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

by Cari Quinn

  Nick could relate.

  “I still can’t take a full breath without my ribs screaming,” he said conversationally, his gaze centering on the cross above the decrepit altar.

  Chunks of plaster had fallen from more than a couple small gaps in the roof, and the occasional bucket caught the drainage. The wood beam supports seemed to sag under the weight of the ceiling.

  The vivid stained glass windows were the only slices of perfection left. They refracted the dwindling light outside, turning it into prisms of illumination. Somehow the rainbow glow helped to make the small chapel feel huge and wide open to the wilderness that surrounded it.

  At his side, Klepto cowered.

  Simon turned and held out his lighter to Nick. When Nick took it, he pulled out another from his jacket pocket and clicked it to life.

  “I got used to carrying two. You always seemed to lose yours, so I kept them on hand.”

  Nick swallowed and stared at the cross. He’d never been one for religious imagery, or religion period, but it was easier than seeing Simon’s faded bruises in the flicker from the flame.

  Violence glimpsed in the light was a lot harder to stomach than that done in the dark.

  “I don’t want to fight forever, man. Not with you.”

  “Me either.”

  “Then how do we fix it?”

  Simon glanced at him and away. “I don’t know if we can. I don’t know if I can be the guy who used to be your best friend.”

  Used to be. Even prepared for the words, they still dug into his skin. Shrapnel he would never fully be able to extract. “What’s changed?” he asked, voice raw.

  Around Klepto’s leash, his hand trembled.

  “Everything. You. Me. We’re not who we used to be. I can’t be that Simon anymore. I wish like hell I could.”

  Only the matching rawness he heard in Simon’s voice was enough to push him forward. To take the chance, one more time. “Why can’t you?”

  Simon gripped one of the carved out pews, his jaw clenching. “I…I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  Simon’s lighter went out.

  When Simon didn’t speak, didn’t so much as breathe, Nick took another step. “What? What is it? You know you can tell me. If you don’t want anyone to know, it stays here. I promise. Goddammit, I swear it.”

  The buzz in his pocket made Nick curse. “Jesus, ignore it.”

  But Simon was already pushing past him and the cautiously sniffing dog, moving through the door and out into the storm without a glance back.

  Nick extinguished the lighter he’d been given and pulled out his phone.

  Lila.

  He smiled when he was certain he couldn’t. “Yeah, you. What’s up?”

  “Where are you and Simon? What are you doing to each other?”

  “That sounds fairly ominous.”

  “Tell me about it. But we’re trimming the tree and you’re the only ones not here.”

  “Trimming what tree? Where? There’s decorated trees on every square inch of this property already.”

  “The apple tree in the kitchen. Duh. That’s the one where my mom hangs up all the new apple ornaments everyone gives her. You know, customers and family friends and me and Dad.”

  “Thanks for all the warning. I’m so glad I’m prepared.”

  “I covered us, don’t worry. My gift is from us both, silly.”

  “Oh yeah. Whew.” And wasn’t that nice.

  He hadn’t been part of any kind of an us for more than a month or two at a stretch since…ever.

  “Are you okay?” Lila lowered her voice. “Is Simon?”

  “We’re both fine.” Physically anyway. “We wouldn’t rip into each other on Christmas Eve, Li.”

  “Good. I was worried.”

  That was something else new. Having someone to worry about him. Who actually cared.

  “Not that I give a crap what damage you two morons inflict on each other,” she continued, making him grin. “But I do care about Ripper Records’ investment, and you both need to look pretty for pictures in a week. Guitar Monthly wants to do a studio spread.”

  “He’s the pretty one. I’m ruggedly handsome.”

  She snorted. “Get your ass back to the house, Crandall. And find your dog. He’s MIA, probably with another one of Mama’s socks.” She clicked off.

  He shook his head, still grinning. “Love you too, Dragon Lady.”

  A quick glance at Klepto revealed the dog looking up at him questioningly in the near pitch blackness. Dusk dropped quickly this time of year, and the walk back to the main building would be cold and dark.

  Emphasis on cold.

  “Come on, boy. Let’s go home.”

  He didn’t have to tug on the leash for Klepto to fall in line with his steps. They trudged out into the cold, still night, forging on into the wind and pelting flakes.

  Simon was nowhere in sight.

  Funny how the Cali boys had adapted so quickly to the frozen East. Though Simon had other practice, going on his modeling gigs all over the world as well as accompanying Margo to Boston.

  Nick had been baptized by ice last Christmas on his first visit home with Lila. Every time he came back, the more he loved where she’d been born and raised.

  The more it seemed possible for him—for them—to build something similar, but all their own.

  Nick opened the side door and stomped snow off his boots. He shut the door, unclipped Klepto’s latest borrowed leash—one of Lola’s old ones, in a particularly virulent shade of pink—and hung it up beside Lola’s. Then he opened the door that led to the kitchen and just stopped.

  Everyone was all coupled up and happy, singing carols and bustling around the half-decorated tree in the corner. A year ago, that hadn’t seemed possible. At least for him and Lila.

  Now there were babies and engagements busting out everywhere. Jazz knocked up again and he and Lila were going to get married—

  And when Lila turned toward him and smiled, her hair so golden and shiny, the sparkly gray top she was wearing seemed to cling to her belly. Just for a second, less than, he would’ve sworn it was rounder.

  Instead of panic filling him, it felt good. Right. Like they were laying the foundation to something real. Something that would grow and bloom and never flounder.

  Something that was theirs and theirs alone and could never be taken away.

  Then he blinked and the image dissolved.

  The disappointment that bled through him halted his footsteps. Halted everything, even his heart.

  “About time you show up,” she said, gliding over to him. She gave the dog a head rub before she leaned up to kiss him. “Simon’s in one piece too, so I guess you weren’t lying about your Christmas truce.”

  Nick grabbed her arm and gazed into those sparkling eyes and nearly made another one of his decrees.

  One he’d never ever thought he would make. At least not voluntarily.

  Let’s make a baby.

  Luckily before the words formed, she slipped away into the center of the festivities around the tree. After a couple seconds, the insane notion passed.

  He wasn’t that guy. There was moving forward and then there was leapfrogging into the unknown.

  Baby steps were just fine. Minus the baby part for a while.

  They had all the time in the world.

  22

  Simon

  Simon 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 w
as 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 disapp
eared 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.