“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.

Lila came up behind them and crouched between him and Nick. Jazz was holding court at the end of the buffet tables they’d brought out for them to sign posters and albums—actual vinyl records—for the fan giveaways.

Simon knew his own signature was little more than an S and K with scribbles at this point. He’d done at least a hundred of them between interviews.

She set a new package of metallic Sharpies on the desk. “I thought you might want to know, that little clause in your contract?”

Nick’s face grew wary. “Yeah.”

“Now, Crandall, stop looking at me like I’m about to take away your new toy. This is the good clause.”

Nick sighed. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Simon tucked his hands under his arms. “Whadya got, beautiful?”

“See. This one knows how to butter a woman up.”

“By all means enjoy his buttering,” Nick muttered, his eyes going cool.

She rolled her eyes. “Your clause was a bonus if you hit gold status and Rise has officially hit platinum twice.”

“Holy shit,” Simon said and leaned forward. “That has to be a better one, right?”

“It means each of you gets a two hundred and fifty thousand dollar bonus.”

Nick sat back, his face completely blank.

Simon punched him. “Holy fuck!”

Nick’s eyebrows drew forward and he stood and excused himself.

“I thought this was good news,” Lila said.

Simon swiped a hand down Lila’s back and watched his best friend head for the side door. “It is. I do believe Nicky boy is going outside to barf.”

“What?” Lila spun on her ever present four-inch heels. “Why?”

Simon cupped Lila’s face and laid two huge kisses on either chick. “Because we aren’t used to getting good news. And that is epically good news.”

Lila batted his hands away. “And that equates to tossing his cookies?”

“He’s an odd dude.” Simon pressed a hand to his own jumping belly. “Can I tell everyone else?”

“Yes.”

Simon stood and helped her up. “We couldn’t have done it without you, Dragon Lady.”

“I doubt that, but I’m very glad I helped.”

He looked over her blond head to find Margo coming down the side stairs. She was all in black again, but this time it was a mix of vamp and innocence. Both of the traits that seemed to pour out of Margo when she let the musical side of herself free.

She turned to the side and the slinky silk she wore hugged her curves. She lifted her arm to point to the stage and a hint of purple teased from the side of her blouse.

So much skin and yet so very covered.

She turned and went back up the stairs. As the little pleat at the back of her skirt kicked up, he glimpsed the stretchy band of lace at the top of her inky thigh-highs.

Jesus fuck.

He turned away and pushed that thought of his mind. That wasn’t going to help anything. It was bad enough that he had to do a ninety minute set with her knowing she was wearing garters.

He was a dead man.

When he could breathe again, he turned his attention to Jazz. “Pix, where’d Gray get to?”

“He went to get me a juice. I’m feeling a little spin-ish.”

Simon cupped her elbow and dragged her around the table. “Sit down.”

“I said ish, not actually spinning. I’m fine.” She laughed and cupped her hands over her baby bump. “I’m fine, Simon.”

He looked over her shoulder and saw Gray walking quickly across the club from the bar.

“Oh good, you got her to sit.” Gray came around the table and crouched beside her. “Orange pineapple.”

“Two of my guys waiting on me. Look at that.” Jazz took the bottle of juice and uncapped it before taking long drink. “My sugar just got a little low, don’t wig out you two. I burn more calories with small fry than I do alone. And you know how much I eat alone.”

Simon shrugged. “She can out eat me on a good day.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, how about some good news.”

Jazz shifted on her chair to sit up straighter. “I like that kind of news.”

“We just hit double platinum.”

“No way!” Jazz jumped from her chair and tackle-hugged Gray. “That’s like two million downloads or buys or whatever, right?”

Gray lost his balance and the two of them landed on the floor, Gray taking all of her weight.

“Oh, shit.” Jazz was laughing so hard she was squealing.

“Better news—remember that clause in our contract?”

Jazz curled herself into Gray’s lap. “There were a lot of clauses.”

“This is the bonus clause.”

Jazz spun in Gray’s arms and wound her arms around his neck. “Oh, holy shit. That’s awesome.”

Simon lowered his voice. “Two hundred and fifty large—each.”

Jazz burst into tears.

“Whoops.” Simon patted her shoulder awkwardly.

“What did you do to Pix?”

Simon looked up at Deacon. “Gave her some good news.”

“It doesn’t look like good news.”

“Happy tears.” Jazz sniffled and reached for Deacon’s hand. He pulled both Gray and Jazz off the floor.

Jazz threw herself into Deacon’s arms. “We got this amazing bonus for our record sales.”

Deacon stroked a gentle hand down her flashing braids. “Is that so?”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, dude!”

Deacon’s hand stilled. “Each?”

“Yes.” Jazz bounced back. “I can’t even. We can get our house.” She turned and threw herself into Gray’s arms. “Babe, we can buy our house.” And then the tears started again.

Simon jammed his hands in his pockets. He knew they were supposed to be good tears, but man, there were a lot of them. Then Harper walked over and the lot of them were squealing about houses and babies and he decided it was a good time for a break.

He wandered out to the main part of the club. New York had been slick blues and red and this was industrial rust. Copper and dark browns with moody lights.

He liked it better. It was gritty and honest. The building had been through a few different incarnations and you could see it in the layers of the place. The ghosts of the past that were looking for something.

Like him.

Rough, rusty spots that had a bit of a spit-shine, hoping for better. A catwalk that hung above the bar and looked down on everything. Helluva vantage point for the show.

That’s where he’d go.

His arms ached to climb up there and get a look at the surroundings. But that would have to wait. Lila was incoming with her ridiculous heels and suits that shouldn’t belong at a rock show and yet...she did.

She’d quickly become important to all of them, even if he wanted her schedules to burn in the fiery pits of hell. She was miles better than their old manager. At least Lila played to their strengths instead of trying to force the band into the mainstream version of a typical release party.

They weren’t there to schmooze. There was some of that required, of course, but for the most part she wanted them playing up to the camera and building the buzz. She didn’t trot them out in front of a row of reporters and hope for the best.

She hand-selected bloggers, YouTube sensations, and even some of the smaller fry people that had supported them in the beginning. She was damn savvy and the fact that she was a brain trust on top of it all seemed incredibly unfair to all the other people in the music business.

They had to work hard to keep up.

“Mr. Kagan, you are late for an interview.”

“Sorry, was dealing with the Kleenex commercial that is our pregnant drummer.”

“Oh.” Lila flicked a glance over at the still sobbing Jazz. “Do I need to go over there?”

The fact that every part of her expression clearly wanted him to say no urged him to tell her yes. But he couldn’t do that to her. Lila didn’t deal well with tears either. It just caused her to bark orders.

“Nah, she’s good. They’re all excited about the house money you and Ripper Records just added to their nest egg.”

“Oh. Well, that’s great.” Her brow furrowed.

“Yeah, I can tell by the look on your face.”

Instantly, her forehead smoothed. “I aim to increase their wedded bliss.”

He barked out a laugh. “No you don’t. You see the white picket fence and three more babies.”

“Plenty of women have had babies and careers, Simon.”

“And Pix will be one of them. Don’t worry, she doesn’t know how to be away from her drum kit for long.”

“You seem very sure of yourself.”

“And you should stop drinking Nicky’s hater-aid.”

Lila hugged her iPad to her chest. “Excuse me if I worry about your careers. You are just exploding onto the scene now and you guys are going to disappear in a few months. Are you sure I can’t convince you to find an interim drummer?” Her face was earnest and serious all at the same time. “It would solve a lot of problems.”

“The band doesn’t work without Jazz and you know that.”

Lila sighed and looked at her peep-toe shoes. “We could try it.”

“We could try it, but it wouldn’t work.” He laced his hands behind his head. “Then where would you be if we had to back out?”

“Backing out isn’t a good idea.” Lila’s gaze turned determined. “Not a good idea at all. The insurance is a nightmare and every contract we sign with a venue could come back and bite us in the ass due to the revenue they’ll lose if we miss a show.”

Simon’s hands fell to his sides. “What if someone was sick?”

“Let’s just keep everyone healthy, shall we?” She tried to walk by and Simon caught her elbow.

“What if something happened?”

“Let’s put it this way. The tour is your major moneymaker. Missing just one show could set you back half a million.”

“Half a...” Simon swallowed. “That much?”

“Between what you get to play from the venue, the merchandising, and what they have to go through to return tickets…yeah, it’s not good.”

Simon frowned. The business side of music was a fucking buzzkill.

One of the dozens of minions that were crawling all over the space walked by with a bucketful of iced water bottles. Simon snaked one out of the huge red bin with a quick smile at Lila. “I’ll just hydrate now.”

“Good thinking.”

Simon squashed the minor tickle that had been following him around since rehearsals. The half-dozen interviews hadn’t helped calm it down either. When the club got near capacity, he escaped to the VIP bathroom section and turned all the hot taps on.

Twenty minutes before curtain meant he really needed to warm up. The problem with being the lead singer was that most people wanted to talk to him more than the rest of the band. Which meant he taxed his voice.

When they were doing regular shows, he was able to do the morning radio calls and then rest for the remainder of the day. This week had been nothing but talking.

He needed to kill it tonight. This was his home turf and people were watching, but not just because Oblivion was from the Los Angeles area. An equal number of people were waiting for them to fail.

And failure wasn’t an option. Not now. Not when they were this close to making something of themselves. If they rocked out enough, they could write their own ticket.

They didn’t have to worry about venue insurance. And a quarter of a million bonus would look like chump change if they continued on the path they were on.

Pushing it all out of his mind, he went through a few of the scales that worked for him and kept an eye on the clock.

Deacon opened the door and slipped in. “Hey, Pretty Boy. How’s the warm-up? Sounds good from outside.”

Simon turned off the taps as he made his way down to the last sink. “Between the cover song we’re doing and the one from the Twitter contest, I need all the help I can get.”

Deacon took care of the purpose for his visit and met him at the sinks to wash. “You can sing ‘Jet City Woman’ in your sleep.”

“Lyrics are easy. Hitting Geoff Tate’s lower registers then quick highs...yeah. I’ll have some of Harper’s famous tea on stage tonight, that’s for sure.”

Deacon slapped him on the back. “I’ll take care of it.”

Simon turned off his tap. “Ready to do this shit?”

“Hell yes.”

He followed Deacon out and they circumvented the crush of people to find the stairs to the backstage area. Deacon swapped out his dress shirt for a Doors T-shirt.

“Hey, there you are.”

Simon turned to Jazz’s voice. “Hey Pinky.” He flicked the peek-a-boo locks of hair she’d deftly arranged in her dark hair. Since she’d gotten pregnant, she’d been having a little too much fun with the fake hair since she couldn’t dye her own.

“I got a present from a fan for you.”

“Oh yeah? Is it sexy?”

She rolled her eyes. “Is that all you care about?”

He chewed on his bottom lip and paused. And because she got even more exasperated, he nodded. “Mostly.”

“Normally it just goes in the crazy box, but man, this was way too cool. Especially with the song we picked for the cover.” She snapped out a ripped out T-shirt. The fan had even torn out the sides like he preferred.

“Jesus. You’d think she...she?”

Jazz nodded. “Yeah, it was a woman.”

Simon wiggled out of his shirt and tossed it on a guitar trunk.

“Geeze, Simon.”

He took the shirt from her and arched one eyebrow then the other until they danced. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, Pix.”

“I see your chest almost as much as my husband’s.”

“Clothing is restrictive,” he said with a shrug.

He tossed the shirt over his head. “This, however, is not. Awesome.” He looked up and Margo stood in the sidelines, her dark eyes heavy-lidded as they skimmed down his body.

Jesus fuck.

Thankful that the shirt was a little long in the front, he tugged it over his buckle to hide his instant reaction to Margo. “Like the show, Violin Girl?”

Instead of the embarrassment he was going for, he saw only interest in her eyes. “Creative use of Michael Hutchence’s face,” she said.

He grinned and turned around. “Even better from the back.”

Jazz ticked her nails down the sliced back. “I need to do that to some of my shirts. It’s hot under these lights and the tadpole definitely kicks up my temperature gauge.”

“Not sure you can call it a tadpole when you’re carrying around the equivalent of a soccer ball.”

Jazz socked him in the arm. “Rude.”

Simon reached over and patted her little Buddha belly. “Adorable.”

She slapped his hand.

He laughed. A much better state of affairs than the mood he’d been in during his warm-up.

“On in five.”

Simon ushered Jazz into the backstage area and let Margo go ahead of him as well.

“Last minute change to the setlist.”

Simon groaned. “If I have to try and remember lyrics again, I’m gonna kill ya, Nicky.”

“Nah, just rearranging.”

“Thank fuck.”

Simon scanned the page. “Starting with ‘Sugar Kiss’. That’s different. Why?”

“Kim got us on iHeart Radio’s live broadcast.”

Simon’s eyebrows shot up.

Nick blew out a nervous breath. “Yeah. My sentiments exactly.”

“That’s a little more than the live feed we were doing from our website.”

“Yeah. We’re moving up ‘Jet City Woman’ too since it was the Twitter winner. Blast the social media shit out of the sky tonight.”

“Buzz, buzz, buzz.”

“You got it.” Nick shook out his hands. “I’m gonna go throw up. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Simon shook his head. Nicky was not kidding. He probably was going to go heave out whatever they’d had for lunch.

He scooted backstage to the dressing area and grabbed the Crystal Skull bottle on the dressing room table and a small stack of Dixie cups.

When he got back out there, he snagged a bottle of pineapple juice from the stash Lila had waiting for them between songs.

“Okay everyone, band huddle.”

“One minute, Simon. You don’t have time for speeches,” Lila said.

Simon set out seven cups on Deacon’s bass trunk.

“If you splash booze on my bass, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Chill out, Demon.” Simon splashed a little more than a shot in six of the cups then pineapple juice in the seventh.

“What if I wanted pineapple juice?” Deacon asked.

“Too bad.”

Deacon sighed and picked up his cup.

Simon nodded to the last cup. “You too, Violin Girl.”

“I’m not part of the band.”

“You are tonight.”

She set her bow down on the trunk and picked up her cup.

“Everyone in. You too, Lila.” Simon lifted his cup and they all tapped paper together. “To the next phase.”

“The next phase,” everyone repeated.

Lila tossed her shot back without a hiss or a wince. Her sac was a helluva lot more impressive than Gray and Deacon, who both made faces.

“Cups.” Lila held hers up and everyone tucked theirs into hers and grabbed their instruments.

He poured another for himself and grinned when Margo held her cup up for another. “Need a little liquid courage tonight?”

“I like vodka.”

“Ever a surprise, Violin Girl.” He splashed two fingers in her cup and they both tossed it back.

“Give me that.” Lila took the skull-shaped bottle from him. “Go. Get on stage.”

“Ready for one more night with us crazies?”

Margo nodded. “More than.”

“Then let’s do this.”

* * *

Margo drew her bow across her strings as Simon curled his entire body around the microphone and his stand.

The man never stayed still. He slithered against the chrome like it was a lover. She remembered how those hips had moved, the innate fluidity of his inner rhythm. And she wished for a little more of the vodka.

Maybe that would take the edge off.

Because watching Simon all damn day had left her skin too tight for her body. The heavy air under the lights seemed oppressive. Screams rending the air seemed shrill and over the top.

Or maybe it was just her.

As “The Becoming” hit its peak, she came out to the spotlight with Simon as she’d done the night before. The first time she’d been in a trance. Simply existing in his sphere and following his cues.

Tonight she played up the push and pull game they’d played the first time. This time she slid behind him until they were shoulder-to-shoulder, her hips following his as the song got darker and sexier.

Deacon’s bass was her central line into the song. He was the constant, Simon was the wild card. The song ramped up, Nick’s guitars came to the forefront and then Gray’s blew them both out of the water.

She tried to melt back into the darkness. This song was going out into the internet ether with their rabid fans soaking up each chord. But Simon didn’t allow that.

He dragged her in front of him, and his hips never stopped the slow seduction against her. His arm banded across her midriff and they moved as one. The crowd below lost their collective minds.

Maybe she had as well.

She had no choice but to stay in the moment. Was entirely sure she couldn’t do anything else anyway. She felt the stiff length of him bumping against her and tried to resist his voice in her ear.

They created a darkly sensual dance between them, and her violin answered his words as if the conversation was on a different plane.

He swung her out as the song ended and then dragged her in tight until she had no choice but to let her violin dangle against her thigh.

As if in a distant time and place, the crowd screamed in reaction.

He palmed the back of her neck and dipped her. His nose and the barest hint of lips trailed up her neck before he put her back to rights and the heavy bass of “Jet City Woman” filled the room.

She escaped his touch, the madness that had bespelled them, and managed to play her part in the layers of the epic cover song. Simon prowled the stage and pulled the crowd in like a lover.

As easily as he’d dragged her under, he left women mesmerized in his wake. His old-style microphone became an extension of him. His lips caressed the guard, and his moans translated to screams from the crowd.

And as the song ended, he dropped to his knees and mimicked the pain of the narrator. It was his gift. Their songs were catalogued in a different part of performance for Simon. No less powerful, no less entrancing in their own right, but when he sang someone else’s song, he became a chameleon.

When he popped to his feet, the crowd swelled forward and women reached for him and men hollered out their battle cries. Women wanted to fuck him and men wanted to be him.

It was a heady experience to behold.

Simon clipped his microphone into the stand and swiped his hair back. “Good goddamn! This is why we do everything in L.A., man. This crowd. Fuck yeah!”

He put his hand up to his mouth. “Whoops. Sorry, iHeart. I got a little carried away. That six second rule always saves our asses, huh?”

Margo shook her head and tucked her violin under her arm.

“Thanks so much for peeking in on our release party.” He held his arm out to his right. “Nicky boy and Grayson, come take a bow.”

The two of them stepped into the spotlights and waved.

“Demon, get your Gigantor ass out of the shadows. Give my ridiculously tall friend a hand, huh?”

Deacon draped his arm around Simon’s neck.

“Think we should give them one more?” he asked Deacon.

Deacon leaned into the mic. “Not sure they can handle it.”

“What do you guys think?” The crowd blasted him with screams and Simon fake stumbled away from Deacon. “Holy shit. Maybe they can.” He stood on the drum riser. “Jazzercise, what do you think?”

“I think you should sing ‘Monster’.”

Simon looked over his shoulder. “Whadya think?”

The crowd screamed and he pointed at Margo. “Violin Girl, start us off.”

Startled, Margo lifted her bow and started off the song as they’d rehearsed.

Sometime toward the middle of the song, she noticed that the camera crew had lessened. It didn’t seem to matter that the cameras were off Simon. He poured everything into the show just the same.

A heavy sheen of sweat coated her arms by the end of the night. Her back ached from the heels, and her heart still raced in time with the last song.

When the house lights went down, it felt like they’d only just begun even as her body said otherwise.

A single violet-tinged light shot out of the night and the murmuring crowd settled as Simon held his hand up. “Thank you so much for making tonight amazing. We’ll be out to schmooze and booze with you momentarily, but we’ve got one more song tonight.” He slid his hand under the shirt that was molded to him with sweat. “This might give you a clue.”

Then the light went out and she cradled her violin against her chin for the opening chords of “Never Tear Us Apart”.

Simon sang the first verse in the complete dark. His voice morphed into a fair mimic of Michael Hutchence with his own spin.

The lights slowly lifted until they were all awash in a purple glow with a roving disco ball splash as Simon’s fluid performance entranced.

Though a jazzy saxophone had been part of the original version, they’d modified her strings to suit the melody. She came forward and her lights went pink with a heartbeat pulse around her.

The slow song built until there was nothing but guitars and drums pounding out around Simon as he got the crowd to sing with him. The iconic INXS song bled into the raunchy, gritty guitars of Guns n’ Roses.

Simon stripped off his shirt and raced to the edge of the stage, then dropped to his knees. He rolled onto his back and screamed out the lyrics with a raw edge that made Margo wince.

He wouldn’t be able to talk later.

But the crowd lapped it up. They moved as one and sang back at him for every line. Los Angeles anthem that it was, everyone knew the song.

By the time it was over, the party had started.

And same as last night, Simon jumped into the crowd and led the charge to the bar. He slapped the countertop and a line of shot glasses flamed to life.

Gray and Nick played the hell out of the guitar solos, each of them dueling over the riff-heavy song as the crowd went wild.

Simon blew out his shot and tossed back two of them before running back to the stage to finish the song. The fans and radio people, the famous and pseudo-famous all joined in for the last chorus.

Margo got pulled forward with the band as the song closed out. Deacon scooped her up and dropped her next to Simon as they waved and bowed.

Somehow her arm ended up around Simon’s back. He was slick with sweat and vibrating with excitement. He looked down at her, but the smile she was expecting was missing.

His eyes burned with a flame similar to the shot glasses making the rounds at the bar. She shivered and pulled away as the band dispersed.

Jazz jumped and hugged everyone, including her. There was nothing but the high of the show, the crowd, and a night of success.

Why did she want to escape?

True, it wasn’t her success, but she’d enjoyed the way that the band had allowed her into the inner circle. The interaction of the fans was a high she couldn’t deny.

She should allow herself to be pulled in, but she only wanted escape. Her heart rate was hummingbird-fast as she climbed the hidden stairs to the quiet corner she’d found after rehearsal.

The stairs to the catwalk over the bar. Now that the show was over, the lights had been brought down and shadows and strobe lights bounced around the room in a heady pulse that echoed the excitement of the night.

People were talking over one another and Oblivion songs were piped in with a current radio hit in between each song. She curled her fingers around the textured paint that splattered the iron bars and rivets.

No one knew she was up there. She wasn’t altogether sure that anyone cared. Her purpose had been fulfilled for this part of their promotional tour.

She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

She’d gotten exactly what she wanted. The exposure had garnered interest and her email was peppered with new offers that her agent was getting for her and studio work. Her untimely dismissal from the Boston Philharmonic might be just what she needed for a different career.

She had Oblivion to thank for that. “The Becoming” had ruined her for the staid and true songs that had molded her childhood, but in the end, that song had given her so much more.

“Hiding?”

Margo shivered at his voice. “Watching.”

“Is that what you like to do?”

She closed her eyes against the throb of reaction that flared to life again. Escape had been too much to ask for. Not when Simon was in the picture.

“Sometimes.”

He came up behind her, curling his fingers around the bar on either side of her hands. “Is it the people below that you like or the dancers in the cages?” He tucked his chin over her shoulder and steered her gaze to the far side of the room.

Under the throbbing bass of the song, she noticed two women bookending the second bar with a little extra entertainment. All the lights and the crowd’s focus centered on the two dark-haired women with thigh high boots and leather bikinis who gyrated with the songs.

“A little obvious, don’t you think?”

“We are in L.A.,” he said with a purr.

“The home of excess?”

“That might be Vegas.”

“That’s greed.”

“And the looks on their faces below don’t include greed?”

“I’d say the greed would be the executives under Donovan Lewis. Here, the commodity is lust and excess.”

Simon laughed. “Is that why you’re up here? Too good for those emotions, Violin Girl?”

No.

No, she definitely wasn’t.

She’d been living with the lust part for weeks now. It was inconvenient and messy and she hoped to hell that she could leave it behind with the experience, but she was beginning to wonder.

“I saw the need in your eyes tonight.” He slid one arm around her and tucked her back against his hips. “Felt it in the way we moved together on the stage.”

She let out a shaky breath. “A moment of madness.”

“Is that all we’ll ever be?”

I don’t know.

He moved his hips in time to the syrupy tempo of the song piping out into the crowd. Conversation and milling bodies, laughter and shouts, light and shadow—all of it fed into the insanity that made her move against him.

He hissed out a breath and his arm tightened across her hips until they moved as one. “Is this what you want?” His hand slid lower as he skimmed his fingers along the hem of her skirt.

She let out a shuddering breath.

“Under the cover of shadows, with the crowd right there.” He tucked his fingers into the band of her thigh-high and scraped short nails over the skin until he reached the line of her panties. “Are you wet?”

She nodded.

“Are you wet because of me?”

The moan that tripped out of her chest couldn’t be hers. It wasn’t her. It was her when she was with him.

A new kind of Margo.

He nosed his way along the line of her neck, behind her ear. “Tell me you want this.” He pushed the front of her panties to the side and sneaked under the elastic. His grumbling voice thickened when he pushed the pads of his fingers under the swollen flesh that hid her clit. “I need to hear it, Margo.”

Her knuckles went white with her grip on the iron support bar. “Yes. God, yes.”

He flicked his tongue over the lobe of her ear and drew it into his mouth as he sunk two fingers into her. “All those people under us. All they need to do is look up and they’d see me finger-fucking you.”

She let out a breath and undulated against his hardness from behind and his invading fingers from the front. “Let them.”

His laugh was low and harsh in her ear. “My naughty Violin Girl likes that idea.”

“Harder.”

He drew his other arm around her and gripped her breast through the silk camisole. He tucked his chin onto her shoulder and tugged at the strapless bra she wore until the tip of her nipple peeked over the top.

“Watch,” he said.

“Watch what?”

“The people.”

She tried to turn her attention to the people below, but her gaze kept straying to her breast. He plucked at the distended flesh, gently at first then twisted tighter as she fed him with moans and groans in approval.

“Not me, watch the crowd below.”

Margo cried out as his other hand opened her lips and strummed a nail over her clit. He didn’t quite stroke her as she needed him to.

No, he left that to his never ending tug on her nipple through silk, first one then the other as his breathing increased against her ear. He let out a growl as her flesh dampened even more.

“I’m not even inside you and you’re soaking my hand.”

“Simon.”

“Again.” He coasted two fingers around her clit.

She pressed her head against his shoulder. “I need...”

“You need to say my name again.”

“Simon.” She bucked against his hand. “Simon, I need...”

“Need what?”

“Need you.” Her blood boiled under the surface and her skin was an electric conduit that jumped with each touch.

“Need me to do what? Give you an orgasm? All it would take was a few more of these.” He tugged at her nipples roughly and she blew out a breath. “Or maybe here? Is this what you want?” He dipped his fingers inside of her and caught her clit between them.

The friction made black spots haze over her vision. “Oh, yes.”

“Is that what you want?”

“More,” she said brokenly. “You. You, I need you, not your fingers.”

He groaned. “I didn’t come prepared for this kind of party.”

“My pocket.”

“There’s a pocket in this tiny thing?”

She ground back against him. “Yes.” His fingers slid away from her and she groaned in relief and distress as he dug into her pocket.

“Were you holding this the entire night?”

She nodded.

“You wanted this?”

She always wanted this.

Wanted him.

He speared his fingers into her hair and pushed her head down to look at the floor of people. “Did you come up here for this?”

“No.” She’d needed to get away from Simon, but now all she wanted was the feel of him filling her again.

“But you want it now?”

“So much.”

He dug into her pocket and the crinkle of plastic then the unnaturally loud echo of his zipper made her sag against the bar.

He kicked out her feet and jerked up her skirt. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

She heard the anger there. She wasn’t sure just why it was there, but she was too far gone to puzzle it out. She reached between her legs to his fingers, pushing them away from his cock. “Yes.”

She lifted onto her toes on her already high heels. He pulled her panties to the side and thrust inside of her.

She bit back a scream and returned her hands to the bar.

“Is this what you need?” His voice was lower, his tone darker.

“Yes.”

He snapped his hips forward and lifted her even higher onto her toes. He gripped the bar in front of her, placing both hands between hers for leverage. And fucked her.

There was no other word for it.

This wasn’t lovemaking. This wasn’t even a hook-up. This was raw and real and dirty. His breath was harsh against her neck, then came the leading edge of pain as he scraped his teeth down her nape to the high collar of her camisole.

He skipped over the material to get to her shoulder as he ground his pelvis against her backside. His length and the broad head of his cock hit all the places she remembered and some that she’d never known could come alive inside of her.

He brought one hand up the front of her from clit to belly then to breast. His touch rough, his calloused fingertips warring with his softer palm until he left behind his own branding.

She pushed back against him. So close. Her body fairly vibrated with the jarring thrusts as the head of his cock kept battering her from the inside out.

He slid his hand higher and his fingers curled around her throat as he held her still, his mouth at her ear. “I know what you need. This, between us, it’s always what you’ve needed.”

He dipped his fingers of his other hand under her skirt and found her clit.

The barest hint of a grip on her throat, combined with his busy fingers, and she was lost. She prayed that she didn’t scream his name.

Though no one would be able to hear it over the drowning beat of the music, though they were hidden in the rafters of shadow and red light and no one could see, he would know.

If she let that scream of surrender out, Simon would know.

And that terrified her even as she chased it.