette?”

She flushed. “Of course not.”

He walked around her and sifted his fingers through her hair until it fell down her back. “I haven’t smelled that scent in too many years to count. I didn’t know anyone actually still smoked them.”

She tried to move out of his space, but he curled his arm around her waist and spread his hand across her midsection. In the mirror they lined up, her shoulders easily tucked in against his upper chest. So similar in height that his cock brushed against her high, rounded ass.

He kept his grip loose enough that if she really wanted to get away, she could.

But she didn’t.

And he knew she wouldn’t.

She closed her eyes against the way they looked together in the glass. Because she lied. She knew just how good they were together.

What he wanted to know was why she felt the need to lie.

“You see this, right? Know it’s good.” He brushed his lips against the shell of her ear. “And yet you walked away without a second look.”

“It would have been just another few hours of sex. What would that have accomplished?”

“Why did it have to accomplish anything? Why couldn’t it just feel good and right?”

“Is that all that matters to you? What feels good at the time?”

His hand drifted higher to the cup of the corset and the heavy breast he knew filled his hand to perfection. But he didn’t go there. There wasn’t time, no matter how much he wanted her right then and there.

Hated that he wanted it, but God, he did.

“There’s nothing wrong with feeding that side of you, Margo.”

Her eyes flashed open. He said her name so rarely. Because it tasted like salted caramel under dark chocolate on his tongue. And now he added the heady scent of cloves to her sensory memories.

“I don’t have the luxury of feeding that hedonistic side. I have obligations.”

“And those feelings are too messy, aren’t they?” He stared at her in the mirror. “Wouldn’t want to deal with messy feelings, right?”

“It was sex.”

Her posh voice almost had a British edge to it. And the way she spit out the words like she’d never say them unless forced helped to control his runaway dick.

A fundamental difference between them.

He’d do well to remember that.

He slid his hand away and zipped up his leathers. “And sex is bad, right, Violin Girl?”

“No, but it has its place.”

“A dirty moment in time that needs to be erased?”

“No.”

Her emphatic no made him meet her gaze again. “Then what was it?”

“A fantasy.”

And that’s all he was good for. He pulled the cotton tank over his head and tucked it in before buckling his pants. It was surprising how much he needed to be reminded of that.

“Well, then let’s get out there and let me do what I do best.”

“Simon, I didn’t mean—”

“Oh, but you did.” He opened the door and rolled his neck as he headed out. The stage was dark and house lights were beginning to dim.

He put Margo in her place. At the back of his mind where dreams and memories got to rest under the reality of his function in the band. He was the face, the body, and the voice.

He met up with Lila where she stood at the bottom of the stairs. “You’re late.”

“I had to warm up.”

Lila looked over his shoulder as Margo came out of the bathroom. “So I see.” Margo walked up. “Have a good show.”

Simon hit the stairs at a dead run. Adrenaline replaced the want of a single woman. This mistress he knew and could trust. Some nights were rougher than others, but she was always there for him.

The stage.

The music.

He slapped Nicky on the back as he passed and took a quick look to make sure his friend was set. Stage fright was a reality in Nick’s life, but a controlled one for the most part.

The first shows were always the hardest for his best friend. He was a little glassy-eyed, but there wasn’t the leading edge of panic. Determination won out tonight.

It would be a good night.

When he passed Gray, the houselights went completely down and the murmuring crowd broke out into applause. Gray and Nick exploded into “Renegade”. One of the first songs that they’d all collaborated on. The song was loud, powerful, and unapologetic.

Simon wrapped his hand around the mic and used the stand to dip down as the lyrics curled in his belly and out his mouth. He smiled for the legion of cameras, the faces, the guests both famous and not. Like the A-listers from the Tribeca scene and social media storms with their dead eyes and interest in only what the cameras could provide.

Those were his target tonight.

He always had one.

To win over the jaded and self-involved was his goal. He wanted every arm up and all eyes on him. The low hanging lighting rig was his playground.

When the guitar solo started, he scooted to the back of the small stage and tapped Jazz’s cymbals before taking his other mic.

“Simon,” she said with that air of warning.

He waggled his eyebrows. “Gotta give them something to remember.”

Lila tried to catch his attention from the side stage but he kept his eyes on the prize. He ran to the front of the stage and leaped for the rig.

The crowd gasped and two security guys scrambled from the back. Thankful that he’d started using Deacon’s pull-up bar when he was bored, he lifted himself up and monkeyed his way onto the farthest arm of the rig.

It was made to hold thousands of pounds of equipment and he knew it could hold one hundred and seventy pounds more. He was lean and agile as opposed to Deacon’s massive size.

He let one arm dangle free with his mic and the crowd surged forward. Drinks forgotten, camera phones up and filming. “We’re here to party tonight. You get to hear our new shit and I want you to know the words by the end of the night. Do you hear me?”

The deafening scream was just what he needed. He glanced to the back of the room to the huge screens. The cameras were on him and sending out to the live stream.

As the song wound down and “Monster” started, he tucked his mic into the front of his leathers. The metal slid against his belly and crowded his cock until the leather creaked.

He swung in on the stage and landed in a crouch before he prowled the space, changing out his portable mic for his box. He curled his fingers around it and his lips brushed the familiar metal.

The growl at the chorus came from his gut. When he stood, there was Margo in his path. He crowded her as the lyrics swirled between them and they did a minor dance compared to “Kashmir” from the rehearsal.

Then it all changed when she leaned in and her smoky voice came in at the end of the chorus with the rest of the band.

His eyes widened and he melted back away from her into the shadows of the stage as the lights went down for the show’s first cover.

Simon’s heart drilled against his sternum as the drums to “Closer to the Edge” came out of the night. He lifted the mic to his lips. The lyrics falling out as they always did. Like they escaped him without his permission.

The song was to pull the rest of the crowd in. He surged to the front of the stage and held the mic up as fists rose to follow his directive.

The lyrics were like gunfire and the piano parts that hadn’t been in rehearsal swelled up and layered in.

He spun around. The song was too drum-heavy for Jazz to play the keyboards. Margo stood behind the keys. It was a simple song from that standpoint, and the sound had always been missing from their versions of it.

It was just that much more because of her addition. He stalked the stage and went forehead to forehead with Nicky as he sung the next verse. Both their voices blending into the slight distortion.

He mussed Nick’s shaggy hair and bounced away to the front of the stage to drag the crowd in again. With Jazz’s powerful drums behind him, the club was completely his. The houselights were bright to the back of the house as they extended the song for another round with a hand gesture from him.

Lights twirled and the crowd screamed for them.

He hopped down into the crowd and let people sing with him from the first row. His cord only went so far. When he felt the tug of the end of his feed, he stopped. The crowd rallied around him, jumping as Gray and Nick dueled out a final battle cry from their axes.

Deacon stood in his spot at the center of the stage with his arms up until the crowd died down then he held a hand out to Simon.

Goddamn Gigantor hauled him back on the stage and they did a quick, fierce hug before he landed in the center of his band.

Of his family.

The lights went down to a moody blue and red that were the signature lights of the club and he fell into “Undertow”, their epic “The Becoming” type song on this album and one of Gray and Nick’s songs from the cabin. It taxed his pipes with long drawn out notes that he could only do when he was well and truly warmed up.

Flowing into “Echoes” until the midpoint of the set. He stood in the center of the stage and stripped out of his tank and tossed it into the crowd.

His chest bellowed with the need to catch a breath. “How are we doing?”

The blond from outside earlier was up front. She’d won one of the coveted spots from the impromptu video contest. He sat down in front of her. “Hello again.”

She pushed back her sweaty hair. A refreshing woman that wasn’t afraid to get involved in a show. Most of the pretty girls made the least amount of movements so their makeup and hair survived until the end of the night. So they remained the glossy, too perfect version of a fan. Ones that he never went for at a show these days.

He’d had his fill on the first tour.

Now, he wanted the one who knew the lyrics instead of just wanting a piece of his fame. He didn’t mind the fantasy, but he hated being only a fantasy.

He wasn’t quite sure when that had changed.

“Melissa, right?”

She nodded. “What song do you want to hear, Melissa?”

“‘Too Still’. It’s my favorite.”

His eyebrows shot up. “We rarely play that one.”

“I know. That should change.”

He grinned and lifted her hand to his mouth. “You got it.” He spun on his butt and stood. “Think you can make that happen?” he asked Nick. It was his song.

Nicky grinned and the achingly dark chords flowed out into the darkness. Simon swiped his hand down his dripping chest and caught a towel that came sailing from the side stage. He wiped off his mic and then his chest before dropping it at his feet

The long intro melted into lyrics that were one with the darkness of Carson and their past. He snapped his mic into the stand and fell into the old and felt it juxtapose with the new.

The growth of them as a band instead of loosely connected musicians forced into accepting an amalgam of Nick’s vision over theirs. In the early days of Oblivion, Nick had been the principal songwriter and he was damn good.

But it was a sad song of being alone. And none of them were alone anymore.

When he finished the song, he gave Melissa a thumbs up. “That was a nice trip down memory lane. But I think we need to kick it up a notch, yes?”

He lifted his hand up and fingers splayed as their single started. “Sugar Kiss” with the dirty lyrics that had culminated into a hot video he’d never thought they’d do.

But it fit.

The pieces of Gray and Jazz and the band as it was now.

He dredged up the sinewy vocals reminiscent of Axl Rose’s good years and added the sex dripping honey. He dragged his hand down his chest and to his belt as he ground his hips against the mic stand with a laugh before unhooking his mic and kicking the stand out of the way.

The rest of the set flew by with the last of the new songs from the album until they had to play their biggest hit. The epic flavor of “The Becoming” was something he’d been dreading the entire night.

He’d ignored Margo as long as he could.

She’d played on the outskirts and came into the center stage with Deacon during one of their new songs that she’d been a part of, but this is where it had all begun.

This was where he’d fallen.

Picking up those pieces again required all his concentration. He turned to Margo as Deacon’s bass teased out of the smoke and strobing lights.

Her bow sliced out of the night. The silvered edge caught the light and he was lost. He sang to her and only her. They circled each other, the echoing lyrics bleeding into her strings.

Jazz stood in the back as the drums acted as a heartbeat to match Deacon’s bass. She sung the verse under his chorus. The new addition to the song that they’d practiced at the end of the last tour.

That had made the song theirs instead of the soundtrack version it had started out as. Her sweet, pure voice soared and his seedy darkness quivered under the bass line.

Then there was Margo.

The final piece.

The bombastic part they hadn’t ever had on stage.

Instead of allowing the crowd a break, a breath—even a moment—to recover, the seesawing bow of Margo’s instrument slipped into the iconic start of “Kashmir”.

The first verse was hers.

She owned it and he had no choice but to give it to her. Until the “Oh”s of the song started. He shut out that intense stare. The too big eyes and their swimming emotion. Emotion which was usually veiled under polite indifference.

This Margo was the one who’d come to him in that booth.

He backed out of the moment, returned to the front of the stage, and rocked out to the song that they killed.

The rehearsal had been magic.

The reality was hedonistic.

When the lights went down and the crowd screamed for more, Simon stumbled back to his band mates for the bows.

Escape.

He needed it.

He jumped into the crowd and led the charge to the bar with a war cry for booze. He needed to be away from her and the voodoo that was them in the middle of a haze of music.

* * *

Margo escaped to the backstage area after the show. She just didn’t fit in with the band dynamic. Jazz was in the center of them all like a happy puppy.

Simon had escaped like a demon was on his back. The fearless way he jumped into the crowd and onto the lighting rig had stalled her heart a few times. She didn’t know if he had absolutely no regard for his safety or he was just that confident in his surroundings.

All she knew was that her corset was pinching every rib and she was so very tired of only taking half a breath.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Margo stopped at the side door. “Backstage to change.”

“No, you are going to mingle.” Her sister hooked her arm through hers and dragged her down the side stairs to the ground floor.

“I can’t breathe in this thing, Juliet.” She was tired and exasperated and just uncomfortable enough to snap at her.

Juliet’s eyebrows shot up. “Feisty. I like it.”

“How did you get that pass?”

“Gave a roadie a blow job.”

“Oh my God.”

Juliet laughed and dragged her deeper into the crowd. “You’re adorable. I just dropped your name and got one.”

Horrified, she stopped in the middle of the floor. “You didn’t go to Lila.”

“Nah. I just told the scrawny dude that follows her around like a puppy.”

Margo tried to place the name, but there had been way too many people in Lila’s charge today. No way could Margo remember any of them. “Juliet.”

“Now don’t get that prissy tone with me. Not after you just rocked it out of the park with the band. Seriously. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Margo flushed. Damn English skin. Why couldn’t she have perfect skin like her sister? Margo felt like a melted candle and Juliet looked like she just walked off a photo shoot. “It was pretty amazing.”

“Yes. And now you need a drink.”

“Now, I need to get this corset off before I faint,” she growled.

“Oh.” Juliet tipped her head. “You do look a little peaked.”

“Great.”

Juliet dragged her to the VIP bathrooms and flashed her laminated pass, sailing through the doors to the huge mirrored room with five sinks and four stalls. Three were occupied.

“Take that off.”

“I don’t have anything to change into.”

Juliet whipped off her T-shirt. “Give me your little tank top.”

“I can’t wear that shirt.” Margo looked down at the baby doll-style shirt.

“Sure you can.” Juliet turned her around and lifted off the camisole.

“Seriously?” Her wide dark eyes met Juliet’s in the mirror. “Anyone could come in or—”

A blond came out of the stall with her perfect waterfall of hair and body-hugging pink dress over a size two body. She went to the sink and washed her hands. “Great corset. Wish I had the boobs to pull one off.”

“It pushes up anything you have times two.” Horrified, Margo snapped her mouth shut. What had gotten into her tonight?

The blond laughed. “I need a water bra to make anything of my tits. And your girlfriend—”

“Sister,” Juliet interjected.

“Huh. You two are totally built differently.”

Margo tipped her head back. “To my eternal struggle.”

Juliet snorted.

“Your sister is right, that shirt will never fit with her rockin’ tits.” The blond took the baby doll shirt and opened her purse. She pulled out a tiny makeup case and unearthed a pair of small scissors. She cut a notch out of the shirt and then ripped it open wider. “Now try.”

Juliet slipped Margo’s camisole on. Her red and black lace bra peeked out, but her sister wasn’t exactly flat-chested. Just not quite as endowed as Margo.

Margo quickly pulled on the T-shirt before her sister could unhook the last of her corset.

“Unleash the Kraken,” Juliet said with a flourish as she whipped off the corset.

Margo’s unencumbered breasts filled out the cotton and stretched it to the limit, but it held.

The blond and Juliet both nodded. “Now you are ready for the dance floor,” the woman said.

Juliet laughed. “You so aren’t paying for any drinks.”

Margo just stared at herself in the mirror. “I can’t go out there like that.”

“Honey, we only have these tits for so long in our twenties. It’s time to take them for a test drive.”

The T-shirt was too small. It showed off her midriff and was tight at the shoulder and of course, the chest.

Juliet undid a hair clip from her belt loop and wound Margo’s hair into a messy knot. She jammed the clip under it so her usually stick-straight hair was a mass on top of her head, making her neck look even longer and her eyes bigger.

“Okay. Now you’re ready to go kick some ass.”

Before she could say another word, Juliet was dragging her out of the bathroom. “I can’t—”

“If I hear you say ‘you can’t’ anything else tonight, I’m going to scream. You can. You are a sexual woman who has been hiding behind a violin and under an Oxford shirt for far too long. You were on stage with a rock band tonight. A band that is just about to hit number one on the charts, I’m pretty sure. The night is yours, Margo. Go out there and take it.”

She lifted her chin and let her sister drag her into the throng of people. They made it to the bar and before she could open her mouth, a martini glass was sitting in front of her.

“From the guy at the end of the bar,” the bartender said with a smile.

“What did I tell you?” Juliet punched her arm. She waved back at the guy.

Margo lifted the glass and swore under her breath as the guy came down the bar.

“Now be cool. You just need to flirt a little. If he’s a creep, you just blow him off.”

Margo’s eyes widened. “Is that what you do?”

“All the time.”

“And how long is ‘all the time’?”

Juliet rolled her eyes. “I’ve been going to clubs in Boston since I was seventeen.”

Margo choked on the strong drink. “How?”

Juliet shrugged. “Mom and Dad were never around much.”

“I didn’t know.”

“How could you? You were always practicing or in class.”

Before she could say anything else, the man from the other end of the bar came up to them. “I had no idea a violin could be so incredibly hot.”

Juliet leaned on the bar, her back to the guy. She rolled her eyes and turned to him. “Never heard of Lindsey Sterling?”

The guy was attractive enough, but his face was rather orange with self-tanner. He’d paired an off-the-rack suit with a fifty-dollar shirt with French cuffs to make it seem much more than it was.

Margo took a deeper swig of her martini. And he probably had a small dick if the bling on his wrist and pinky finger were anything to go by.

God, what had gotten into her tonight?

She tried to pay attention as he told her he was a PR person from some firm in the city. By the end of the second martini, she’d ascertained that he probably was a junior executive with a corner desk near the bathrooms.

Juliet was having a little too much fun with him. Her sister was obviously baiting him for the drinks he was providing.

The gin was going to Margo’s head—especially since she had barely eaten. “I need some air,” she said to Juliet.

Her sister flipped off her all access pass. “There’s a corridor right through there. They’ll let you back in with that.”

“Thanks.”

The room was a million degrees and there were just too many people milling around. The band was set up on a dais with a long table and tons of food and water, but she hadn’t felt right going up there. She was just a visitor.

Margo trailed her fingers over the steel walls and grommets that were part decoration, part construction. Industrial all the way from floor to ceiling. The glowing red and blue lights were making her dizzy as she fuzzed with alcohol and fatigue.

Her only focus was the corridor she was headed toward. It was roped off with a VIP sign over the doorway. She skimmed around people and ducked under the velvet ropes.

She didn’t know they actually still had velvet ropes anymore. New York City, ever the glam under the slick. The holes in the steel walls teased her fingertips as she used the support to keep steady.

The noise brought her around first.

The club was so very loud, but here it was almost insulated. She heard the sigh followed by a groan.

“Turn around, Margo.” She took a step back when she caught two people wrapped around each other. But her feet wouldn’t move.

Long legs ending in heavy, unbuckled motorcycle boots tried to dent her consciousness. Were those familiar?

She couldn’t focus. Not when long fingers pulled a woman’s knee up on his hip and slid under her denim skirt to cup her bottom.

The man’s other hand was in her wild blond hair. The grip was strong and sure as he dragged her head back so he could get at her neck.

The woman moaned and ground herself against his front.

Turn around.

Turn around now.

But she couldn’t.

The slash of a nose and furrowed brow with ebony eyebrows locked her feet in place. Wild silver-blue eyes rimmed in smudged kohl zeroed in on her.

He stopped for a moment then dragged his teeth over the woman’s chin and to her lips.

Memories flooded her belly and thighs, instantly pulsing between her legs.

Simon.

His eyes never strayed from hers as he licked his way into the woman’s mouth. She sucked on the tip of his tongue and his attention wavered for a moment. The fingers that were under her skirt tightened and she saw the bunch of knuckle under the material.

Was he touching her? Or just gripping the flesh there?

Why couldn’t she look away?