Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5) (22 page)

S
imon curled
his fingers around the steering wheel as they turned down the tree lined street that led to the Reece house. Snow had hit this part of Boston as well, but not in the same truckload amounts.

In fact, it seemed as if snow wasn’t allowed to inconvenience those of the moneyed. There was only a trace of it on the corners where it couldn’t be swept away with some magic snow plow. He actually missed the stark whiteness of the orchard. He didn’t think he’d ever say that. Especially since his pinkie toe might actually still be frozen from the epic snow fight a few days ago.

That damn tree with the plaque was his earmark to pull over. Otherwise every Brownstone looked the same in this area. Hell, his condo in the high-rise had more originality.

All of the pomp and circumstance with a brick veneer. Just like the rest of its buddies on the block. Margo had been quiet since her sister fell asleep in the backseat of their rental. She always got a little reserved when she knew it was time to bring him into this particular lion’s den.

Actually—lioness’s den.

Dr. Thomas Reece was easy to deal with. He outright ignored Simon. It was Professor Jayne Reece that hated him with every blue breath she took. The doc was too busy checking his phone and drinking scotch to give a shit when Simon was in the high and mighty residence.

He pulled to a stop and parked. Margo leaned across the center console. He turned to her with a brave smile. “Ready for—” He was cut off by her mouth on his.

The kiss was hot—far hotter than it should have been for out of the blue and their company. But Juliet was unconscious and he tasted the intensity on Margo’s breath. He slid his fingers into her hair, releasing a lock of her cinnamon streaked dark hair from her sleek up-do.

When it came to their time at the brownstone, either they fucked like bunnies because Margo wanted to ignore that they were there, or there were pockets of silence so big he could drive a truck through them.

Maybe this trip would be bunnies.

Merry Christmas to him. Something good.

Her tongue tangled with his, her fingers twisting the shit out of the zipper on his leather jacket. He covered her hand and brought the kiss down from epic porn movie to RomCom movie kiss. “It’s going to be fine,” he said against her mouth. He brushed his lips over hers. “No big.”

She nodded. “Right. No big.” She looked down at the ring on her left hand.

He frowned. “Everything all right?”

“Of course.” She gave him her sunny smile. The grin and bear it one that he detested. He frowned as she pulled away and unbuckled her seatbelt. “Jules, we’re here.”

“Are you done macking away at each other?”

“Watching for pointers?” Simon asked.

“I prefer a little less slobber.” Juliet opened her door and hopped out.

“Nice.”

Margo grinned. “I like your slobber.”

“I do
not
slobber.”

“Of course, babe.” She grabbed her purse and slid out. “Pop the back.”

Simon sighed and slammed his head into the headrest. “I don’t slobber,” he muttered and unlocked the hatch.

“Truman!” Juliet’s happy laugh chorused with Margo’s as they both attacked the older man. The Reece majordomo got more love than the parents. How fucked up was that?

Simon palmed his keys and opened the console. He transferred the flask he’d hidden in there into his inside pocket. Dealing with Jayne required booze. He’d didn’t even give a shit if he shouldn’t drink at this point.

It was either that or tell everyone off.

And his mouth had gotten him in enough trouble this week. He flexed his bruised and scabbed over knuckles. His fists had gotten him into even more trouble. Yep, so booze it was.

The brisk northeast wind sliced through the wool of his black suit and overcoat. Holy Christ, he wasn’t built for winter. Give him seventy degrees and the boardwalk over this shit.

He lifted out the bags of Christmas presents. The stiff, starched boxes with professional wrapping and bows that could be photographed for a holiday spread in Home and Garden. Then there was the other bag. Rich, ridiculous paper in red foil that he’d used for his own gifts for Margo.

A rockstar santa wrapped box grinned up from the bottom of the bag. The same paper he’d used for the kids at the orchard gathering. He hadn’t had much time to shop when Nicky had dropped the bomb that the families were coming, but he’d made due with the shops in town.

He’d blown a wad on the quaint little stores. Even ended up with half a dozen more presents for Margo.

She lived in a world of tidy. He wasn’t that guy. Even with all the crap he’d had to deal with in the fashion world, he wouldn’t bring that into their holiday. Not this year.

Every gift meant something, even if some of it was ridiculous. He’d even ended up shopping with Juliet for some of it. So, maybe…just maybe, he got something right this trip.

The last bag was for the staff. These had been wrapped by Margo with fussy individualized cards and bows. She kinda went gaga for Christmas when it came to the chef and the majordomo. Again, fucked up beyond anything he could explain, but then again his family hadn’t celebrated.

His dad was long dead.

His mom had been MIA since he’d been a toddler.

His Christmases had consisted of a six pack with a bow on it from Nick. Or some holidays had been more like a SlimJim with a bit of tinsel on it that Nick had stolen from a tree display.

A pang kicked under his breastbone. He was pretty sure it wasn’t from the series of kicks and punches Nick had doled out.

A simpler time, when it had been about hanging out with friends and drinking. When gifts had been an afterthought because money had been scarce. And jamming on a guitar or watching the Palladia channel and their concert marathons had been the extent of their festivities.

Now he was in an Armani suit, rubbing elbows with blue bloods.

How the fuck had that happened?

He closed the SUV’s hatch and his chest tightened at Margo’s delighted laughter. More of her chocolate-colored hair had slipped from her sleek twist. She had a touch of wild under a veneer of respectability thanks to her crushed velvet dress in a deep evergreen.

A few years ago she would have worn a boxy black skirt, a cashmere twinset, and sensible heels. Oh and some sort of crazy girdle. Because her mother was a harpy that liked to cut her down about her curves.

But now they were proudly on display.

So, yeah, some things had changed for the better.

Where her sister was willowy, Margo was lush and hot as fuck. He’d worshiped at altar that was her ass last night. She was everything he’d never known he wanted.

And now he couldn’t imagine a day without her.

So he’d suck it up and hang out at the Reece mausoleum today and tonight. Possibly another day after that if her mother was peckish. But then they’d lose themselves in her Boston house for the rest of the week.

Sex, sleep, and maybe a club or two.

They needed this.

No work for him, no symphony for her.

They just had to get through the clusterfuck of hoity Christmas. He gave Truman a saucy grin. “Merry Christmas, Sir.”

“And you, Master Kagan.”

He waggled his eyebrows. “I do love when you call me that.” He nudged Margo. “You should take notes.”

“You have a better chance at a threesome, pal.”

His brows shot up. “Damn, that was almost a—” he cut off at her baleful stare, and cleared his throat. “Shall we go inside, ladies?”

She patted his chest. “Much safer idea.”

Truman walked ahead, already full of bags from the girls. Juliet turned and walked backwards to face him, waggling her finger between the both of them. “Is there a story I should know about?”

“Your sister has a—”

Margo covered his mouth with her hand. “That is not a topic for Christmas discussion.”

Juliet stomped her hooker heeled boots. “Now I really want the story.”

Margo’s lips twitched. “Maybe later.”

He slid his hand under her thigh length dress coat and palmed her ass. “That was a very good day,” he said against her ear.

She gave him a side-eye, but said nothing. Her eyes were shining though and that was all that mattered. So much better than the lackluster void from the car. He only liked life or heat in her eyes.

And God help him he’d try to keep one or the other there for the next few days.

Juliet skipped up the stairs and disappeared through the double doors. Simon linked their pinkies. “We can skip this, head to St. John. There’s still time.”

“On Christmas Eve?”

“Oh, yeah. I looked it up last night. Helicopter ride to JFK and then out over the big blue ocean to our little house.”

She stopped at the base of the stairs. “You looked it up?”

“You better believe it. I look for any reason to kidnap you.”

“One of these days you should do that.” She gave him that grin that made his dick instantly hard, and climbed the stairs. Damn jacket covered the wiggle that he knew was there.

The fact that he knew it was there was enough.

He opened his coat to the bracing wind for a moment to kill his rager and then rushed after her. As soon as he crossed the threshold, the dismissive sneer from Jayne killed the last of it.

Icy bitch.

She gave Margo air kisses and pulled Juliet in for an almost warm hug. The slight was absolute and he ached for his girl. No matter what Juliet did, or how many times she got into trouble, she always managed to stay the favorite.

Probably because she was the spitting image of Jayne only dark. Margo’s mother was as arctic blonde as her personality, and the kind of thin that was three pounds away from frail.

Like the models that surrounded him.

Probably why he hated her so damn much.

Juliet was the same size except for her truly impressive breasts. Sometimes he wondered if the girl was going to teeter over. And she used them to her advantage. Well, except for today.

Juliet was dressed in the preferred Bostonian Blue Blood uniform. A carbon copy of some Donna Karan mannequin from Fifth Avenue. Except for the hooker boots.

Margo’s sister couldn’t stay away from the hooker heels. She couldn’t stand how petite she was. He’d heard the girls talking about it all the time. One of the reasons that Margo had such a stunning array of heels herself.

He sure as shit wasn’t going to complain. The only time a guy hated heels was when a girl was bitching about wearing them—not the actual wearing of them.

Because dude, hot.

“Where’s Daddy?”

Simon blinked back into the conversation at Juliet’s question.

“He’ll be down in a little while. He had a phone call.”

Simon rolled his eyes. More like appeasing the latest mistress because she didn’t rate a Christmas visit.

Margo’s shoulders stiffened.

He swallowed a sigh and moved behind her to take her coat. He pitched his voice low. “You look stunning. Did I tell you that today?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “No.”

“You do. Like a Christmas present made especially for me.”

Her lips twitched. “Wait till you see what’s under the dress.”

“You keep teasing me. I still didn’t get to see my Christmas present you talked about at the lodge.”

“You’re the one that had to get hurt in the snowball fight.”

“You’re the one that knocked me off the mountain.”

“Oops?”

“Yeah, I’ll give you oops.” He hustled her into the great room. Time to make nicey-nice with Jayne. God help him.

“
J
uliet
? It’s time for dinner.” Margo called up the stairs.

No answer.

She curled her fingers around the silky wood of the banister. “Where the hell did she go?”

“She’s in the music room, Miss Margo.”

She twisted around at Truman’s voice. “Oh. I thought she was going upstairs to change.”

Truman gave her an indulgent smile. “You know Miss Juliet. She got distracted.”

“A lot of truth right there.” She patted the older man’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He bowed a little and Margo couldn’t stop herself from going onto her toes and kissing his papery cheek. He flushed a little, but leaned into the easy affection.

Truman had never been just a butler to them. He’d been a confidant where their parents just couldn’t ever be. They just weren’t built for it. For a long time she hated her parents because of that, but now it was easier to see that she’d simply been lucky to have the indulgent pseudo-uncle in her life.

She crossed the room and through a formal sitting room and then a fussy tea room which she always hated. The wallpaper alone made her twitchy. Who actually wanted linen cabbage roses wallpaper on any wall ever?

Increasing her pace, she finally found the music room. It had been the center of the house for years. Between herself and Juliet there had been much showing off through their teen years. She’d stuck with the violin, while her sister had an uncanny ability to play just about anything.

It was frustrating sometimes—especially since her sister barely cared to keep up with an instrument. She got bored so very quickly. Another reason she was so reticent to have her sister fill in for the bassist in Warning Sign.

What if she got bored again?

Actually, not even a what if. She would—it was just a matter of time. She didn’t want to disappoint her best friend yet again. Not that she had control over the men and women in her life, but if she could steer her sister away from the idea of joining a band maybe she could keep a little heartache at bay.

She didn’t want Lila to be at the mercy of another pain in the ass Reece on her roster. Margo had twenty three years of disillusionment to get used to Juliet’s antics. Lila already had a parade of people walking in and out of Warning Sign. She didn’t need one more stressor in her life.

Especially with how Lila had been acting lately.

She peeked inside. Not a trace of her sister. A piano filled more than half of the room. On the far side of the room was a glass case with her first violin and her grandmother’s flute. A series of phonograms lined special built-ins. Her father and grandfather collected them.

The scent of beeswax polish and the faint hint of chicory smoke brought back a deluge of memories. How many nights had she listened to Vivaldi with her grandfather when she was a child? No talking, just music. It had been one of the few things she’d shared with him. Otherwise he was just as warm and approachable as her mother.

She shook off the heavy tendrils of memory lane. “Jules?”

“Back here, Mags.”

She stepped around the secretary desk with a disturbingly lifelike bust of her great-grandmother and found her sister sitting in front of the closet. “What the hell are you doing all the way back there?”

Juliet was curled on her side, one of her boots pointing to the ceiling, the other tucked under her butt. “Look what I found.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You kept that?”

Juliet cradled the mahogany Gibson bass. “Jeremy Buckingham had exactly two things going for him. He was distantly related to Lindsey Buckingham, and he played bass. Oh, and he wanted in my pants so bad he gave me this.”

Margo dragged over the club chair behind the harpsichord jammed in the corner. No way she was getting on the floor in her dress. Talk about tight around the butt. “That’s a terrible story.”

“You didn’t get a custom Gibson out of the deal. I would have slept with him anyway. Well, there wasn’t any sleeping involved. He did have the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen. True story.”

“Wow. So didn’t need to know that.”

“Come on. You know how it is. You’ve got the Magnum of cocks locked up.”

“And how do you know that? He could be all looks and charm.”

Juliet snorted. “Not with the bliss face I caught on you at the lodge.”

“Again, that doesn’t have anything to do with a…”

“Cock. You can say it. Dick, trouser snake, manaconda—wait, wrong rockstar.”

Margo put her head in her hands. “I’m not discussing this with you.”

“No discussion needed. Besides, I’ve seen his photo shoots with that Roman dude. Unless they’re stuffing his leather pants with socks—you, my dear sister, have won the lottery of cock.”

“How did we get on this subject?” Margo asked desperately. And for the love of God, could she stop saying cock.

“Right, Jeremy’s magnificent cock with a side of perfect bass guitar.” Juliet slapped the body of the electric bass. “This beauty right here was my bonus round. Now, Jeremy may have had a super pretty slice of paradise between his legs, but he was a one and done guy. So, my infatuation didn’t last much past that first night.”

“Why do you insist on telling me these things?”

Juliet’s laughter pealed out. “Because it makes you so uncomfortable.”

“Gee thanks.”

“You’d think you would be immune to it living with that god, and yet still blushing.”

“Can we stop talking about my hu—guy like that?”

“Why can’t you say husband?”

“I can.”

“Right. You stumble over it every time.”

“Can we just talk about the bass please?”

“Oh, we will, don’t you worry. We’re just going to take a little side trip into the husband thing. I thought you guys did the whole ceremonial tagging thing.”

“Tagging?”

“You know, do you? Yes. Do you? Yes. Ring and big kiss. No contract. Just for you guys.”

“We did.” Margo remembered every piece of that night. Just them on the bridge looking over the Seine as they promised each other forever. “And it was really lovely.”

“In Paris of all places. Of course me and Paris don’t exactly get along.”

Margo raised her brow. “Because of the two arrests, or the fact that you’ve been banned from the Saint James hotel?”

“We’re not going to talk about that.”

“Right. Of course not.”

“Come on, Mags. Don’t be like that. It was another life.”

“Last year was another life?”

“Yeah. I was bored.”

“So, you’re going to do the same thing with Warning Sign too? When you get bored, you drive a motorcycle through the the lobby. You can’t do that with a band. You have a label to answer to.”

She waved her words away. “I was drunk.”

Like that made it better? “And that’s why you were arrested.”

“I don’t do that anymore. Much.”

Margo sighed. Much. At least she had a qualifier. “Look, Lila is my best friend. I just don’t want you to…”

Her smile fell away. “Pull a Jules?”

Yes. But the look on her sister’s face made her swallow back the words.

“I know you think I’m just a fuckup, but I really want this, Mags.” She rolled onto her knees and set the bass back into the case before crawling over to her. “I’ve been drifting from party to party forever. I want something real. And when I met Michael and Molly, it felt good. So good.”

“And that’s not just because Michael is seriously hot?”

“Nah. He’s not my type. He’s hot, that’s for damn sure, but I’ve been there done that.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”

Juliet laughed and flipped her hair over her shoulder. “No, not him. But he’s exactly the kind of guy I’ve always been with. Besides, he’s a white hat.” She shrugged. “I’d crush him.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You know. Hero complex. He wants to be
the
guy. The one that makes everything okay.”

Her sister was distressingly on target with Michael’s assessment. He did want to make everything better, but he was also a horny twenty-something year old. And Juliet had a problem keeping her jeans on. No matter what she said.

Margo often wished she could be as free as her sister. To actually embrace life and grab whatever she wanted. Oh, she had in her own way. Simon was definitely not the guy she’d seen herself with when she imagined a future.

Hell, she didn’t imagine herself finding anyone. But she had—and he might not be perfect, but he was perfect for her.

Juliet grabbed her hands. “I want to be in the band. I don’t care about hooking up with anyone in the band. I just want to play. I used to be pretty good at the bass.”

“You’re pretty good at every damn thing you pick up.”

Her sister grinned. “Yeah, well I can hear the way the music is supposed to be. It’s like static in my head for a few minutes then it evens out and I find the melody. But with the bass it’s like a layer that vibrates under the song, pulls it all together.”

She tilted her head. “Yeah. Deacon is much the same. Steady and ever present.”

“Who would’ve thunk I could be the steady?”

Margo didn’t want to say it. Not when a rare uncertainty bled into her eyes. She squeezed her sister’s hands. “You understand music a lot more than most. It’s an asset. A really good one in a band.”

“So you’re cool with it?”

She was as far from cool with it as Brazil in high summer, but she had to trust that if Juliet was meant to be in Warning Sign then it would happen. And if the band didn’t want her, she’d be there to dust her sister off.

But if the vibes between her and Molly at Christmas were to be believed, then she was already in. God help Lila.

“I think it’ll be awesome.”

“Now you sound like Simon.”

“Well, I do live with him.”

“That you do. Someday I’m going to have a bangin’ condo just like you do, by the way.”

“Yeah, well, you know you’re always welcome.”

“I know.” Juliet gave her a quick hug. “I just have to call ahead because seriously you two are like bunnies all the damn time.”

“Like you can talk.”

Her sister twisted around and snapped the locks shut on the bass case. “It’s been a bit of a dry spell lately.”

Margo groaned. “Try not to get naked with someone in Warning Sign.”

“Didn’t we just go over this?” She stood with the case in hand. “Besides, that’s how you found Mr. Perfect.”

“I guess I can’t really say a damn thing, huh?”

“Um, no.”

They walked through the music room and back into the study. When Juliet took a left Margo backtracked. “Where are you going?”

She held up the bass as she took the stairs two at a time. “Gotta put this away.”

“You’re leaving me to deal with Mother alone?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Wimp,” she called after her sister.

“I believe smart is the correct term.”

Margo whirled back around and hauled ass into the living room. Simon was in seated in a wingback chair, his hands were draped over the mahogany and cream arms. A whiskey glass dangled from his fingers.

A very empty whiskey glass.

Well, that was perfect.

She hadn’t been gone that long had she?

“Nice of you to join us, Margo.” Her mother’s voice was clipped and cool.

She pressed her lips together before sailing into the room. “Just a little trip down memory lane with Juliet.”

“Where is your sister?”

She spared a glance at Simon. Instead of looking repentant, he lifted the glass to her in a toast, then finished it off. Margo returned her attention to her mother. “She went to bring something upstairs.”

“Upstairs is the place to be.” Simon hefted himself out of the chair to the small wet bar. “Just what’s going on up there, hey?”

“Simon.” She crossed to him and tried to extricate the glass, but he held it up over her head.

“It’s your father’s private stock. Special occasion and all, darling.”

She winced. He never called her that nickname. “He should be down in a few minutes and we can eat.”

“Thomas has an emergency surgery scheduled.”

“Since when?” Margo challenged. “He doesn’t even practice anymore.”

“He has to fill in for others on holiday.”

“Right. Imagine that. Boston General? Or perhaps a private residence in Cambridge?”

Her mother turned to the window and looked out into the back of the house. “He’s doing what he needs to do.”

“What about you, mother? What do you need to do?”

Her mother’s shoulders hunched and her fingers shook around her wine glass. “I’m right where I need to be.”

Margo’s fist came down on the bar. The glasses and crystal decanter clattered together. “Why isn’t he where he should be? And why do you let him get away with it.”

Her mother turned to her, the veneer back in place. “You wouldn’t understand what happens in a marriage.”

No, she really wouldn’t. And that’s why she bucked at the thought of one for so long. Did a marriage really mean that someone had the right to hurt you just because you’d tied yourself to them in a contract?

She glanced down at her own ring and the promises she’d made to this man who endured holidays and various dinners with her because he loved her. Certainly not because he loved her family.

Sometimes she wondered if she even loved her family anymore.

Was it only loyalty that kept her there?

Simon had moved closer to her when she’d had her inner snit. Anger roiled through her. This wasn’t what Christmas should be. Before today her holiday had been filled with laughter and her real family.

And she’d come here out of a sense of misplaced loyalty.

The idea that her father had a surgery today was laughable. Maybe once upon a time when she was a kid and he was the leading surgeon in his cardiac field, but now he was just a fading legend. Now he used his past glory to make excuses to the woman he’d professed to love once upon a time.

Her father professed his love in grand gestures over the holidays, but even those had faded with each passing year. Now he barely pretended to try. If love meant a wandering eye, she didn’t want any part of it.

Her anger drained away as she curled her left hand into Simon’s right. He frowned down at her, his face wary. His bloodshot eyes told her of the pain he was feeling, of the misery that her mother caused with silent judgement.