Simon dragged in a breath and tried to hold onto sanity. Suspended over a crowd of people with cameras as he sank inside Margo’s fisting pussy was not the way to hold onto sanity, but he’d been lying to himself since he’d climbed up here. What was one more?

He felt her swallow under his fingers, vibrated with her keening moan as her pussy spasmed around his cock. He thrust into her again and again until his thighs burned, until his spine flamed, until his balls drew up tight with the need to come.

He tried to hold out.

Knew that as soon as he came it would be over. She felt too good and he’d wanted her for too damn long. The guttural groan he unleashed as he let go was too honest, too raw.

She sagged against the bars of the catwalk and still he had the unyielding urge to drive into her again. To imprint himself all over her body.

And he hated it.

He wanted to pull back, wanted to keep the pleasure from her. Hated to give her this power when this had been her plan all along.

Maybe not here but tonight she’d been ready for something to happen between them. He couldn’t even say why that pissed him off, but it did.

Because he’d seen her itinerary and knew she was on a flight tonight. Knew she was leaving again. And he’d tried not to give her the satisfaction. Tried to walk away before he did something stupid like this.

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 fucked 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 fucking. 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.”

It was time to work.

* * *

Margo dropped her keys into the bowl on the table inside her door. It felt like forever since she’d been inside her house. Between the studio gigs and the trips into Los Angeles and New York City, she hadn’t seen her own bed in well over two weeks.

She opened to door to her music room and set her violin into its slot between her Stradivarius and her 5-String Realist. Which, in hindsight, she should have brought with the Starfish. She’d honestly thought they would bring her out for the three songs she’d worked on and that was it.

The fact that the band had utilized her as an asset, not just a guest star had been thrilling. Deacon seemed to be their mastermind at putting the songs together cohesively.

To an impressive level. So much so that the little part of her that had been composing in her head got really loud.

Not good.

That wasn’t her job. She was an accomplished violinist who was hired on because she was skilled in learning songs in a very short time. Not for her composing skills.

Even if she’d had a lot of input for the three songs she’d done with them.

No.

She closed the door firmly on her music room and moved to her living room. Her far too quiet living room.

Quiet had never bothered her before. She picked up her phone and sent off a text to her friend Siobhan. Maybe she could go out to lunch with her tomorrow.

Her phone rang in her hand.

“Hey, Siobhan.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Of course.”

“It’s after one in the morning. You never text that late.”

Margo closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. You were probably sleeping.”

“No, I’m actually out with some people from the orchestra. Do you want to come out and meet us?”

“I...yes.”

“You do?”

The fact that her friend sounded so surprised cinched the decision. She was tired of holing up and working more than having fun. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Great. We’re at Callahan’s off—”

“I know it.”

“Well, we’ll see you in a little bit then.”

“Thanks for calling to check on me, Siobhan.”

“Of course I would. We’ve been friends for a long time. I worry about how isolated you get.”

She swallowed hard. Things like friends and socializing had never been on her radar. At least socializing beyond the kind she did for networking.

Being around Simon and the band had been eye-opening.

Everything about Simon had been eye-opening.

She cleared her throat. “I just got in from Los Angeles. I don’t have time to be isolated.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“I know. Well, let’s make some changes then, huh?”

“Excellent idea.”

Margo hung up and went to her closet. She pushed aside the sweater sets and skirts that made up her wardrobe for the symphony.

At the back of her closet, she found the high-waisted pencil skirt that she wore so rarely. She could hear her mother’s voice lecturing in her head that it was too revealing, hugged her too-curvy figure, and sexualized her.

It was the skirt she’d been wearing when Simon had taken notice of her over a year ago.

Flashes of the studio and now the catwalk wrapped around each other until her skin flushed. If that’s what it felt like to be wanted, then she couldn’t find a reason to put that Margo back at the back of the closet.

Dammit, she was tired of hiding who she was under frumpy clothing. Maybe it was time to use a little of her savings to update her wardrobe.

Maybe it was time for a lot of changes.