Consumed (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion, 3.5) (18 page)

She knew they came from meager beginnings. She wasn’t sure if he was worried about losing everything, or something more personal. Finances for a musician were wide and varied. Simon had never been the type to spend left and right. He didn’t have three cars and two houses and an apartment in Madrid. He didn’t flash cash around like some of the musicians she’d known.

But something was bothering him.

They finished eating and she swallowed the urge to take the check when it came. Simon snatched it up and tucked a card into the billfold before she could pull money out of her paltry cash stash.

When he helped her out of her chair and took their bags, she didn’t say a word. They wandered through the bazaar-like shops set up in the main area. When he wandered into a T-shirt place with rude slogans, she found herself picking through a jewelry cart. She didn’t have the opportunity to wear jewelry much with her violin.

Either she was in a symphony uniform or she was dressed down. But a waterfall of thin gold chains drew her eye. She slipped her fingers along the deep V of the necklace, but frowned when the Y chain linked to another larger chain.

“It’s sort of a slave bracelet in necklace form.”

She smiled at the salesgirl. She was probably going to regret asking. It was hard to shake off the salespeople on the island in any situation, but her curiosity got the better of her. “I’m not sure what that means.”

“May I?” The woman unhooked the chain from the display.

“Oh, I don’t need it. I was just—” The woman pulled her in front of the long mirror. “Okay…”

She plucked the hat off of her and draped the chain down the front of her. “It’s made for the bikini-wearer. To show off tanned skin like yours.” Her voice had the lyrical flavor of the islands.

Margo’s eyes widened as the woman shifted her bikini strap in the back and pulled the chain around her middle to lay just above her belly button. The crystals flashed down the center of her chest and accentuated her darkened skin and more than enough cleavage. But the thin chain was almost invisible except for little moments where the light hit it.

It was sexy and elegant.

“Oh, you’re good.”

The woman’s teeth flashed behind her. “No, you’re just in the right frame of mind. For a man, yes?”

Was it stamped on her forehead, for God’s sake?

“I saw the little bites near the tie at your neck. A man who leaves little marks wants other men to know you’re his. It’s a possessive gesture.”

“It’s a hickey.”

“No, purple splotches left by boys are hickeys. Those are not hickeys.”

Margo flushed. That’s how she felt about them too. She crossed her arms over her belly and felt the fine chain move around on her skin. It brought up goosebumps and she suddenly wished for her shirt.

“Don’t be ashamed. A woman’s sexuality is her finest tool.”

“I don’t want to manipulate him.” She lifted her hands to unfasten the chain.

“No. You know it looks good on you.”

Margo lowered her arms. She couldn’t deny it.

“Don’t dismiss your power as a woman. Yes, some use it to manipulate, but some use it as it’s intended. To bring joy in your relationship, but also to make him remember what’s important.”

She touched the chain. “You’re a good saleswoman. Do I get the advice for free?”

“Comes with the chain. And you should wear it now. Make him remember that whatever is going on off-island, it’s the here and now that matters.”

She grinned in the mirror at the woman. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

Margo turned and flicked through a bunch of rosaries and saint medals, finally coming to one with an extra medallion in the shape of a sand dollar and a sea stone as blue as the water.

“St. Jude.”

“Patron saint of lost causes,” Margo murmured and drew it off the little plastic arm.

“You know your saints.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Grew up in Boston. Catholic school.” She added it to the pile.

Margo turned to the bounty of jewelry on the cart. She fingered a thin bangle that was big enough to fit up her arm to above her elbow. As well as a few temporary tattoos in the gold fleck look that was currently fashionable.

It was time to make him remember they were here to heal and have fun. There was more than enough reality waiting for both of them when they got back for his follow-up exams.

“I’ll take these too.” She nibbled on her bottom lip then snagged a pair of gold hoop earrings off the display. “And these.” She didn’t get to wear jewelry when she played, but the violin wasn’t exactly her accessory of choice for the next week.

“That’s the spirit.”

As the woman rang up her purchases, Margo sent off a quick text to Kim. She hoped the longtime housekeeper still had some of their old supplies.

The saleswoman smiled. “There you are, darlin’.”

Margo smiled back. “Thank you…” She trailed off.

“Diane.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Diane. You may have just saved my afternoon.”

“Glad to help.”

Margo tucked her purchases into her bag and left on the chain. Now she just had to find Mr. Grouchy and change his mood.

S
imon tapped
his finger on the desk as the girl painstakingly folded his shirts. She kept squinting at him and chewing on her lip. He’d gone a few days without being recognized and hoped to have a few more.

Finally, she tucked the six shirts into the bag and tilted her head. “You’re famous, aren’t you?”

He pressed his lips together. So much for that.

“Are you on that vampire show?”

Simon took off his aviators.
Vampire show?
That was a new one. Deciding to play along, he held up his finger in front of his lips.

“I
knew
it. Damon is always so clean-shaven so I didn’t recognize you.” She snapped her gum. “You picked a pretty place to vacation though. Even if it looks like a storm is coming through.” She snapped her gum again. “Usually one every day this time of year.”

He smiled and gave her a wink as he traded cash for the shirts.

“I won’t tell anyone. Famous people come through here all the time.” She winked. “Have a great day.”

God, he hoped he didn’t look that weird when he winked at her. He put his shades on and slipped out of the store back into the main market. He scanned the faces for Margo. Her cute floppy hat was usually easy to spot.

The bright sunshine that had filled the vendor area was gone and the greens seemed even brighter in the filtered light. Finally, he spotted her at the fringes of the jewelry carts. Her hat was off and her hair was piled up in one of those messy knots she created by the magic of female fingers.

Her skin had been darkened by days in the sun and there was an extra shimmer between her breasts and around her waist that made him stop in the middle of the crowd. She turned her head and huge gold hoops accentuated her long neck.

Jesus fuck, she was beautiful.

She downplayed her looks more than half the time. He didn’t mind it, because she was gorgeous to him, no matter what. But to see her here, with her lush body on display enough that other people noticed, he was torn between jealousy and pride.

When she spotted him and waved, his gut heated and he finally got his feet moving to meet her in the middle. Droplets of rain dotted the flagstone by the time he reached her.

“Looks like we’re going to get a little storm.”

“Little?” he mouthed and looked up. The clouds were steel gray and swollen with rain.

“Oh, this is nothing. If you hear the hurricane horns, then we worry.”

His eyebrows shot up. That didn’t sound good.

She grabbed the front of his shirt as the light drops turned to sheets of rain. People scattered to the small alcoves all over the grounds. Evidently the architect had designed the place with freak rain showers in mind.

But there were a ton of people squeezing into far too few spots.

“Run for the parking garage?” she asked over the echoing drops.

He looked down at himself. He was already soaked to the skin and the rain was warm, instead of cool. Wasn’t rain supposed to help the humidity lighten up? Now he was just wet and hot. He nodded.

They skidded their way out into the walkway. There were a couple of brave souls walking with umbrellas, but for the most part it was clear sailing. As if the the rain shower wasn’t enough, suddenly it was like a faucet was turned on. The rain poured and rivulets of sandy water climbed over the tops of his flips to his ankles.

They slogged into the parking garage stairwell, Margo’s laughter echoing off the cement stairs and walls. Her hair was plastered to her head, and in the dim light, the little chain he’d noticed before was far more apparent. It was a little mapped course meant just for him.

He crowded her into the wall.

She swiped her hand down her face. “Here?”

He braced a hand above her head and pressed his forehead to hers. Both of them were breathing hard from running, and the rain wore on with thunder booming in the distance. He traced the line of her chain to the trail of crystals that ran from between her breasts to just above her bellybutton.

“Like it?”

“Oh, yeah,” he mouthed. He followed the chain around her waist and dragged her closer.

She smiled into his kiss. “A very smart, very persuasive saleswoman earned her commission on me today.”

He brushed his fingertips along the curve of her ass and thigh then hooked her knee onto his hip. He hoped this showed just how much he appreciated the saleswoman’s business sense. He usually liked silver over gold with his own wrist full of chains from the tour.

He’d felt naked without it the first day, but the constant reminder of it on him had been too much to deal with on top of everything else. But he liked the gold on her. It suited her warm tones of skin and dark hair.

Besides, he was quite sure they could make the chain in silver or platinum as well. She’d look good in that with diamonds between her breasts.

His cock hardened at the thought of her wearing his diamond—no, diamonds. Not just one. A string of them around her elegant neck perhaps. But the idea of her wearing his ring took hold and made his heart race.

He’d never thought marriage would ever enter his mind.

It still didn’t quite fit. But if it fit with anyone, it would be Violin Girl. And that was beyond terrifying. More that he was afraid to even entertain the thought. Forevers were for suckers or baby-makers. And that wasn’t him.

He lifted her knee higher on his hip and fit his cock against the wet denim between her thighs.
This
is what made sense. Touching her, loving her—not diamonds.

Her neck was cool to the touch as he laved his tongue along the sensitive flesh behind her ear. She trembled for him as he felt her pulse speed under his mouth. It was raging fast like his own. Because the stairwell was full of memories of the road?

Or just because they were in each other’s sphere?

She cupped his face and brought his mouth to hers. Just then it didn’t matter. Touching her, tasting her, loving her—that was enough. She writhed against his cock, and each uptilt of her hips made him hungry to get inside her.

He pushed at her shorts, crouching in front of her to yank them down and get her foot free. He wound her leg back around his waist and pushed aside her bikini bottoms with one hand and unzipped his cargos with the other. He swiped the head of his cock over her lips and found her slick with rain and the silky wetness that he craved.

He didn’t pause, didn’t give her a moment to change her mind. He thrust inside her and blew out a breath as she squeezed around him. Her nails dug under his shirt and up his back. He grabbed her hands and lifted them above her head. Their similar heights made it easy to line them up and take her where she needed, where he needed her.

He watched her eyes go wide and opaque as he rolled his hips with each thrust. Her smooth pussy was so wet and felt so goddamn good. He breathed in her spearmint groans, swallowed her cries as he braceleted one hand around her wrists and brought his other hand between them to push her closer to the edge.

He wasn’t sure how long he was going to last and when he felt those little finger-like grips over his dick, he sucked back every urge to groan out her name. Fuck, he just wanted to say it once. But he didn’t. He dove headlong into the void and came hard, jerking against her as he emptied himself into her. She let out little hiccupping breaths against his neck and he sighed in relief.

He’d been almost positive she’d gone before him, but the feel of her clasping and grasping around his shaft had been too much. He pressed his forehead into her shoulder and sucked in deep breaths.

“Are angels singing or something?”

He huffed out a laugh then lifted his head. Not angels, but the rain had stopped and the shoppers were moving around again. Someone had a bell-chime ringer for text messages or something.

Thank freaking God for the distraction, because they scrambled for her shorts and to button his pants just as a mother with three young boys came bounding up the stairs. He pulled Margo out of the stairwell and into the parking garage before he could tell if the woman figured out what they were doing.

He tipped his head back and grabbed his side as they got to the Jeep. He’d barely finished inside her before they’d had to book it for the car. That just wasn’t good to do to a body.

“Thank God, it’s not too long to get to the house.”

He slid into the passenger seat and pulled off his soaked T-shirt. He pulled out the T-shirts he’d just bought, still dry in the bag. He handed her one and pulled another over his head.

She pulled it over her head and looked down at her chest. “Really?”

The T-shirt read:
I’m sorry for what I said when I was hungry.

He grinned. He was pretty cranky when he was hungry. Especially since he didn’t get to eat any of his favorite foods lately.

She rolled her eyes and put the Jeep in reverse.

They stopped for groceries and fresh shellfish on the way to the house. The rest of the night included making dinner and watching movies. Margo was on her phone a lot with a secret smile that made him wonder what she was up to.

After a full day, they curled in bed to sleep. It was an odd sensation to wrap around his girl without focusing on getting her naked. But for once, he was content to just hold her through the night.

When the first rays of sun blazed through the stained glass, they came together in a sleepy, soft tangle of limbs and sighs.

The next few days were a mix of the same. Sometimes their loving was desperate and out of control, sometimes it was sweet and soft. He found himself wanting to babble crazy, useless things to her. But nothing seemed to fit a marker board to tell her what he was feeling. For once, he hated being the strong silent type.

He gathered up his dirty laundry. He was officially on his last pair of trunks and his boxer briefs were in the minus column. So it was time to do a load. They still had a few days left on the island and he was frustrated with how slow time was going, and yet how fast it streamed by.

Going back to California meant he had to go back to Dr. Connor. It meant he could actually figure out a timetable on his life. But it also meant he had to finally face exactly what was ahead.

He’d never wanted to run toward and away from something so much in his life.

“Simon?”

He looked over the railing of the loft.

“Kim said I could use her huge washer. Do you want me to do yours too?”

Part of him wanted to push the chore off on Margo and the other part of him felt weird with the domestic flavor of it. He’d always done his own laundry. Living under a laundromat for a few years had taken the mystery out of the act. He found it strangely meditative.

He looked down at her and shook his head.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a little while. I’m going to go do some shopping too.”

He gave her a salute and dropped down on the bed with a sigh. Paradise was getting boring. He stuffed the last of his laundry in the netted bag he found and tossed it over the railing. It landed on the rug with a silent thud.

He took a shower and threw in a load of whites. Since that was going to take at least an hour, he stuffed his feet into sneakers to go down the trail of a thousand broken ankles. At least he could walk the beach and kill time. If he was feeling particularly inspired, he might run.

Of course breathing hard was on his list of
no-nos
. Hmm. Probably should have thought about that when he was laying in a heap last night after round number four with Margo.

When he got to the bottom, a few of the restless snakes uncoiled from his belly. He toed off his sneakers and took them to the deck. He waded into the water, groaning a little when the sun-warmed water teased his ankles.

Maybe paradise had a little more left in her.

He took a leisurely walk down the private shore that Margo’s family owned and into the public one on the cove. When the screaming children took over and one too many curious eyes landed on him, he made his way back.

He frowned when a dune buggy with white shields and a crapton of equipment zipped by him. The beach had been nothing but quiet and unoccupied since they’d been there. He knew the private beach was owned by a few other homeowners, but he’d rarely seen another soul.

A tent was pitched a few yards away from the shoreline, a half dozen people rushing in and out of it with chairs and cushions. A man with long dark hair, no shirt, and jeans was crawling around a stunning African American woman.

Photographer.

Simon couldn’t figure out what the little thing was in the guy’s hand until he got closer. Light meter.

Christ. Photoshoot.

He recognized that set up for sure. As the lead singer of Oblivion, he’d been required to do a hefty amount of photo sessions.

The woman looked bored. As soon as the photographer backed up to change cameras, she flung her head back. Simon couldn’t tell if she was actually enjoying the sunshine or was simply bearing it for the sake of a job.

Two other women came out of the tent, both pale as milk. They’d be cherry red by the end of the day unless they had a bucket of sunscreen hidden in the tent of glory.

“For fuck’s sake, Ellie, where did you get that guy?”

“From the modeling agency we always use. A few more tweaks and he’ll be perfect. Just give me a minute, will ya?”

Simon frowned. He knew that voice. He moved a little closer and crouched down. It was probably a photographer he’d worked with before. He had to have been in front of a dozen of them in the last year alone.

“Wait!”

Simon looked over his shoulder as a girl wearing oversized cargo shorts, with what had to be a million pockets, chased after a beanpole of a male model. He was skinny-ripped, the kind that was more from starvation than working out. Model boy-man scooped his fingers through his shaggy hair and turned with a far too practiced move.

Douche.

He had douchebag written all over him.

The cute little blond sprinted over to him with a small comb. She tried to neaten up his face and his almost scruff, but ended up just waving him off. The kid trudged down the sand in red jeans with black flames climbing from the edges of his faux-battered boots.