She lifted her hands to bracelet his wrists and forced herself to calm his needs. To bring the kiss back down from a landslide of emotions, to softness and safety. He followed her. It took an extra minute for her to reach him, but he finally pulled away from her.
“Tell me what to do,” he whispered against her lips.
“Bring it to the stage. Show everyone that this poser isn’t even a tenth as talented as you are. Not that it even matters. We’ve never heard of him before. No one else would have either.”
He threaded his fingers through the heavy fall of hair that wouldn’t curl no matter what she did. He bunched it at the base of her skull, tipping her head back just a touch so their
eyes met. And held. “You’ll do it with me?”
“Of course. You don’t even have to ask.”
His blue eyes blazed. “London doesn’t know what they’re in for tonight.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” The little pinch of pain made her nipples tighten and her skin prickle for a whole new reason. She wasn’t quite sure what she’d asked for him to unleash tonight.
He slid his hand down to lace with hers, dragging her to the door. “Let’s get to the venue.”
She wasn’t sure London was ready for it.
Hell, she wasn’t sure she was.
Three
The arena felt and smelled like a sauna. A thousand different perfumes and colognes wafted up from the crush of people jammed up against the barricades of Shepherd’s Bush Empire. It may have a new name, The O2 Empire, but it would always be Shepherd’s Bush to the people of London.
The lower level was general admission. Each venue had a different flavor, of course, but one thing remained the same. These people were used to queuing up for shows. Fans from the United Kingdom didn’t seem to push and shove like an American crowd, but they were no less intense.
And tonight, they were soaking up the beast who was her husband.
Simon flew from one end of the stage to the other as he belted out the lyrics to “The Becoming” with a fervor she hadn’t seen in years. He didn’t modulate his voice as he usually did. Instead, he opened up his lungs and sang the holy hell out of the one song he used to be afraid of.
They put “The Becoming”, their biggest hit, at the beginning of the setlist unlike most bands. There had been a reason behind it once upon a time. The trauma of the song outweighed the tradition of leaving it to the encore. Instead, for Oblivion, it became the measurement of how a show would go down.
Tonight was off to a ripping start.
Margo sawed her bow across her strings as her solo part heated up. She moved to center stage and raced through the notes. She fed off Simon as much as the crowd did. He monkeyed his way up the amplifiers at the side of the stage to the second tier balcony and slapped hands before making his way back to the band. Back to her.
She could practically hear Lila having a fit backstage. Safety protocols were for the weak—at least that was what Simon would say.
It had been a damn long time since Margo had seen him pull a stunt like that.
He crouched low and slapped hands with a few people in the front row before he swung that intense focus to her. She swallowed against the heat blasting at her, both from the venue and the pheromones coming at her from her livewire husband.
He stalked her across the stage. The thrill down her spine had her taking a step back. It seemed to only incite him to chase. Her heart throbbed with the music and the look in his eye as he caught her close. He jerked at her skirt until he could slip his thigh between hers.
The screams from the crowd fell away the moment Simon put his hands on her. Always.
She did her best to match the speed of the song. To follow Deacon and Gray as she normally did.
Only she couldn’t keep up.
The stage lights went down and a spotlight glowed as bright as the sun for a moment before slowly fading into a pulse of hazy purple. No matter how fast she dragged up and down the strings with her bow, it didn’t seem like enough. Her arms burned at the near manic pace as shedded strings from her bow floated around them. Lighters and phones glowed out of the darkness as the overhead lights twirled blue and red.
Jazz’s drums matched her heartbeat.
This hadn’t been in the rehearsal, but their lighting guy on the overseas leg of their tour was amazing. Old school in a way they hadn’t utilized since their first tour. He followed the drama and the tone of the show. He didn’t program the lights with a computer.
No, Bernie was masterful in a way only people with years of experience could pull off. And no one even thought to argue with him. Not when the results were so perfect night after night. This was the second show in this venue.