Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5) (27 page)

M
argo glanced
up from the notebook that Gray had handed her. Simon had wandered away from the group—again. She’d hoped the home setting would shake some of the stiffness out of him. The last week in the studio had been hell.

Simon was fine when he was alone in the vocals closet, but the minute someone else in the band was in his space, he froze up. Not only did he reject opening his mouth to sing, but he looked for any reason to disappear.

At first she thought it was because he didn’t want to sing, but she found him in the studio each night. As long as he was alone, he was open and his voice was good that it hurt her to listen.

She hoped that here, without the pressure of recording a song would ease him the rest of the way out of his shell. One of the few things she never thought she’d have to worry about when it came to Simon Kagan.

But here she was, having to corral him back into the fold.

She was just about to go drag him over when he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. The light she’d been missing was glowing bright in his quicksilver eyes. A sly smirk slid across his face as he met her gaze.

A tingle slid up her spine and fired along her nape. That look had disintegrated more of her panties than she cared to own up to. His stage look. Part predator, part I’m-going-to-fuck-you-unconscious—all dangerous.

“Why don’t we take this downstairs? Get the instruments out.” Logan glanced at Izzy. “Is that—”

“Yes!” Bella cleared her throat. “Go, have fun. I’ll make up some sandwiches and send them down with Zeke.”

Logan frowned. “I can do it.”

“If you don’t go away, our children will be fatherless.”

Logan’s eyes widened, then he nodded. “Okay, everyone. You heard the lady. Time to go.”

To Margo’s surprise, Simon followed Gray down the stairs.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay up here with you?” Jazz asked.

Bella shook her head. “Dylan’s out like a light. Take advantage of it. Me and Nic are going to do the same on the couch right after I make the sandwiches.”

Jazz twisted her fingers.

“Go. I can see the gears turning.”

“I was working on this piano piece last night. I can’t wait to show it off. I’ve only let Gray listen to it, but it’s so good. I think it’ll be perfect accompaniment for Simon.”

The flood of words made Margo smile. Oh, yeah—they had so needed this. Everyone was full to the brim with music and ideas. All it took was getting them in the same room to uncork it. She hesitated at the top of the stairs.

The voices.

The deep timbre of Logan’s voice and husky snark of her guy. Even the quiet Gray’s voice was more than a murmur. Then there was the happy chirp of Jazz. Her people.

Mostly.

She’d worked with Deacon and Gray long enough not to feel weird about joining in on the sessions. But it had never been with Simon. She curled her fingers around the doorjamb.

Not since those long ago days in the studio during the second album. Their magic had been on stage. In the interaction of her strings and his passion and stage presence. Oh, there’d been a song or two. “The Becoming” blooming to the forefront of her mind.

What had once been their masterpiece, was now sullied by fear-filled memories.

Would that shadow them through every song now?

“Margo?”

She turned to Izzy’s voice.

“Everything all right?”

She nodded. “Just taking in the sounds again.” She looked down at her feet. The battered black suede that had seen a million steps on stage. She’d worn them for luck—or more accurately for courage. She peeled her fingers off the frame. Up here wasn’t where she belonged.

For once, she belonged to something so much more than an orchestra.

The family down there. Somehow they had become her people, even with all the false starts of the last year and a half. Actually, more like the last few years. They were the first people to make her feel like she belonged.

Even in the orchestra she always felt a little out of place. Cut throat practices and more prima donnas than a rock group could even imagine. Here, she was allowed to be herself, and even more important, she was encouraged to be different. Technical skill didn’t mean jack if it didn’t flow with another person’s work.

And she had the technical skill. She always had—that was why she’d been such a good studio musician. But now she was so much better. Now, she actually held magic for the first time in her twenty-six years.

She rushed down the stairs into the excited gaggle of voices. Jazz was talking over Gray who was talking over Logan. Gray had his guitar in his lap already, and Simon was sitting in a club chair with a stupid grin on his face.

“All right!” Logan’s voice rose and everyone stopped talking. “Ladies first, huh?”

Gray sat back against the low couch. “Well, it is her song.”

“Exactly.” Jazz pulled a huge pillow off the shelf above the couch. It seemed to be an unconsciously practiced move. She thumped it onto the floor and plopped into the middle of it. The hiss of the beanbag stuffing surprised Margo. Then again the pillow was zebra striped in pink and purple, so it was probably Jazz’s. “It’s a piano piece.”

Logan swung back and forth in a chair in front of a very impressive control board. It actually looked a little more complicated than the one at Ripper Records. As if he’d bastardized a standard board with something of his own creation. Her fingers itched to move across the levelers and buttons.

The more she worked with Gray and Deacon, the more she loved the production end of music. The stage was still her ultimate playground—much like Simon. But she couldn’t deny that the mechanics of music was just as fascinating.

She walked around Jazz, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder as she passed. The space was deceptively large. A gray couch and duo of purple and silver herringbone club chairs made up an intimate cubby that looked into the cozy studio space behind glass.

Around the corner another whole room was up with couches and huge area rugs. It was all shadows and invitation thanks to dimly lit wall sconces on each of the three walls. The gleam of a dozen guitars on hooks on the walls made her ache to explore and touch. But it was the violin that made her pause.

Did he play?

“Julian.”

She turned to Logan’s voice. “Sorry. Was I that obvious?”

“Julian’s our Jack-of-all-Trades. He plays damn near everything.”

She took the violin off the wall with reverence. “This is no fickle dabbler instrument.” It was a freaking Guarneri. Her fingers shook even just holding it.

“You can play it.”

Her eyes had to be Bugs Bunny wide. “Do you know what this is? It should be in a glass case with a damn fingerprint and fourteen digit pin number.”

He laughed. “Instruments are made to be played.” He nodded to the battered ebony guitar sitting in the chair. “That’s a ’59 Gibson.”

She didn’t know guitars like she knew violins, but she had a feeling the age itself was enough to make it expensive. “It’s beautiful.”

“And the guitar I play on every album since I was twenty-five. So, sit and play it.” He reached into a small case and pulled out a bow. “Play it with Jazz in the studio for me.”

She caressed the silky wood, then brought it up to her chin. The weight of it was different than her own Stradivarius, or her Starfish. She slid the bow over the strings and automatically tuned as she went.

The sound was sad and sweet and the smoothest she’d ever heard. The acoustics were pure perfection. She closed her eyes and played the opening notes to “The Becoming” out of habit.

When she opened her eyes, Simon’s stark gaze met hers. He was standing behind Logan. Instead of the usual shuttered reaction. There was a muscle memory. The studio and him. That first night they’d been together.

He swallowed, then melted back into the main part of the studio with Gray. Jazz was already in the studio with Logan’s upright.

Her arms fell to her sides. “It’s gorgeous.”

“So was that song.”

“Oldie.”

Logan gave her a half smile. “Filled with the most emotion most of the time.”

“You ain’t kidding.” She hooked the bow to the violin and followed Logan back to the control board.

“Go ahead in there. Let’s see what you guys came up with.”

She nodded and closed herself in the room with Jazz. The walls were built for the kind of home studio that cost millions. They could record an album there. She was pretty sure most of All the King’s Men albums had been put together in that very room.

She settled into the velvet chair that was another call back to a simpler time. To think that had been the biggest change in her life once upon a time. Pairing herself with a rockstar for even a few hours seemed inconceivable.

She looked through the window and found him again.

The man she’d pledged a lifetime to stood behind soundless glass. A bit too close to home as far as she was concerned. They’d come together in a clash of notes, but more often than not there’d been no music between them.

Their bodies knew a rhythm, but even that didn’t quite compare to the magic of the stage. At least not since that night in Chicago.

When more than his voice had been shredded on that stage.

She thumbed the band of her ring until the heavy sapphire rested at the center of her finger once more.

“You all right, Margo?”

She smiled at Jazz. “Simon’s not the only one that feels unfamiliar in the box.”

Jazz wiggled her fingers. “Then let’s change that, shall we?”

She lifted the violin to her chin. “Abso-fucking-loutely.”

“Ready?” Logan asked through the speakers.

Margo nodded and settled her bow against her strings.

S
imon’s chest constricted
. The crash of piano and soaring blend of Margo’s strings was as powerful as it was haunting. He’d been expecting a lively jaunt. Jazz had demanded Frank Turner for more than half the ride up from the city.

But no. It was a passionate and sweeping song that had more in common with an epic battle of man and nature. In his head it felt like there should be a piano on top of a cliff a la 90’s Bon Jovi videos in MTv’s heyday.

Jazz’s fingers dove up and down the keys and Margo followed her as if she was tethered to every note. The song got bigger and bigger and he itched to match it.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d found the urge to sing. He sang lately out of spite. To prove that he could. But the actuality of the pull had him so out of sorts that he had his hand on the doorknob to the room before he knew what he was doing.

Jazz looked over her shoulder when the door opened. Her purple tipped lashes fluttered so wide they touched her eyebrows. He quietly sat on the stool with the winding arm. Tension fried the edges of every nerve. Why the hell did his fingers ache? He looked down at the white of his skin under his nails from the death grip he had on the arm.

He could do this.

He released the chair arm.

It wasn’t the box.

The room he’d practiced in before.

He was used to the closet in Ripper Records. It gave him cold sweats, but he was used to it.

Here he was in front of Jazz. Sitting right beside her.

In front of strangers.

In front of Margo. He kept the music separate from her for so long, it was odd to have her in his space.

Jazz handed him her notebook.

He took it with shaking fingers. He cleared his throat. “Play it through from the top?”

Jazz nodded. He hummed his way through it once, scanning her lyrics as he followed along. When they went through it a second time his brain was on fire to join in. He wanted his voice to match that sound.

Around the last quarter of the song, he let the words out in a whisper. Margo brought down the power of her strings to account for his sheer cowardice.

He cleared his throat. “Again.”

He closed his eyes and let the music take him. This time there was a guitar added into the lilting opening of the song. His voice was rough with disuse.

No, don’t concentrate on that.

He needed to find the heart of the song.

Jazz’s words were heartfelt, but they weren’t quite his. He followed instincts that had never steered him wrong before. He changed the bridge and let his voice soar up with the epic battle of violin and piano.

His voice evened and went bell clear as he climbed up an octave he hadn’t touched in two full years. He bowed his head as Gray came in with the guitar solo that hadn’t been there the first few times through.

But it was right.

Logan piped it in from the main studio.

Gray and Margo merged until there was nothing but a breathtaking crescendo. He stepped in. His voice ached with the loss that was burned into the lyrics. His head fell back as he brought it full circle with the final verse, and finally…the bridge.

The room was silent.

He was terrified to open his eyes. He avoided both of the girls as he twisted in the chair and went out the door and past a stunned Gray. He couldn’t look at Margo. Not now. He couldn’t watch when the disappointment filled her big brown eyes.

He took the stairs two at a time and scanned the area for the nearest exit.

“You guys finally came up for air. I’ll just get the—Simon, is everything okay?” Izzy’s ocean colored eyes went wide as he strode past her to the front door.

The crisp, cold air filled his lungs with fire. No coat other than the black button down he was wearing downstairs, but he didn’t care. The cold felt good. It felt clean and whole.

“Simon?”

He hunched his shoulders. “I know it sucked. I’ll be down to give it another try in a few minutes. I just need a minute.”

Logan came up beside him and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “If that was the suck version then we’re recording a whole album together, buddy.”

Simon frowned. He couldn’t quite hear around the white noise in his head. “What?”

“I recorded it just for shits and giggles. It’s one of the best damn recordings I’ve done in five years. Including my own.” Logan blew out a breath. “I don’t say that to many singers I’ll have you know.”

“I don’t understand.”

Logan’s eyebrow spiked. “Dude, that was awesome.”

Simon folded his arms, tucking his fists under his biceps. “Nah. You don’t have to lie.”

“I don’t need to. You were a little shaky on the first verse, but then it was all magic. I’ve done that song a dozen times with Gray and Jazz. Nothing like that. Even with me on the vocals. We were going to do the song for a charity album next year. You just got promoted to vocals.”

“I—” Fire and shock threatened to disintegrate his lungs. The fire was the cold. Even in the city, the temperatures didn’t match this crap. “Could we go back in.”

“Good plan.” Logan backed up and opened the door. “You should see your face. I know it’s been awhile since you parked your ass in a studio.”

Simon followed him back inside and down the hallway. “Yeah. A long damn time.”

“Whatever you’ve been doing with that voice coach, keep it up.”

“How do you know about that?” Simon rolled down the sleeves of his shirt. The chill sat in his bones.

“Who doesn’t know?”

“Lovely.”

“It’s nothing to be bummed about. Or embarrassed for that matter.” Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve had to use a coach more than once myself. My third tour I strained a cord. I couldn’t stop the train. Not with that many ticket sales on the line. Especially since it was the first tour that really made any true money.”

Simon shoved his hands in his pockets. Exactly what he’d done. Ruined all the momentum they’d had because he’d been too stupid to ask for help. Nope, he just kept straining his cords until they fucking snapped.

“Stop it.”

Logan’s voice snapped him out of it. They were both similar in height, even if the older man had an extra twenty pounds of muscle on him. Simon lifted his chin. “I fucked up.”

“Not today you didn’t.”

That remained to be seen—or heard, rather. He’d have to nut up and listen to the playback. He just hoped it didn’t suck as hard as he feared. “No, but I did on our tour.”

“If I was on my first headlining tour, I’m not sure I would have been so smart to call in the cavalry either.” Logan pulled out two bottles of water and handed him one. “What you do now is what counts.”

Simon downed half the bottle. His throat sticking with that fucking tickle. He drank more. “Do you have tea?”

“Do I have tea? Please.” Logan reached above the stove and pulled down a tin with a dozen different kinds he’d never heard of. He pulled out a packet. “Try this one. It’s soothing and coats like you wouldn’t believe.” He reached for a tall carafe. “Izzy keeps water hot for me when I’m working.”

“You need this too?”

“Simon, if a singer says he doesn’t, he’s a lying sack of shit.” He dropped the bag into a mug and poured the water over it. “Drink. Go down and listen to it.” Gray and Jazz cleared out to take Dyl upstairs to play before bedtime.”

“I can listen alone?”

“You know your way around a play button, I assume?”

Simon huffed out a laugh as he blew on the steaming tea. “Yeah.”

“I’ll leave you to it. It’s bath time anyway. I enjoy my nightly hose down by my daughter.”

Simon grinned. “All you.” He took a sip of the spice, lemons, and honey flavor. Logan headed for the stairs. “Logan?”

He peeked back around the corner. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“You’re the one that kicked ass. I just got to witness it. Welcome back Simon Kagan.”

He swallowed down a lump. That had a nice ring to it. He sipped the tea and sucked up enough courage to put the mug in the sink and head back down into the studio. The strains of Margo’s violin floated up the stairs as soon as he opened the door.

A sad song he hadn’t heard in a long time.

A Margo original that never seemed to work into one of the various songs they’d crafted as a band. It had a helluva lot more soul than she should be able to pull out of an instrument made for orchestral glory.

The things she could do with that instrument were unparalleled.

He wasn’t surprised to see the borrowed violin at her chin. It resonated more than her Starfish, and she hadn’t had the room to bring both her Strat and electric on this trip.

When he came down the last stair she pulled her bow up off the strings and set it down. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry. I just…” What? Lost it? Emo’d out like a bitch? Yeah, more like c—all of the above.

“You don’t need to explain.” She put her hand on his chest. “This is all new and the song was—”

He placed his finger over her lips. “I was a pussy.”

She grabbed his wrist. “No, this is just new. You’ll get used to it.”

“It’s not new.” He looked down at his scuffed Docs. “I’m sorry if I fucked up your song.”

“Are you crazy? It was just what it needed. Logan’s voice is deeper. His range is on the lower registers. What you just did?” She pushed her hair out of her face. “That was amazing. More than the song has ever been.”

“Keep on stroking, babe.”

“Ass.”

He curled his fingers over hers on his chest. “Listen with me?”

She blinked fast, but not quite fast enough that he couldn’t see the quick wash of tears. It had been a damn long time since they’d been able to talk about music. He was scared down to his bones, but he wanted her to listen with him. If it was the suck, then it was just her that knew about it.

He’d find a way to erase the recording if necessary.

She slid her hand up to his neck. “Of course. Wait until you hear it though. We all listened to it a half dozen times while you were upstairs.”

So much for only him and her listening.

In the moment with the flood of endorphins and high of the song, any of them could have thought it was kickass. It only counted on the playback. That digital track that could be forever.

He leaned in and touched his lips to hers. They watched each other, maybe both of them were afraid to close their eyes. That this was all a dream. He’d find himself slumped in the front seat of the Jeep sleeping off the sunshine heat that had been pouring in on the ride up the cliffs to Logan and Izzy’s house.

She lifted her hands to his face and cupped it, her thumbs tracing over the rasping scruff of his cheeks. “It’s amazing. I promise you.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Then what are we waiting for?”

“Actually,” she licked her lips, “I was kind of enjoying whatever you just drank.”

He kissed her again. A hint of tongue along the seam of her mouth this time around. “Some sort of spiced ginger tea.”

She crossed her arms at the back of his neck. “We’ll have to get some.”

“Good plan.” He leaned in for more. Obviously he was procrastinating, but damn she tasted good. Felt even better. That zing from the music was still under his skin. There was a layer of fire ants on top making him insane, but under all that was a volatile mix of joy and trepidation with a chaser of hope.

Her fingers sifted into his hair and her magnificent breasts flattened against his chest. It felt like forever since he’d touched her. It hadn’t been that long. The night before their first day in the studio maybe?

Fuck. That was over a week now. He groaned into her mouth. The spark of the room and the change of venue, the chance to start over—all of it coalesced until he was aching for her. He tore his mouth away. “Are there cameras in here?”

She laughed. “We’re not finding out, perv.”

“Dammit.”

She dragged her hands down his chest, molding his pecs then down to the ridge of his abs. She liked touching him anyway, but she seemed to be quite happy with the new status of his muscles.

He was more than willing to use that to his advantage. As a matter of fact, crowding her into the wall had merit.

She ducked out from under his arm. “No way.”

He flattened his hand on the padded wall. “We’re alone.”

She crossed to the board and sat down. “Get over here.”

He tipped his head back. “It can wait.” The click of her fingers on the buttons heightened the buzz again. Piano and strings filled the room. He fisted his hands at his sides. His vocals were coming up. The intro was slightly indulgent. More so because it had taken him too long to open his damn mouth.

The wobble of his voice made him wince. “Turn it off.”

“No.”

He headed for the stairs as the verse ended. He made it up two steps before the bridge opened. He paused with his hand on the carpeted wall. The bridge that he’d reworked resonated. The words were him, fit the song, hit the right tone.

He gripped the banister and backed up. He couldn’t quite go to the huge engineering station. The wall was just fine. The corner of Logan’s framed platinum album dug into his shoulder blade.

Too bad it didn’t much matter. The screen over the levers and buttons was big enough to show him the dips and crests of his voice. Jazz’s piano evened out and the guitar violin combo echoed in the room.

Power.

Range.

Heat and passion.

It was better than it had felt when he’d let the song in. The proof of the magic rolled over him and dragged him off the wall and to the board. He slapped his hand on the blinking playback button.

Palms flat to the arm rest he allowed the scent of his woman filter in as a hint of his future permeated the wall he’d had up for years. So different than the vocalist he’d been. The boy still lived behind that wall. But the man that had suffered through surgeries and silence came through the speakers with a clarity the boy had never quite mastered.

Margo stood beside him, her cheek resting against his arm. “It’s so good.”

He hooked his arm around her neck and hauled her into his chest. “Yours, ours.” He didn’t know how to articulate it. Emotions bubbled up and out of his mouth. “I didn’t know.”