Rock Addiction

Chapter 1

She wanted to bite his lower lip.

Wanted to tug on the silver ring that pierced one corner of that delicious, toe-curling mouth.

But mostly she wanted to bite down with her teeth, taste the badness of him.

“Um, Molly?” A hand waved in front of her face. “Molly?”

Blinking, she forced her gaze away from the man who made her want to do bad, bad things and toward the petite form of her best friend. “What?” Her skin flushed until she wondered if her fantasies were visible to everyone in the room.

“You mind if I bug out?” Charlotte took a last tiny sip of her pomegranate martini before placing it on one of the small, high tables scattered around the room. “I want to spend tomorrow making sure all the files are in order for the new boss.”

Molly scowled, all embarrassment fading. “I thought you were trying to take it easy on weekends?” The fringe of the black flapper-style dress she’d pulled out of her closet in a moment of whimsy swirled just above her knees when she shifted to give Charlotte her complete attention. “Isn’t making sure everything’s up to standard Anya’s job anyway?” It was Anya who was personal assistant to the CEO; Charlie officially worked in the records department, but Anya had a way of treating Molly’s best friend as her own assistant.

“New boss has a rep,” Charlotte said. “I don’t want to be fired because Anya didn’t bother to do what she should.” Narrowed hazel eyes behind fine wire-rimmed spectacles made it clear Charlotte had no illusions about the other woman.

Nodding, Molly considered the cherry that decorated her nonalcoholic but very pretty cocktail. “Let me get my coat.” Disappointment whispered through her veins, but really, what would’ve happened if she’d stayed longer? Zilch. Zero. Nothing.

Okay, maybe another blush or two inspired by the rock god across the room, but that was it. Even if he, for some wildly inexplicable reason of his own, decided he wanted her, the one thing Molly would never ever do was become involved with someone who lived in the media spotlight. She’d barely survived her first brutal brush with fame as a shocked and scared fifteen-year-old; the ugliness of it had left scars that hurt to this day.

“Oh, no, don’t.” Charlotte put a hand on her arm, squeezed. “I’ll order a cab. You’re having too much fun staring at Mr. Kissable.”

Molly almost choked on the cherry, lush and sweet, that she hadn’t been able to resist. “I’d say I can’t believe that came out of your mouth”—cheeks burning, she fought not to dissolve into mortified laughter—“but you have been my friend for twenty-one years and counting.”

Charlotte grinned as she took out her phone and texted a cab company. “You know who he is, don’t you?”

“Of course. He’s only one of Thea’s most important clients.” And on the cover of every second magazine that came across Molly’s desk at the library, all sleek muscle and tattoos and a sexy smile curving those dangerous, bitable lips. If she couldn’t resist reading the articles and sighing over the photos, that was her guilty little secret.

“You two talking about me again?” Her sister’s sultry voice sounded from behind Molly, followed by her slender body—currently clad in a tight red designer sheath.

“About your raking-it-in client,” Charlotte clarified.

“That’s über-client to you.” Raising her champagne flute, Thea clinked it against the glass that held Molly’s frothy concoction. “Here’s to rock stars with voices like sex and bodies like heaven.”

Molly felt her stomach clutch, and even though she knew it was none of her business, said, “You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience,” grateful her voice came out steady.

“Molly, m’dear, you know I never mess around with money.” Her older sister’s uptilted eyes, a burnished brown, were suddenly dead serious. “And Zachary Fox, known to his gazillion and one fans as Fox, and to any woman with a functioning sex drive as hot with a capital H, is serious money. As are the other members of Schoolboy Choir.” Putting down her empty champagne flute beside Charlotte’s cocktail glass, she said, “Come on, I’ll introduce you both to him.”

Charlotte shook her head. “No thanks. You know me and gorgeous men—I turn into a Charlie-shaped statue.” Having kept her phone in hand, she now looked down as the screen flashed. “That’s a message from my cab driver. He’s downstairs.”

“You’re sure about going home alone?” Molly couldn’t help but worry about her best friend. Charlotte was fierce and strong and the only person who’d stood by her when the scandal broke, but she knew Charlie’s own past had left invisible wounds that had never quite scarred over.

“Yes—I use this driver a lot for work stuff. He always waits while I unlock the door to my place and disarm the security.” She hugged Thea good-bye before doing the same to Molly, leaning up to whisper, “Live a little, Moll. Take the hot rock star home, then tell me all about your night of wild monkey sex.”

Molly’s breath caught at the idea of it, foolish and impossible though it was. “If only.” Over an hour into the party and Fox hadn’t even looked in Molly’s direction, that’s how high she registered on his radar.

“Fox knows who you are,” Thea said after Charlotte had left. “He saw a photo of us in my L.A. office—the one from after we went through the caves.”

Molly groaned. “You mean the one where we both look like drowned rats, have giant black inflatable rings around our waists, and dented helmets on our heads?” The trip through the waters of the underground cave system had been fun, but it did not make for alluring photos. “Let’s not forget the ancient gray wetsuits that made it look like we were molting.”

Choking on her laughter, Thea nodded. “He was interested in doing the black-water rafting thing when I told him where we took the photo. I’m sure he’d love to talk to you about it.”

Molly fought the temptation to get close to him any way she could, and it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. “No thanks,” she said, her mind awash in visions of what it would be like to meet him in a much more private setting, run her fingers over the firm lines of his body… bite down on his lip. “I’d like to keep standing over here with my fantasies.” Distance or not, the needy, achy feeling in the pit of her stomach continued to intensify, her response to the rock star across the room scarily potent.

Thea raised an elegant eyebrow.

“If I meet him,” she added through the shimmer of heat that licked over her skin when he laughed at something one of his bandmates had said, the sound a rough, dark caress, “and he’s an arrogant snob or worse, a stoned-out idiot, there go my fantasies.”

“Fox is neither a snob nor a stoner.” Thea’s lips kicked up. “The man is the whole package: intelligent, talented, and a nice human being unless you piss him off by pushing too hard about his private life—and I don’t think there’s any chance you’ll go paparazzi on me.”

“That just makes it worse,” Molly pointed out, trying not to watch as Fox bent his head to speak to a bombshell brunette in a dress the size of a handkerchief. “How can I fantasize about him ripping off my clothes in a moment of reckless passion if he politely shakes my hand and says it’s nice to meet me?”

Molly had learned her lesson about reality versus dreams as a teenager—once destroyed, some dreams could never be resurrected. And for some reason, she couldn’t bear for this silly, unattainable dream to be splintered by reality.

“If you change your mind,” Thea said with a shake of her head, “speak up soon. Fox never stays long at these things.” She picked up a cobalt blue cocktail from the tray of a passing waiter. “I’d better go make nice with the other guests.”

Watching her publicist sister expertly work the room, Molly smiled in quiet pride. Though they’d joyfully connected after a lifetime of not knowing the other existed, the bond was yet new, fragile, and no one who wasn’t aware of their family history would ever guess they were related. Twenty-nine to Molly’s twenty-four, not only was Thea naturally slender in contrast to Molly’s curves, she had the smooth golden skin of her Balinese mother as well as Lily’s eyes, but she’d gained her height from Patrick Buchanan, topping Molly by a good five inches.

Their shared father had put his stamp on Molly in a far stronger fashion, giving her the black hair she constantly fought to tame, creamy skin that burned easily, and eyes of deepest brown. Every time Molly looked in the mirror, she remembered what Patrick had done, and each time she wrenched her hair into a tight twist—as she’d done tonight—it was in silent rebellion of the shadow he threw over her life even from the grave.

Patrick Buchanan, “family values” politician and vicious hypocrite, was the kind of man who’d have taken a stranger home for a night of uninhibited passion.

Fingers tightening on the stem of her glass, Molly made the deliberate decision to turn away from the rock star whose presence made her body sing. It was just as well that Fox was oblivious to her existence, because should he turn those smoky-green eyes in her direction, Molly had the heart-thudding sense that she might break every one of her rules and give in to the other Molly who lived inside her. That dangerous woman was Patrick Buchanan’s irresponsible seed, someone who might well wreck everything Molly had built brick by brick after her world fell apart.

Releasing a shuddering breath, she wandered over to the plate-glass window that functioned as one wall of the exclusive penthouse suite Thea had hired for the party. The bright lights of New Zealand’s biggest city sparkled in front of her, a cascade of jewels thrown by a careless hand and bordered by the black velvet of the water that kissed its edges.

“Stunning, isn’t it?”

She glanced at the man who’d spoken. “Yes.” Rangy, with eyes caught between gold and brown, he was only a few inches taller than Molly, but there was a contained energy to him that made him seem bigger.

“I’m David.”

“I know.” She smiled. “David Rivera—you’re the drummer for Schoolboy Choir.”

“Wow.” David rocked back on his heels, hands in the pockets of the tailored black pants he wore with a stone-gray shirt. “You actually recognize the drummer. Big fan?”

Her smile deepened. “My sister’s your publicist.” Based in L.A., the only reason Thea even had an “office” in New Zealand was because of Molly. That fictional office had alleviated some of the pressure during their first nervous meetings, making Thea’s flights to the country about something other than the relationship they were trying desperately to build.

“I didn’t know Thea had another sister.” David’s eyes skated to where Thea stood with Fox, the lead singer’s arm around her waist, and all at once, he wasn’t the charming, well-dressed man who’d been talking to her, but one with a stiff jaw and rigid shoulders.

“Thea,” she said softly, as the rich darkness of Fox’s hair caught the light, “has three very specific rules.”

Sharp interest, David’s attention snapping back to her. “Oh?”

“One: never sleep with clients.” The words weren’t only for David’s benefit—the idea of her sister in bed with Fox caused her abdomen to clench so tight it hurt.

“What’s the second rule?”

“Never sleep with clients.”

“Why do I get the feeling I know the third one?” Thrusting a hand through the deep mahogany of his hair, he blew out a breath. “She ever made an exception?”

“Not as far as I know.” Having forced her gaze back to the multimillion-dollar view in a vain effort to control the visceral pulse of her physical response to a man who could never be hers, she followed the path of several blinking lights in the distance, a plane en route to the airport.

“You want another drink? I definitely need a beer.”

Molly shook her head. “No, I’m heading off.” She didn’t trust herself to stay any longer, didn’t know what she might do; every cell in her body continued to burn in awareness of the rock star on the other side of the room.

Putting her glass on a nearby table, she dipped into her little black purse to find the keycard Thea had handed her that morning. The card gave her temporary access to the building’s parking garage.

“Thanks for the advice on Thea’s rules,” David said with a rueful smile.

“Don’t mention it.” Molly wondered if her sister had any idea of the drummer’s feelings. “Will you be flying home soon?” Schoolboy Choir had played a sold-out concert three days ago as part of a new outdoor music festival that had attracted bands from around the world.

“No, we’re staying in town for a month.”

Molly froze.

“It’s been a tough year,” David continued, “and we need downtime before the tour we have coming up. We liked it here, figured what the hell, we’d just stay on instead of flying somewhere else for a vacation.”

It made perfect sense… and Molly knew she’d spend the next month obsessing over whether she might run into Fox again. Her cheeks heated at the sheer ridiculousness of her response. God, she had to go home.

“I hope you enjoy your time here,” she said as she turned away from the view. Of course, her gaze went straight to Fox. A leggy blonde was currently whispering in his ear while several other women looked on grim-eyed. It was a stark visual reminder of the gulf that existed between them, regardless of her body’s potent response.

David’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

“No, that’s okay.” When he frowned, she added, “There’s a guard on duty in the garage. It’s safe.” Smiling her good-bye, she began to tunnel her way out of the packed room.

Skirting around the tall form of the guitarist for Schoolboy Choir, an almost too-handsome blond male in the midst of charming an actress Molly recognized from a local soap opera, she managed to snag Thea for a quick hug. “I’ll call you later in the week,” her sister said in her ear. “I’m staying in the country with the band for the first part of their vacation.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Molly loved spending time with her older sister now that the initial awkwardness had passed. “If you’re in the city anytime, come into the library and we’ll sneak out for a coffee.”

“Deal.”

With that, Thea returned to her guests while Molly continued on to the exit—where she gave in to the inexplicable ache inside her and craned her neck for one last glimpse of the man who’d turned her blood to molten honey. Fox, however, was nowhere to be seen. “Not exactly a surprise,” she muttered under her breath, recalling the gorgeous women who’d been buzzing around him.

More than likely, he was in a shadowy corner of the building, pinning one of those women to the wall while he pounded into her. The image poured ice-cold water on her fantasies.

Stabbing the button to summon the elevator at the end of the corridor, she tried to think of anything but Zachary Fox’s muscled body flexing and clenching as he drove himself into that nameless, faceless woman.

Her pulse fluttered, her breathing choppy.

“Thank God,” she said when the elevator arrived and, stepping inside, scanned her keycard over the reader before pressing the button for the garage.

“Hold up!”

Automatically pressing the Open button until the other passenger had ducked inside, she turned to give him a polite smile. It froze on her face.

Because there in the flesh stood the sex god whose lip she wanted to bite. All six feet four inches of him. Masculine heat, golden skin… and smoky, sexy dark green eyes focused on her mouth.

Chapter 2

Patience wasn’t Fox’s strong suit, and he’d almost killed himself with it tonight. Then he’d just about killed David for getting close to her while he kept his distance. Now, finally, he was alone with Molly and all he wanted to do was mess up her hair, kiss her until her lips were swollen and wet.

Then he wanted to do it again. And again.

Fighting the gut-wrenching need that threatened to turn him inside out, he forced himself to lean back lazily against the elevator wall. “You’re Molly.” It came out a rough purr.

Her eyes widened, fingers curling into her palm. “Yes.”

He wanted those fingers on him—any part of him. “Would you mind giving me a ride?”

A large percentage of the women at the party would’ve taken that as the invitation it was and been all over him in one second flat. Molly, however, took a tiny step back. “Don’t you have a driver?”

Abdomen tight, he continued to keep his tone playful, easy, though he was feeling close to feral. “I gave him the night off.”

“A taxi?”

If she took another step back, Fox wasn’t sure he’d be able to restrain his need to put his hands all over her sweetly feminine flesh, taste her with his mouth. “I don’t know the address I’m going to.”

The elevator dinged at that moment, and he waited as Molly stepped out into the parking garage before following. The skin at her nape looked like cream; he wanted to lick it up, close his hands over her breasts from behind as he did so, press his rigid cock up against her. Yeah, he wasn’t in a patient mood.

“Oh?” It was a husky question. “If you don’t know the address, how do you plan on getting there?”

Unable to resist any longer, he bent to the soft, subtle, maddening scent of her and whispered, “That’s why I need a ride, Molly,” his lip ring brushing the shell of her ear. “I don’t know where you live.”

She dropped her keys.

Fox bent and picked them up, the chocolate silk of his hair sliding over his forehead. “Here.” Putting them gently into her hand, he closed her fingers over the cool metal, his touch callused from playing the guitar.

Goose bumps broke out over her skin.

Blood rushing through her ears, Molly squeezed her fingers until the edges of the keys dug into her palm. “Are you always this…” She waved her free hand, realizing for the first time that he’d come to a cocktail party wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt. Yet he’d undoubtedly been the most charismatic person in the room.

“I’m making an exception for you.”

Molly knew it was a line… and she didn’t care.

That terrified her. But not enough. For the first time since her world had imploded when she was fifteen, danger tempted more than it scared. Looking up into Fox’s face, his beauty holding a hard edge that said he’d break all kinds of rules, push her past her comfort zone, she knew she was about to give in to the other Molly, the one who’d been in a cage her entire life. “My car’s in the second row.”

Opening the driver’s side door for her when they reached her sporty white compact, Fox said, “I haven’t driven on the left before, but I like driving.”

It took her a second because that teasing grin, it had stolen her breath, the lean dimple in his left cheek devastating her senses. “You can like driving in your own car.” With the rest of her night about to spin heart-thuddingly out of control, she needed to be in charge of something, even if it was only the wheel of her car.

“It was worth a try.” Sliding into the passenger seat, he pushed the seat all the way back to accommodate his legs.

“Would you allow me to drive your Porsche?” Pulling out of the garage, Molly battled the need that urged her to stop the car and tell the rock star next to her that he could do anything and everything he wanted to her… just so long as he let her bite down on that pierced lower lip.

“I don’t have a Porsche.” He shifted in an attempt to stretch out farther before realizing it was a futile effort. “I have a Lamborghini Aventador. Hot red, and baby, she’s a sweet ride.”

Molly had no idea what kind of car that was, but it sounded fast and dangerous and sexy. Like Fox. “So,” she said, her toes curling, “would you let me drive your Lamborghini?” Her voice came out a little breathless, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs.

“Sure, Molly. If you promised I could do hot, dirty things to you before, during, and after.”

Squeezing the steering wheel, she stared out at the road, the city center vibrant with groups of young males trying to make time with club-going girls in tiny glittering dresses and strappy tops—clusters of laughing wildflowers unworried by the autumn chill. Molly had never been that young, that carefree, had never stepped foot in a club after that first time in college—when she’d come face-to-face with the girl who, as a naïve and love-struck underage schoolgirl, had been photographed naked in the backseat of Molly’s father’s car.

She’d certainly never had a one-night stand.

Except now she had a rock star in her passenger seat, and they weren’t planning on ending the night with a cup of tea and nice, polite conversation. “We need to stop at a pharmacy or a convenience store,” she said, trying to act like the sophisticated woman he no doubt expected her to be, even as her hands threatened to tremble.

“Sure.”

“You’re going in.” Molly wasn’t ever going to be sophisticated enough to brazenly walk into a store at ten at night to buy protection.

“Okay.”

Molly asked herself what she was doing. Really, what was she doing? The idea of Fox in her bed, his strong hands, his mouth—that delicious, delectable mouth—on her flesh, it stretched her nerves to breaking point. Fantasy was one thing, but to take the next step? To make it real? Especially when she hadn’t exactly done any of this before? It made her throat dry up, her skin go alternately hot then cold.

“When did you pick me?” The words just tumbled out, her normal filters shredded by his proximity.

“Pick you?”

“For tonight.”

A small, charged silence, the car turbulent with smoldering male energy. “That’s an insult, any way you cut it.”

Her cheeks burned. “You’re right,” she said, knowing she’d just blown all chances of pulling off any kind of sophistication. “I’m sorry.”

That gritty purr was gone from his voice when he said, “Hey, I’m a musician. We all sleep around.”

“I’m a librarian,” she blurted out, unable to take the sexual tension entangled with the biting edge of male fury. “Everyone knows we’re repressed old ladies with too many cats.”

A chuckle. “Clever, Molly.” Again, he stretched out his legs, or tried to. There was simply too much of him to fit in her little car. “You know, if I go into a store and buy condoms, it’ll be all over the tabloids tomorrow that I fucked a local.”

She felt her cheeks heat again. At this rate, she was going to have third-degree burns by the time they got home. “Wear a disguise.” She fought to keep her breathing shallow, but it was no use—Fox’s scent had bonded with every molecule of air in the car.

“Where am I supposed to get a disguise, Miss Molly?” The teasing question was abrasive silk over her skin.

Biting down on her lower lip, she told herself to focus. “There’s a cap in the backseat, sunglasses in the glove compartment.”

He found the items, tried them on before ripping off the sunglasses. “I wear these girly things and my cock will shrivel up.” It was a growl. “Cap’ll do. Long as they don’t notice the ink.”

“Just act shady,” Molly said, her breasts straining against the lace of her bra, the fabric rasping against the taut tips. “The clerk will be so worried you’re planning to shoplift or do something else nefarious”—Nefarious? Really, Molly!—“that he won’t notice anything else.” As long as the clerk wasn’t female.

No woman would ever miss a single tiny detail about Fox.

“You think I can look shady?” A single finger traced the line of her jaw.

Her body wanted to whimper. “You have five o’clock scruff,” she managed to say past the sheer want choking her, “you’re dressed in black with a ball cap pulled low, and your left arm is covered in scary tattoos.” In truth, she found the ink beautiful, wanted to explore the artwork slowly and in intricate detail. “Yes, I think you can do shady.”

A chuckle, deep and low. “You’re mean under the blushes. I like it—I’ll also like licking up that blush from every inch of your body… after I use my tongue to get you off.”

Molly forgot how to breathe.

When she didn’t respond, he said, “Not even a little peek? I’ll start to think you don’t like the look of me.”

Instinctive self-defense had her saying, “You know exactly how gorgeous you are.”

She caught his shrug out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s a face. It’s mine. I don’t want to kiss my own face. I want to kiss yours—while we’re skin-to-skin and I have my cock balls-deep in you.”

Heart ricocheting against her ribs and fingers bone-white on the steering wheel, she pulled into the convenience-store lot. “Go.”

He left without another word, jogging to the door. She wondered if he really was that hungry for her. As hungry as she was for him. Until she had to convince herself not to simply drive to the darkest part of the lot and crawl into the lap of the beautiful, dangerous man she’d never expected to touch. It would take less than a minute to undo his zipper, nudge her panties aside, and—

“Jesus, Molly.” She pressed her forehead to the steering wheel and squeezed her thighs together.

It only intensified the ache between her legs.

They were taking precautions, she thought, trying to rationalize what she was about to do. She wasn’t drunk. Neither was he. They weren’t being stupid about it… but it was still going to be a one-night stand.

She took a deep breath to settle her frantic thoughts, but the lingering scent of Fox, hot and dark, seeped into her, derailing any attempt at coherent thinking. Undoing her seat belt, she opened the door and stepped out into the cold chill of the night, the soft breeze causing the layers of fringe on her silly, pretty dress to sway softly.

Could she do this and look at herself in the morning?

The answer was scarily easy. Every woman was allowed a Fox in her life, allowed one night of unrestrained passion… wasn’t she? This would be hers. When it was over, she’d put the wild, unruly part of her away forever—the part that came from her father and would otherwise destroy her life, as Patrick Buchanan had destroyed their family.

At least she was single, wouldn’t be breaking anyone’s heart by sleeping with Fox.

The convenience-store door opened on the heels of her decision, to reveal a man with a sinful smile and a body made to give a woman decadent pleasure. “Ready?”

“Yes.” Yes.

The rest of the drive home passed by in what felt like seconds. Parking her car in the underground garage of the low-rise building in which she had her apartment, she walked with Fox to the elevator.

He put his hand on her lower back as they entered it, sending a jolt up her spine, but his attention was on their surroundings. “You need better security.” Narrowed eyes scanned the darkened parking garage. “It wouldn’t be that hard to bypass the scanner to the garage.”

It startled her, the edge of concern in his tone. “How do you know that?”

Hand still on her lower back, his lips curled up in a teasing half smile. “You’d be surprised what a boy can learn at boarding school.”

Molly couldn’t imagine him as a boy. His every action shouted strong, confident, adult male. “This is me.” Stepping out on the third floor, she headed down the hallway, her heels clicking on the uncarpeted surface and her nerves doing a stuttering dance.

“You know your neighbors?” He leaned against the white-painted wall as they got to her door at last—the one right at the end.

Unlocking the door with fingers that wanted to tremble, she pushed it open and flicked on the light to reveal the spacious entryway that flowed into an open-plan living room and kitchenette. “Yes,” she said, dropping her purse on the wooden bench where she usually sat to slip on her shoes. It was an effort to find words through the haze in her brain. “We keep an eye on each other.”

Fox came in behind her. “Fuck, yes.” The sound of the door being kicked shut on that harsh exhalation, strong male hands on her hips, hot breath against the curve of her neck.

She went motionless, her pulse in her mouth.

Tugging her hair free from its twist, then nudging the heavy wildness aside to bare her nape, Fox said, “I can’t wait to taste you,” in a voice that was pure whiskey and sex and hard rock.

Then those lips, that divine, delectable mouth, was on her. She shivered as he slid one arm around her waist, crushing her to him. His lips were firm and demanding on her, his stubbled jaw scraping deliciously over her skin. And that ring, it brushed against her in cool strokes that made her imagine what his kiss would feel like in other, more private places… places no other man had kissed.

Fox thrust a jean-clad thigh between her own at that second, forcing her to keep her legs spread. The denim was abrasive against her sensitive skin, the flex of his thigh threatening to send her over. “Fox.”

Making a sound of pleasure deep in his throat, he sucked on the curve of her neck and tightened his grip. He was pure muscle and strength underneath skin tanned a golden brown, his erection pushing against her lower back in a blatant demand that made it clear who held the reins. There was nothing of softness about Fox. When he moved onstage, it was all coiled power and deadly grace.

And now he’d focused that aggressive intensity on Molly.

“The dress,” he said, biting gently at the skin he’d sucked. “Take it off.”

Her fingers shook as she lifted them to undo the hidden zip at the side. “It—” Clearing her throat, she tried to speak past the arousal and nerves strangling her vocal cords. She had no idea what she was doing, Fox utterly out of her league. “It has to come over my head,” she managed to get out.

He caressed her hip before releasing her. “We’ll go slower the second time around.”

The second time around?

She’d barely processed the thought when his hands were gripping the bottom of her dress, gathering up the liquid-soft fabric in strong hands. He bared her so fast she had no time to worry about the fact she wasn’t built anything like the tall, slinky models and actresses who usually buzzed around him.

“I can’t wait to have you naked and wet beneath me.” His hand rose up, closed over the heavy mound of her lace-covered breast.

A little shocked at his bluntness, she gasped and arched into him, wordlessly begging for more. But he left her. Trembling, she blinked, tried to find her senses.

“Why the hell do they wrap these boxes in indestructible plasti—”

“Here.” Turning on legs that threatened to crumple, she took the small box in an effort to give herself time to think, to catch up with what was happening… and became hotly aware of Fox taking the chance to rip off his T-shirt. Breathing became impossible as he revealed a chest she’d never actually expected to see on a real man, the taut ridges of his abdomen inviting her to touch, to pet and kiss and suck.

“You’re supposed to open it.” He tugged the box from her grasp with a slow smile, one that said he knew exactly what he did to her—and that he planned to take brazen advantage.

As she blushed, he tore open the box and flat packets exploded around them.

She glanced down reflexively… and that was when Fox closed his hand over her nape, tilted back her head, and kissed her full on the mouth.

His lips… his lips should’ve been illegal.

Vaguely aware of him undoing her bra and tugging it down her arms, she moaned into the kiss as he pressed her closer with one big hand on her lower back, her bare breasts crushed against the tensile muscle of his chest. She whimpered, sensation prickling through every nerve ending in her body to pool between her legs.

“Yeah, just like that, baby,” he said into the kiss, his lip ring rubbing over the wetness before he gripped her jaw to hold her in position and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

The audacious intrusion startled her, made her realize once again that she’d taken on more than she could handle. Far more. Then Fox licked his tongue over her own, his hands sliding down her back to squeeze her lower curves, and reason fractured under a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that drove her to the edge of sanity.

She bit down on his lower lip.

“Fuck!”

A second after that single brutal word, she found herself lifted up as if she weighed nothing and pressed against the hallway wall, her legs around Fox’s waist, her ankles crossed at his lower back, and her arms wrapped around his neck. Then he was kissing her again. And again. And again. Each kiss was as open and as sexual as the last, one of his hands fisted in her hair, the other molding and squeezing her breast.

Gasping when he released her just long enough that she could suck in a breath, she fell back into a kiss that made it obvious her paltry experience of men had in no way prepared her for being taken by Zachary Fox.

Chapter 3

A lick, a suck, and Fox lost it. Breaking the kiss, he reached down between them to undo his belt buckle. The goddamn zipper threatened to cut his cock in half, but he got it down, sheathed himself, his fingers trembling. If he wasn’t careful, he’d come on the first thrust.

That was when Molly pushed at his shoulders. “Wait, wait.”

Fox froze, his chest heaving. “You want to stop?” He couldn’t think of a worse hell.

“No”—her throat moved as she swallowed—“but I have to tell you something.”

Fingers tightening on her thigh, he bent until their foreheads touched. “What?”

“You”—a jagged breath that rubbed her nipples against his chest—“may need to go in a little slow. I’m not… hugely experienced.”

He shuddered. “Are you a virgin?” Fox didn’t do virgins; he didn’t have the patience for it… but he’d make an exception for Molly. Fuck, he’d make every exception for Molly.

A pause before she nodded. “Sorry.”

“Baby, you don’t ever have to be sorry in bed with me.” Kissing her hard and deep and long, he squeezed her nape. “I won’t hurt you.” He wanted Molly with him all the way, and he suddenly realized he goddamn liked the idea of initiating her into sex.

Addicting her to it, to him, sounded even better.

So, even though his brain was hazed by lust, he kissed her until she grew soft around him, her breathing erratic and the juncture of her thighs liquid with heat. Shoving aside the gusset of her panties as he broke the kiss with a suckling taste of her lower lip, he circled the sensitive flesh around her entrance with a callused fingertip. She shivered, muscles fluttering and pupils hugely dilated.

Loving the unmistakable honesty of her response, he kissed her again, then nudged one finger just inside her. She clenched tight and slick around him, and he wanted more. He wanted everything. “Yes?” A question asked against lips swollen from his kisses.

Fingers digging into his shoulders, she simply nodded.

“Say it, baby.” He didn’t want any doubts in Molly’s mind about their first night together, now or later.

“Yes.” Throaty and breathless, the single word threatened to snap the ragged leash around his instincts, but he’d promised not to hurt her and Fox didn’t break his promises.

He pushed deeper, slow and relentless, adding a second finger when she moaned. Sweat breaking out over his skin, he spread his fingers inside her, moved gently… and she began to rock instinctively on him. “Yes,” he said, his voice rough. “Move on me.” Withdrawing without warning, he pushed his fingers back into her in a single thrust, her body slick enough to take it.

She cried out his name, burying her face against the side of his, her breath a burn over his skin. Hauling her back with his free hand in her hair, he ran his lips down her jaw to her throat, pumping his fingers into her the entire time.

Her muscles fluttered around him, her nails cutting tiny half-moons into his shoulders, her breathing soft pants.

Groaning, he continued to plunge his fingers in and out of her, even as he placed his thumb on the plump, slippery bud of her clit. “Open for me, baby.” He bit her lower lip as she’d bitten his, caught her startled whimper in a kiss. “I want in.”

He flicked her clit.

Back arching, she came in a shocked spasm that left her melted and ready in his arms. He kept his hand where it was, pressed his body close to kiss her again. Seduce her. That orgasm had been beautiful, but he knew she had more inside her, his sexy little librarian. And he intended to see it, coax it out of her.

His cock throbbed.

Gritting his teeth, he reined in the driving need to pound into her. That would come. Right now Molly was back with him, that first short, sharp orgasm having left her ripe for another, this one darker, deeper, tighter. Her body twisted on his, her nipples pebbled points he fully intended to bite.

Later.

The wet sound of his fingers plunging into her body, the scent of desire thick in the air, her muscles clasping him with a sensual greed he fully intended to feed. “Don’t you come again, Molly,” he warned, sliding his fingers out of her, to her moan. “I want to feel you squeezing my cock this time, not my fingers.”

Lace tore, her panties in shreds in two short seconds.

“Open your eyes.” Holding the eye contact when she obeyed the harsh order, the possessive drive inside him a primitive thing, he luxuriated in the way she dug her fingers into the heavy muscle of his shoulders as he circled the broad head of his cock against the nerve-laced skin at her entrance.

A soft, feminine sound, her body going taut as a drum, her skin flushed a luscious pink. “I can’t—”

That was when Fox tightened his hold in her hair, his other hand gripping the softness of her hip, and pushed in an inch. Molly stiffened, her body rippling around him in a way that had nothing to do with pain. Growling in his throat, he kissed her again. “Don’t.”

“Now,” she whispered. “Before I—”

He was buried in her the next instant.

Molly cried out into his mouth as he fought for control. Kissing her with every ounce of skill at his disposal—and yeah, he had a lot of skill—he licked his tongue against hers, stroked and sucked until she shifted restlessly.

He clenched his jaw so hard he could hear his bones grinding against each other. No way in hell was he going to last much longer. “Does it hurt?” She was stretched tight around his thickness.

A shake of her head, her fingers curling in his hair as she asked for another kiss with a sweet, hot brush of her lips against his. Willing to give her anything she wanted, he opened his mouth over hers at the same time that he began to move. Slowly. It took furious self-control.

Molly began to move with him on his fourth stroke, impatient and needy. “Fox.”

Thank God. Shifting both hands to her hips at that broken cry, her head falling back to expose the delicious line of her throat, Fox pounded into her, deep and relentless and ruthlessly fast, his chest rubbing against her nipples with every movement.

Wanting more, wanting her, he curved his hand around her throat and drew her down to his mouth. His ring pressed into the softness of her lower lip, his chest crushed her breasts, but she held on tighter instead of pushing him away, her pleasure-swollen tissues providing erotic friction against the aching hardness of his cock. “Wet and tight and so good.” The words came out a growl. “I might just fuck you forever, Molly.”

She orgasmed on a gasp, her body gripping him with such feminine strength he was the one who felt taken, possessed, owned. Sliding his hold to her jaw, he kissed her throughout her pleasure, and then he pinned her to the wall and took his own.

“You found the bedroom.”

Fox looked at her from where he lay beside her on his stomach, his eyes lazy and satisfied in the muted light of the bedside lamp. “Not difficult.” One big hand stroked down the line of her spine to splay on her lower back, fingers just brushing her buttocks.

Molly’s own fingers curled in the sheets. “Only one bedroom.” It was a nonsensical statement, but she was having trouble thinking past the heavy afterglow of unadulterated pleasure… and the bite of a fear that said maybe she’d made a terrible mistake. This had been meant to be her one wild night, something to carry with her as she walked into a safe, calm, happily dull future, except it had felt like more than sex, more than a single moment of madness in a life lived by the rules.

It had felt like a branding.

“I might just fuck you forever, Molly.”

He’d used her name, that’s what got to her. Right at the end, when she could’ve been any warm, willing female, he’d called her by her name, made it crystal clear he remembered exactly whose body he held against the wall. And she’d never forget his, never forget the man who’d taken such rough care with her. His entry had burned, the pressure intense, but that had faded into a pleasure that blinded.

“So many thoughts in those big brown eyes,” Fox said, playing his fingers over her hip.

Drawing in a long, quiet breath, she turned onto her side and shook her head, a knot of worry in her chest. “Nothing important.” It had been her first time, she told herself, with a man who knew exactly what he was doing. No wonder she was off-balance.

The fact was, Zachary Fox might’ve taken her as if he meant forever, but this one night was all they’d ever share. There was no cause to worry she’d started something that held the potential to devastate the life she’d so painstakingly built for herself.

“Did you say something about a second time?” she asked when it looked like he might follow up on the implied question—though she wasn’t sure her body could handle Fox and what he did to her again.

His smile was pure sex, his hair falling over his eyes as he shifted over her, pressing her onto her back. “You’ll be even more sore than you’re already going to be.”

Molly could feel her skin coloring, but she said, “I can handle it.” It panicked her a little to know their time together would end with the dawn, but that was the reason it had to end. Even should Fox lose his mind and decide he wanted to start up a relationship with a librarian who couldn’t pull off sophisticated no matter how hard she tried. “Please.”

Dimple creasing his cheek, he dipped his head to her breast. “Since you asked so nicely”—a playful lick—“I’ll even give you a reward.”

The second time around was delectably slow and astonishingly instructive. Molly might’ve been inexperienced, but she was smart, read a lot. She knew there were endless nuances to what men and women got up to behind closed doors. But when Fox lowered his head to between her thighs and put his mouth on her, when he showed her exactly what that ring felt like against her most delicate flesh, she realized some things required practical application.

And, when it was over and he tucked her close to the hard planes of his body, she stayed. For this one night, a night that would never be repeated, she could trust a man to hold her.

“You work every Saturday?” Fox asked the next morning as they walked toward her car.

Molly nodded. “The library opens seven days a week, rain or shine.” Her work-week started Tuesday, ended today.

“When will you finish?”

She felt her stomach dip, shook it off with pure strength of will. The night was over; wild, dangerous Molly with her taste for rock stars and bone-melting pleasure put permanently under dustcovers, leaving sensible Molly in charge. “Around five,” she answered. “Can I drop you off somewhere?”

Her heart stuttered with the effort to keep her voice steady. Even she knew there were certain unwritten rules of behavior after a one-night stand, chief among them a calm, mature morning after. No blushing, no thinking about how Fox had wakened her an hour before her alarm had been set to go off, his fingers between her thighs.

She was sore. It had been worth it.

“The library where you work,” he said now, “where is it?”

“City center.” Realizing she was staring at his lips, her skin flushing and breasts aching, she wrenched her gaze away and unlocked the car.

“I’ll get off there,” he said after sliding into the car with an audible groan at having to fold his body into the compact space. “It’s an easy walk to the apartments we’ve taken on the waterfront.”

Molly’s hands clenched on the steering wheel as she drove out of the garage. “I thought you’d be on one of the private islands?” Safely beyond her reach, where she couldn’t give in to the temptation to ask him for just one more night.

“Nah, that’s not our style, but one of Thea’s minions did also book out a small hotel for us on the island with the wineries.”

“Waiheke.” The vibrant island was a short ferry ride across the water, though she guessed Fox and his bandmates had their own transportation to a no doubt private beach.

“Yeah, that one.” He tugged at a tendril of hair that had escaped the twist at the back of her head. “Fancy.”

Damn her skin and its inability to be mature, but at least her voice only sounded a fraction husky when she said, “Professional.” It was getting harder and harder to breathe with him so close.

He looked her up and down. “Boots, skirt, slinky top. Nice.”

Having stopped at a traffic light, she resisted the urge to tug at the soft coral-colored wool of her thin V-necked sweater. “It’s not slinky. It’s warm. The air-conditioning’s high at work.” As for the skirt, it was tailored but not tight; she needed to be able to move freely.

“I bet you give all the teenage boys hot flushes.”

“I don’t give anyone a hot flush.”

“Yeah?” A single word full of sensual challenge. “I seem to recall having several heat waves hit me. Four times, wasn’t it?”

Molly had never been teased this way. “Do you always keep score?”

“Hell yeah.” He leaned back in his seat, hands behind his head, biceps taut. “You sore?”

Molly was fairly sure he wasn’t supposed to care after a one-night stand, but since he did, she fought her embarrassment to say, “Nothing major.” Except that she’d feel him inside her with every step she took today.

“Good.” He tugged on the curl again. “Anyway, four times in the span of less than eight hours is excessive, even for me. Especially since right now, I’m fighting the urge to push up your skirt to see if you’re wearing pantyhose.”

Mind scrambled, she stared straight ahead. “No.”

“So if I slid my hand up, I’d touch—”

“Unloading zone.” She came to a hard stop on the street kitty-corner from the commercial parking lot where she usually left her car. “Out before I get a ticket.” Or before she turned the car around and spent the day letting him make her even more deliciously sore.

“Mean, Molly. That was mean.” Undoing his seat belt, he reached over to clasp his hand over her nape, kiss her on the lips. A full kiss. A kiss that made her want to play with that ring, suck on his lip, lave her tongue against his, her hands in his hair instead of locked to bone-white tightness on the steering wheel. “I’ll be seeing you, Molly Webster,” he murmured with a final nibbling taste of her lips.

“Yes, see you.” But as she watched him walk away, a rock god burnished by the morning sunlight, she knew that was the last she’d ever see of Zachary Fox outside of music videos or Schoolboy Choir concerts. His life and her own, they might as well have been on different planets.

Swallowing the thickness of emotion in her throat, she pulled away from the curb.

The fantasy was over.

Chapter 4

Exiting on the top floor of the serviced apartment complex on the waterfront, Fox went not to his own apartment but to Noah’s. He knew the band’s guitarist, who also played bass like a pro, would be in; Noah might bed a different woman—often women—every night, but he didn’t stay the night with any of them, and if he brought them back to his place, it was only for as long as it took to have sex.

Fox knew why the other man couldn’t sleep with anyone else in the room, but they never discussed it. Not like women discussed shit. They simply had each other’s backs—Noah knew if he felt himself sliding too deep into hell, he just had to reach out a hand and Fox would haul him out. Not that Fox was sure the stubborn bastard would reach out. Didn’t matter. Fox would never allow Noah’s demons to swallow him up.

He knocked lightly and wasn’t surprised when a rumpled Noah opened the door soon afterward. The other male looked like he’d rolled out of bed a second ago, his jeans hanging low on his hips, stubble on his jaw. It was an illusion—Noah rarely slept past dawn, regardless of his nighttime activities.

“You got coffee?” He walked in, leaving the door open. It was only the four of them up here, with the elevator locked to their personal keycards and service personnel instructed to come up only on request. It was one of the first things they’d realized after Schoolboy Choir’s first album went triple platinum—that if they wanted any privacy at all, they’d have to fight for it.

“Check this out.” Noah pointed to a machine that looked like it had escaped the deck of a spaceship. “Looks worse than the monstrosity you have at your place back home.”

“I know how my monstrosity works.” Fox scowled, kicking himself for not having properly checked things out before the party last night. He’d just thrown his gear inside his own apartment, the band having been at a nearby hotel till then. “Damn it, I walked right by the coffee place next door because there was a line.”

Dark gray eyes glinting, Noah found a mug, thrust it under one of the many spouts, and pushed three buttons of the thousands on the spaceship coffeemaker. Half a minute later, Fox was holding some kind of cinnamon-scented coffee so frothy he could feel his testosterone levels dropping just looking at it. “What the hell, Noah? You want me to drink this?”

“You have to drink it,” the blond male snarled. “It’s the only crap I’ve figured out how to make on this thing.”

Fox took a sip, got mostly foam. He tried again, shuddered. “Give me another mug.” When Noah handed it over, he started slotting in the shiny pod things that sat in a basket beside the coffeemaker and pushing random buttons.

Three pods later, he hit on the right combination for plain black coffee. “Clearly, I’m the brains of this outfit.”

“Gimme that.” Commandeering the coffee, Noah took a long drink, groaned. “This is coffee. Now show me what the fuck you did.”

Fox successfully made a second cup and, taking it, followed Noah out onto the balcony, both of them leaning their forearms on the balustrade. The view of the harbor was spectacular, the sparkling blue-green water busy with countless watercraft. Close to the city it was mostly commuter ferries, though there was also a tall-masted racing yacht and a boat that looked like it might be taking tourists out to see dolphins. Farther out, Fox could see sailboats and small personal fishing craft as people headed out to enjoy the brilliantly sunny—if cold—fall day.

“You had breakfast?” Noah asked as they watched a kayaker set off for one of the islands, his muscular arms and smooth pace as he rode the waves created by bigger craft making it clear he was no amateur. “I can scramble some eggs. Or we could wake David up and hold him upside down over the balcony until he agrees to feed us.”

Fox grinned at the reference to David’s superior culinary skills. “I already ate.” Finishing off his coffee, he dangled the mug from his fingers and thought of the delicious armful of woman who’d kicked him out of her car.

“You have a look that says ‘I not only got laid but had my mind blown.’” Noah froze in the act of grinning. “Shit, Fox. I saw you leave the same time as the woman Thea pointed out as her sister. If you’ve touched her, Thea will make your life a living hell, probably schedule you to appear on a Japanese game show.”

Damn right he’d touched Molly. And he planned to do it again. “She’s mine.” Sex usually worked women out of his system; it had only worked Molly in deeper.

Noah angled his body to stare at him. “What?”

“Molly. She’s mine.” This was no longer about anything as simple or as easily handled as physical attraction.

“I need more coffee.” It was a groaned-out statement from his bandmate. Grabbing Fox’s cup as well, Noah went back to the machine, returning a few minutes later to say, “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.” Fox drank from the full cup the other man had handed over. “You know when you get the whisper of a melody in your head, or the murmur of a song? And you have the gut feeling that if you could just hear the rest of it, just capture the music”—the need an ache as frustrating as it was piercing—“you’d have something fucking amazing?”

Noah nodded.

“Yeah well, that’s what it feels like with Molly.” The most compelling whisper of his life. “I’m not about to walk away from that.”

“Could just be lust,” Noah said bluntly. “It can hit hard, leave a man seeing stars, and then it’s over.”

Fox thought of Molly, of what her body, her scent, her taste, did to him.

His own body hardened at the memory. Yeah, their physical chemistry wasn’t in question; he could’ve happily stayed in bed with her all day today and been greedy for more. The things he wanted to do to Molly Webster… But despite their erotic connection, sex wasn’t the first thing that came to his mind when he thought of Molly.

It was her smile.

Eyes glowing from within as her whole face lit up, that smile had knocked him sideways at the party. Then had come her blushing smile in bed when he made a very dirty suggestion midway through their second time around, followed by her smart and funny response as her self-protective shields fell enough that he’d caught a glimpse of the heart of her.

Each glimpse had only deepened his craving to know more. He didn’t only want to fuck Molly; he wanted to talk to her, wanted to hear her use words like “nefarious” and discover what else might come out of her beautiful mouth. And he wanted that brilliant, real, full-body smile turned in his direction.

“It’s not just sex,” he said into the silence that had fallen between him and Noah. “It’s something else.” A thing for which he didn’t have a name, but that he knew in his gut was important, rare. The idea of turning his back on it made every cell in his body scream “Hell, no!” “I have to hear the whole song, learn the entire melody.” Figure out if this was a song with staying power… or one that would fade into history without leaving a mark.

His shoulders grew tight.

Thrusting a hand through his hair, the blond strands glinting in the sunlight, Noah raised an eyebrow. “She good with that? Being involved with you isn’t exactly going to be a picnic for her once the media gets hold of the news.”

“Molly thinks we had a one-night stand.” Not that he could blame her. It wasn’t as if he’d made his intentions clear—but he had a feeling those intentions would make Molly run hard and fast in the opposite direction.

So he just wouldn’t tell her.

Chapter 5

Work kept Molly busy, the library buzzing with a mix of adults and children as well as keen university students after some of the older material held in the archives. And if parts of her body twinged and throbbed in unfamiliar ways, they’d settle soon enough, erasing any lingering physical trace of Fox’s possession and leaving behind only memories—memories she had no intention of smothering.

Her dream of a stable, happily boring life hadn’t changed, would never change. It made her stomach lurch to even think about the horror that had been the unforgiving glare of “fame” after her high-profile father was found with that underage girl, the constant whispers and stares.

No, she didn’t want excitement. What she wanted was blissful normality: a job she liked; a steady, faithful man; a house on an ordinary suburban street; a sedate minivan with room in back for the slobbering family dog. But… when she was living that safe, stable life, the memory of her night with a smart, sexy, roughly tender rock star would be a hidden treasure, a quiet acknowledgment of the other Molly. The Molly who might’ve lived a life more adventurous and less ordinary in another time, another place… a Molly who, in this world, was a little too broken to ever again be permitted to hold the reins.

Fox hadn’t become the lead singer of one of the best-selling rock bands in history by being a shrinking violet. No, he went after what he wanted, no holds barred. And the raw promise he could feel between him and Molly? He had to know where it would lead, the need so strong he hadn’t felt anything like it since the day he’d figured out that music was his escape, the air in his lungs.

Which was why he was leaning against the wall beside Molly’s apartment at five that afternoon, a guitar by his side.

The elevator doors opened at a quarter after the hour, Molly going motionless two steps outside of it, the doors closing silently at her back. Yeah, she hadn’t expected him, but Fox was ready to work with that. Waiting patiently as she took a deep breath and completed the trek down the corridor, he drew in the scent of her, his gaze lingering on the fluttering pulse in her neck.

“How did you get past security?”

Fox smiled slowly at the blurted-out question, wondering if Molly knew how bad she was at hiding her emotions. He liked it, liked that he saw the real Molly, not an illusion she’d created to tempt him—not that she had to do anything but smile to tempt him. “I told you the security sucks.”

Unable to resist, he reached out to run his finger down one creamy cheek flushed with a mix of surprise, passion, and, he was certain, sweet, hot feminine anger. His guess was borne out when Molly unlocked her door with jittery hands and put down her handbag on one corner of the bench, her fingers trembling before she curled them into her palms. “You’re breaking the rules.”

“What rules?” Closing the door, he leaned back on it and willed her to face him. Much as he loved the shape of her from the back, he liked watching those expressive eyes whisper her mood to him.

Shoulders tight, she turned. “This was supposed to be a one-night stand.”

“Ah.” Folding his arms over the plain black of his T-shirt, he said, “How about a one-month stand instead?” He knew he had to play this exactly right. Molly was wary of him, and yeah, he could understand why. To have her in his life beyond a fleeting instant, he’d have to win her trust.

She jerked up her head. “What?”

“Why not? I like you. You like me.” He smiled—because the reason Molly had needed to jerk up her head was that she’d been staring at his chest. “Admit it.”

Sitting down on the bench, she began to unzip her boots, very obviously not looking at him. “You’re okay for a rock star.”

He wanted to bite her, then pet her until she was limp and languid in his arms. “We burn up together.” Deliberately modulating his voice—his instrument—for maximum effect, low and bedroom rough, he saw her fingers stutter on the zipper. “I’m here for a month. It’s an easy equation.”

When the words “Let me think about it” fell from her mouth, he thought she might’ve been as startled as he was, her lips parting on a slight gasp—as if to call back the declaration.

Crouching down, he began to tug off her boots, distracting her from her thoughts. He had no intention of playing fair. There were very few things he’d ever truly hungered for in life, and he’d never been given any of them. He’d claimed each through sheer, unrelenting will and the grim refusal to surrender.

Now… now there was Molly. “Are you kicking me out?”

“Don’t you want a different woman each night?”

He heard the tremor she tried to hide, and knew she’d said words similar to those that had lit a spark under his temper the previous night on purpose. Molly Webster was trying to scare him off because she was finding it difficult to say no.

Gut tight and blood hot, he got rid of her remaining boot. “You really have a high opinion of me.” Expecting warm, supple skin under his hands when he slid them up below the hem of her skirt—because he was more than happy to use her physical response to him to tie them together—he found an unexpected barrier instead. “You said no stockings.” The material under his touch was silky and soft and smooth.

“They’re tights.”

Body hardening even further at her breathy response, he traced the fine fabric another fraction past the hemline of her skirt, kept going. “Thigh-high tights.” Suddenly, they were the sexiest things he could imagine. “I want to see.” See the rich cream of her skin against the frame created by the deep gray and blue pattern, kiss every satiny inch.

She put her hands on his, halting him when he would’ve pushed her skirt up to her thighs. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Yes, you have, Molly.” Fox held her gaze, sweeping his thumbs slowly across the delicate skin above her tights. “I can feel it in the pulse under your skin, hear it in your voice, scent the damp heat of you on my tongue.”

Maybe, maybe he’d have found the strength to walk away from the intoxicating intensity of the pull between them if Molly had been indifferent to him—though far more likely, he’d have done everything in his power to change that, because he wasn’t the walking-away type, not when it came to the things that mattered. But Molly wasn’t indifferent.

Skin coloring on the heels of his words, she tried to squeeze her thighs together. He blocked her by wedging his body between them. “Don’t be embarrassed, baby.” Shifting position slightly, he caught her lips in a teasing, coaxing kind of a kiss. “You have no idea how unbelievably hot I find it that I make you so wet.”

When her hand came to rest on his shoulder, her fingers just brushing his nape, he had to exert steely control not to deepen the kiss, not to pull down her panties and take her then and there. That would leave him in the same position he’d been in before she let him in tonight, Molly skittish and unsure.

He had to be smart about this, coax her as he’d coax a difficult chord from the guitar. With sweet patience and hard-eyed determination. “You make the rules.” Pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat, he stroked his thumbs over her skin again. “Tell me what you want.”

Molly swallowed. Fox was right; she wanted him as much now as she had during the hours they’d spent tangled in the dark. But a single night she could justify. Anything longer threatened to take this beyond a moment of wildness and into far more perilous territory.

“One month,” she whispered near soundlessly. “After that, you leave and never contact me again.” It was a stipulation born of the pain inside her, a pain so old it had its own heartbeat, a dark heaviness that was a terrible ache.

“That’s clear enough.” A kiss on her jaw, the movement of his thumbs on the sensitive skin of her inner thighs radiating pleasure that pooled in the throbbing bundle of nerve endings between her legs.

“And,” she rasped, “we’re exclusive for that month.”

His hands tightened on her flesh. “No one else, I promise.” Another teasing, tormenting brush of his thumbs, the callused pads scraping erotically over her flesh. “Come here, baby.” The seductive invitation in that whiskey-and-sin voice stole her will, threatened to destroy everything she’d worked for in life.

Dangerous, he was so dangerous. Still, she dipped her head that final inch and kissed him. Her control of the contact lasted approximately two seconds. Gripping her nape with one hand to hold her in position, Fox kissed her, not raw and deep as she’d expected, but with a slow attention that had her entire body aflame, the ring on his lip a hard accent. He slid his other hand higher up her leg at the same time, making her stomach flutter, her inner muscles clench.

“Such pretty, soft skin.” It was spoken against her mouth, his lips curving in a smile as he licked playfully across her own. When she shivered, his eyes darkened, his kiss deeper but just as slow, as if this rock god had all the time in the world to kiss and caress Molly Webster. His hand gently squeezed her nape.

Warning bells clanged in her mind. It felt as if she were drowning, kiss by slow kiss, Fox coaxing her into deeper and deeper waters. “The bedroom—” she began on a slightly panicked breath.

Eyes lazy, hooded, he kissed away her words before glancing down at her legs. Her heartbeat was in her mouth as she watched him push up her skirt to expose the pale skin of her upper thighs.

“You make my mouth water.” Lowering his head, he pressed a single wet kiss on the inner curve of her right thigh, his stubbled jaw rubbing against her flesh.

She clutched at his hair, the strands dark silk against her palms. “Fox, we—”

Shifting his grip to under her thighs, he pulled her forward on the bench, her hands falling to the leather seat cushion to brace herself as he altered her center of gravity. “Hmm,” he murmured, the green of his gaze holding her own for a second that stole all the air in her lungs. “What’s the rush, Molly Webster?” He bit down over the tendon in her neck.

Hands back in his hair, her fingers spasmed into a tighter hold, her breath a tremor.

“Bad Fox.” Licking out, he soothed the sensual hurt with his tongue. “There, I’m behaving now.”

She shuddered, surrendered under the gritty seduction of his voice, sought his mouth with hers. It was clear she wasn’t the one setting the pace tonight, but she no longer cared. Not with Fox’s strong body between her legs and his hands on her own, his kisses drugging her to a languorous pleasure that made her want to explore him as slowly as he was exploring her.

Groaning, Fox shifted one hand into her hair, unraveling the twist, but didn’t take over this time. No, he let her kiss him, let her play with the lip ring that fascinated her. Molly felt oddly shy as she went to—

Her home phone rang.

She ignored it, her lower body melting at the way Fox continued to stroke his thumb over her skin as they kissed. No rush, no hurry, nothing but pleasure, her bones heavy with it.

The phone kept ringing.

And ringing.

Finally, the answering machine kicked in. Molly was a mass of helpless flesh by that point, couldn’t have cared less who it was. But the worried female voice, familiar and beloved, intruded more effectively than a scream. Sudden panic slicing through the sensual haze, she pushed at the wide shoulders in front of her. “I have to get this.”

Fox released her without argument after taking one look at her face, and she ran to grab the handset on the counter that separated her living area from the kitchenette. “Charlie, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, you’re home.” Her friend’s voice, a low whisper, broke on the last word. “I just…” A deep inhale. “There’s someone else in the office, and there shouldn’t be. I came back from the bathroom and heard them moving around.”

“Leave,” Molly said, her fingers rigid on the handset.

“No.” Charlotte took another shaky breath. “It’s probably only the building security guard doing an unscheduled round, but could you stay on the phone with me while I go check it out?”

Molly bit back her instinctive negative reaction to her friend’s plan, knowing how important it was to Charlotte that she not crumble under the weight of what might be an imagined fear. “I’m right here.”

Having circled to the other side of the counter, Fox, his expression grim, caught her eye and mouthed, Problem?

Maybe, she mouthed back, hoping she was wrong. That was when a scream sounded from the other end of the line, followed by a thud, as if the phone had hit the carpet. “Charlotte! Charlie!”

Scrabbling, rustling sounds, then Charlotte’s voice, a little breathless and holding a taut tension. Not fear though; this was excruciating embarrassment. “I’m fine.” A pause, a deeper voice murmuring in the background before Charlotte returned. “I just met my new boss,” her best friend groaned into the phone. “Or more specifically, I threw an industrial-strength stapler at his head.”

Knees trembling in relief, Molly braced her elbows on the counter as Fox reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. Catching the intent lines of his expression, she touched his wrist, let him see everything was all right. He didn’t know Charlotte, but he’d heard that scream, too.

Maybe she’d imagined the protective concern in his expression… No, she didn’t think so. Every instinct she had said this man would never stand by while a woman was hurt. Neither would he ever hurt one. Not physically. Now he rubbed his thumb over her lower lip before dropping his hand and moving to pick up a delivery menu she had on the counter from a neighborhood restaurant.

“Oh God, Molly, what if he fires me?”

Molly wrenched her attention back to her best friend. “He’s not going to fire you,” she reassured Charlotte as Fox turned the menu toward her. “You were in the office being a diligent employee, remember?” Not sure how she felt about the fact she was about to have dinner with the rock star who’d been meant to be a one-night stand, Molly nonetheless pointed at her favorite dish and Fox pulled out his phone to place the order.

“Right, that’s right. I—” Charlotte broke off as the deep male voice returned in the background. When her friend came back on the line, she sounded half-strangled. “He just said we’re going out to dinner so I can bring him up to speed on ‘certain issues.’”

Molly decided she liked the new boss. “Go.” Make Anya look bad, she added silently. It infuriated her that Anya—all gloss and impeccable style—dumped her work on Charlotte, then took the credit, with Charlotte too shy and reserved to push herself forward. “Order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

“I’ll probably throw it up,” Charlotte said morosely. “I better go—he said five minutes.”

“Good luck.” Hanging up, she stared at the gorgeous man who’d made her bones turn to honey with his kiss and felt the butterflies in her stomach take flight again.

Terror, anticipation, near-painful desire… Molly wasn’t sure what she was feeling, what she was doing, but when Fox turned to look at her with a half-smile on those bitable lips, she knew she wasn’t going to renege on their agreement.

One month. A single, passionate month out of a lifetime. Surely fate wouldn’t begrudge her that?

Chapter 6

Fox saw secrets in Molly’s eyes. His instinct was to demand she share them, demand she let him in, but he knew damn well that would never work. For this battle, he’d need patience when patience was the one trait he’d never been accused of possessing. Putting away his phone, he walked over to take her hand, tug her to the door he’d found while he’d been placing the order.

A single push and it slid open to showcase a minuscule balcony—but one with a clear view of the city skyline. The fall air was crisp, the temperature having dropped since he’d entered the building. It cooled his skin, did nothing to chill the heat in his blood. Allowing Molly to go first, he waited till she turned to face him, then pinned her against the railing with his hands on either side of her body. “Food’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Oh. Good.” Her voice was a touch husky, her eyes not quite meeting his.

Fox fought the urge to haul her to the bedroom, strip her to the skin, take her deep and long until all distance was erased. Sex was easy. He didn’t want easy. He wanted Molly.

Deliberately pressing so close she had to tip up her head to look at him, he said, “Was that your friend from the party? The tiny blonde with glasses?”

Her eyes widened. “You noticed us?”

“I noticed every damn thing about you.” Giving in to temptation, he kissed the line of her throat, her jaw, suckled on her lower lip.

Molly’s heartbeat had accelerated under his caresses, her pulse thudding beneath her skin. Yeah, sex might be easy, but he had no problem using it to tie Molly to him while he worked on what he really wanted. “How long have you been friends?”

Her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, Molly’s eyes lingered on his mouth and on the lip ring he’d figured out she loved. He felt his mouth curve. “Molly,” he said, pitching his voice low and deep, his entire body primed for her until it was only his grip on the cold metal of the railing that kept him from petting and stroking and seducing her right on this balcony.

The color on her cheekbones darkened, her lashes coming down to shade her eyes. “Since nursery school,” she said after almost half a minute. “We should go inside. It’s cold.”

Wrapping her up in his arms, he spoke against the shell of her ear. “Is this better?”

Molly didn’t answer, but her arms came around him a few seconds later.

It felt… right.

Rubbing his cheek against her temple, he suddenly remembered his stubbled jaw. “Sorry. I don’t want to mark up your skin.” Not quite the truth. He liked seeing her creamy flesh reddened by his kisses, his touch, intended to rub his jaw along the sensitive inner skin of her thighs in bed tonight before he tasted her.

“I don’t mind.” A quiet murmur, her breasts pressed against his chest, her hip dangerous temptation under his hand. “Do you want to—I mean, should we—” Her fingers clenched in his T-shirt. “I suck at this.”

Enjoying his soft armful of woman, Fox stroked her from the top of her spine to the sweet curves below. “I think you’re perfect.” Natural and unaffected and with an open desire that made him her slave, if she only knew it.

“So, should we…”

Fox knew she was attempting to wrench this night back under control, push them into the bedroom where it was safe. He could even guess at the reasons why she didn’t want to become any further involved with him. Hell, he wouldn’t date himself. Not with the reputation he’d earned as a young musician, a rep that had never quite worn off—and that didn’t take the relentless media attention into account. No sane, intelligent woman would want to be caught up in his world, her every action scrutinized, her life put under a microscope.

Fox had nearly punched out a reporter last month, and he’d been living this reality for years. So yeah, he understood. He just didn’t plan on allowing any of that to get in the way of his pursuit of Molly and the nameless but increasingly powerful thing between them—because he’d protect her. She wouldn’t be thrown to the wolves, would be safe with him and the band.

“Takeout,” he reminded her instead of speaking his thoughts aloud. The instant he did, Molly would realize he’d never actually agreed to her one-month time limit and pull away. He couldn’t allow that; he needed the time to coax, cajole, and pleasure her into trusting him. Enough to give them a real shot.

An hour and a half later, Molly found herself uncertain of what to do. She’d never had a passionate affair before, felt gauche and lost.

Closing the distance between them, Fox took her hand, led her into the bedroom. “Such big brown eyes.” He cupped her face between those rough-skinned hands that felt so exquisite against her skin. “What’re you thinking?”

That voice. Hard rock and pure sin, it made her breath catch, her stomach somersault. “That I don’t know what to do,” she admitted, since he already knew the exact breadth of her experience.

Fox rubbed his thumb over the plump flesh of her lower lip. “We do what feels good” was his simple answer. “First”—his eyes intent on her face—“you tell me if I need to wait till tomorrow.”

It took her a second. Then, fingers curling on his T-shirt, she shook her head. “No, I think it’ll be okay.” Her muscles ached, but there was no pain.

“You just say stop if it isn’t.” His mouth was on hers as soon as she nodded, his kiss intoxicating.

By the time their lips parted, her hands were under his T-shirt and on the hot skin of his back, her nipples rasping against the fabric of her bra. She was acutely aware of his hands on her backside, the hold blatantly sexual. When he shifted to undo the button and zip on her skirt, she allowed the black piece of clothing to drop to the carpet, the style loose enough that it didn’t catch on her hips.

Nudging away her hands, he tugged her sweater over her head himself. “Beautiful.”

Molly knew she wasn’t beautiful, not like the starlets and models who lived in his world, but he made her feel that way, his voice gritty with appreciation. Clasping his hand over her nape again, he drew her in for a kiss as wet and as demanding as the need between her thighs. “Take off your bra for me, baby.”

Shivering at the sound of that voice meant for sex and sin, she pulled the straps down her arms, then undid the hooks to drop the black lace bra on top of her skirt. It left her dressed only in matching panties and the thigh-high tights Fox looked at with a smile of pure male approval. It set her skin afire with nerves.

His hands on her. No warning, no hesitation, his palms covering the bare mounds of her breasts. Shocked into a moan, she arched into him, shuddering at the feel of his rock-hard body against the softness of her own. When he released her needy flesh after a single squeeze, she wanted to whimper, beg for more.

Tracing the top edge of one leg of the tights, his other hand flat on her lower back, he said, “Funny how these make me have the dirtiest fantasies.” He nipped at her kiss-swollen lower lip, his statement making her want to squirm. “In the bed.”

She had no motivation to disobey that order. Slipping under the sheets, she watched him strip with clean efficiency. The T-shirt went over his head to reveal a chest that had her hands fisting on the bedspread, shoes and socks were nudged off, jeans ripped off… underwear, too.

Her body twinged, reminding her she’d had that muscled male body on her, in her. And was about to again. Sucking in desperate gulps of air, she swallowed as he got into bed and leaned on his elbow beside her, his erection pressing against her thigh.

“There go those thoughts again,” he said, tugging the sheet down to expose her breasts. “I should’ve had you naked an hour ago, shouldn’t I?” He rolled one nipple lazily between thumb and forefinger.

Biting back a whimper, Molly nodded. “Yes.” Any time to think and she began to wonder what in the world she was doing. “I never thought I’d be here, like this.” Naked in bed with a rock god.

“I’m damn glad you are.” A smile so smoldering it devastated her senses, then his cock thrusting against her abdomen as he came over her after shoving the sheet totally aside. “It’s just you and me in this bed.” He braced himself on one muscled arm, tattoos bright in her peripheral vision. “Outside world doesn’t exist. So give in and enjoy.”

“Give in and enjoy.”

There were so many things wrong with that statement when it came to the life Molly wanted to live. “I’m not sure I can do that. I’m not a rock chick. I’m a librarian.”

“Stereotypes, Miss Molly?” The eye contact searing, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of her panties. “Tut, tut.”

Her hand clenched on his arm, muscle and tendon moving under the golden silk of his skin as he slid those long, strong fingers through her slick folds, the callused tips lusciously abrasive. Unable to hold the dark intimacy of his gaze as he cupped her with sexual possessiveness, she shifted her attention to his mouth—but her view disappeared the next second, chocolate-dark strands of hair in her vision.

Heart rabbiting against her ribs and body primed for the hot, wet suction of his mouth on her nipple, she waited. She should’ve known Fox would never be predictable. He ran his tongue leisurely up one breast, then the other—as if she were his favorite flavor of ice cream and he intended to take his time and enjoy her lick by lick. Her skin was sheened with perspiration, her hand fisted in his hair by the time he closed his teeth over part of one breast, biting down just enough that it was pleasure, not pain. “Fox.”

Raising his head at the breathy sound, he released her breast to take her mouth, his tongue stroking aggressively past her lips in a kiss that smashed right through her boundaries and insisted she respond.

Out of my depth, I am so out of my depth.

It didn’t matter, not here, not now, with his body on hers, his mouth demanding. Stroking her tongue against his own, she tried to hold him to the kiss, but he broke it to say, “We haven’t finished our conversation,” his tone making it clear that was about to change.

“Anyone ever tell you,” Molly managed to say, “that you like to have control?” It took extreme effort to get the words out, her brain completely scrambled with what he did to her.

“Why do you think I’m the lead singer?” A smile with just enough arrogance to be irresistible.

Molly was unable to take her eyes from the masculine curve of his mouth, the piercing having its usual wicked effect on her senses.

“I like to be the boss.”

She’d already figured that out and part of her, the part that had been forced to become an adult at fifteen, the part that had driven her to carve out a better life for herself through merciless determination and absolute discipline, said she should protest.

Except, the thing was… she was tired.

Tired of being always responsible, of never permitting herself to let go in case she went too far and ended up right back in the hell that had killed her parents and splintered her life. Being with Fox couldn’t fix her past, couldn’t eradicate the fear and need inside her… but maybe she could surrender the reins for a fragment of time and not feel guilty about it. After all, this gift-wrapped box would vanish in a month.

Perhaps that was why she said it, why she confessed one of her deepest fears. Because he was safe, would forget her and her secrets as soon as the month was over. “I worry.”

Fox brushed strands of hair off her face. “About what, baby?”

Heart aching at the tenderness she hadn’t foreseen, she said, “Of who I’ll become if I give in.”

Fox didn’t break eye contact at the uninvited emotional intimacy, though theirs was meant to be a strictly physical relationship. She was the one who lowered her lashes. “Addiction runs in my family.” Gambling, alcohol, women, love. It was the last, most dangerous addiction of all that had destroyed her mother.

Tipping up her chin, Fox sucked her upper lip into his mouth, then shifted his attention to the lower one. Breasts deliciously crushed against the taut wall of his chest, she shivered and curled her fingers around his neck, unable to get enough of his kisses.

“Do you think you’ll become addicted to mind-blowing sex?” A teasing question except there was no humor in the eyes that locked with hers.

This was getting too serious, too fast, but she was the one who’d opened the gate. “If I give in to this,” she whispered, “what other boundaries will I break? What other addictions will I develop?” That was the fear that haunted her always, shaping each and every one of her decisions.

“Have faith in yourself.” He pressed his lips to the shockingly sensitive spot below her ear, her shiver reflexive. “I do.”

Molly knew Fox was sweet-talking her to get her to do what he wanted in bed, his sexual experience apparent in the way he played her body like he played the crowds while onstage. None of that altered her unexpected, dangerous desire for him. “You were meant to be a one-night stand.” The biggest risk she’d ever taken. “Look where I am now. It’s a slippery slope.”

Fox’s answer was a kiss that took over her mouth, enslaved her senses. Her body attempted to rise toward his in a luxuriant wave, was halted by the weight of him pinning her in place.

When he broke the sumptuous intimacy of the kiss to look into her eyes once more, she was lost in the deep green. “Have faith, Molly,” he said again, and she crashed.

Drowned.

Chapter 7

Molly struggled up into a sitting position some time later, tucking her no doubt wildly tumbled hair behind her ears and pulling up the sheet to cover her breasts. Just in time. Fox walked into the bedroom the next instant, holding a plate of cheese and crackers in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. She exhaled at the sight of him.

He was naked.

Except for the tattoos. A jagged tribal design in black ink ran along his left shoulder and licked at his neck before continuing down the left side of his back to his hip, the design sleek rather than bulky. His left arm, in contrast, was covered by a gorgeous stylized dragon in brilliant color, its body wrapping around Fox’s arm multiple times. Around the dragon were hundreds of tiny leaves—shaded from spring green to autumn brown—all in motion, as if the dragon had disturbed them in flight.

It truly was a piece of living art.

Those two were the biggest pieces, but on the right of his ridged abdomen fell three vertical lines of fine text that she’d read last night. They were from Schoolboy Choir’s first hit song, penned by Fox and Noah, with David and Abe providing the hard rock tempo that had helped shoot it to the top of the charts.

“We all have this tat,” he’d told her before he left the bedroom. “Different locations on the body.”

“Even David?” The drummer always looked so elegant and urbane.

Fox had grinned. “You’d be surprised what David has under those Ar-mani suits he likes to wear.”

Now, as Fox bent to put the bottle of wine on her dainty bedside table, she glimpsed the intricate pattern of black ink on the top of his right arm that he’d told her had been created for him by a friend who was a tattoo artist. Incorporating musical notes and hidden words, it was a puzzle that could be unraveled only by someone who really knew Fox.

That arm was otherwise bare of ink, except for a horizontal line of characters directly above his pulse point.

“What language is that?” she said, brushing her fingers over the characters, still not quite believing she had the right to touch him.

“Move your hand to the left and down and I’ll tell you.”

Heat in her cheeks as she saw he was semi-aroused. “How can you…” She waved in the general direction of his groin.

“Because you’re built and I have a high sex drive.” Grinning at her renewed blush, the lean dimple in his cheek devastating, he passed her the plate and got into bed. Or onto it.

“Under the sheet,” she ordered, trying to retain some sense of control when she knew it was far too late where Fox was concerned. “I can’t focus with you naked.”

A very male laugh, a hand in her hair as he drew her to him for one of his slow, drugging kisses.

“You know how to touch a woman.” It came out throaty, soft.

“I’ve had a lot of practice.” His smile didn’t disappear, but there was a sudden, disturbing falseness about it.

Molly knew she’d be fooling herself if she believed she knew anything of Zachary Fox, the man behind the rock god, but she couldn’t stay silent when every instinct she had screamed at her to speak. Fighting her discomfort at discussing such an intimate thing, she said, “I’m not going to turn on you because you are who you are.” She’d known exactly who it was she’d invited into her bed and that his sexual experience far outweighed hers.

“Especially,” she added, fingers curling into the sheet, “when I’m the beneficiary of all that practice.”

His smile became vividly real again, gorgeous and of a man who was enjoying being with her. It troubled her how quickly he could do that—withdraw from a situation while appearing involved… but that was only something she’d have to worry about if they were on the road to a relationship. That simply wasn’t in the cards, even had Fox not been seriously out of her league.

The media, tabloid and otherwise, was fascinated by him.

After having been savaged to shreds during her father’s ignominious fall from grace, any kind of media attention was Molly’s worst nightmare. It had been endless, article after article, whisper after whisper, innuendo after innuendo. She’d fought and fought, refusing to allow the agony of it to crush her, to give the bullies at school the satisfaction of seeing how badly she was bleeding inside, but then a policeman with a solemn face had come to tell her she was an orphan, and she’d broken.

The fractures had never quite healed right.

But it wasn’t Fox who’d caused the teenage girl she’d been such terrible hurt, and at that instant, she couldn’t forget the pain she’d sensed behind his earlier words. “Did a woman hurt you?” She knew she’d crossed another line as soon as the words were out, couldn’t find the will to fill the air with others in order to call them back.

An unreadable expression on Fox’s face. “No, it wasn’t a lover.” With that inscrutable answer, he leaned across to claim a tender, suckling kiss before getting his lower body under the sheet as she’d asked and reaching for the food. “Here.” He popped a bite of cheese into her mouth and she understood the topic was closed.

Chewing, she swallowed and told herself it was better this way. Because the more she saw of the real Zachary Fox, the more she liked him. “Those characters aren’t like any Asian language I’ve seen,” she said, focusing on his body instead of on emotions that had no place in a temporary relationship, “though they’re close.”

“Hmm.” He fed her another piece of cheese.

Molly scowled, though she wanted to trace the curve of his lips with a fingertip. “Are you going to tell me?”

“What? And ruin one of rock’s greatest mysteries?” He ate a cracker with cheese on it, a wicked smile in his eyes. “What the fuck is that on Fox’s body? Was he stoned when he got the tat? Did he just get a drunk tattoo artist?” A raised eyebrow. “Or is the bastard pissing with everyone for the fun of it?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Molly cajoled, feeling young and playful in a way she’d never expected, in a way she’d never been. “Cross my heart.”

“Do I look like a sucker?” Tapping her nose with a single finger, he reached over for the fancy wine Molly had bought in case Thea had time to come over, her sister being a wine buff.

Leaning down over the side of the bed to snag a Swiss Army knife from his jeans, Fox used the corkscrew to pop the cork, then drank straight from the bottle. She must’ve made a sound, because bringing down the bottle, he winked. “I’ll replace it with something better.” Holding out the wine, he said, “Bet you’ve never done that before.”

Molly shook her head. “I don’t drink.”

“So this is all mine?” Fox grinned. “Excellent.”

Having braced herself for questions, she blurted out, “Most people ask about the not-drinking,” then wanted to slap herself for making it an issue. Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut around Fox?

“It’s bad musician manners to bring it up,” he answered, “’cause you never know who might be in AA or detox.” Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he hugged her close. “But since you already did, and also since you don’t show any signs of an alcoholic jonesing for a drink, I’m guessing you’ve been around someone who drank?”

“Yes.” With that, she took a cracker, loaded it with a big hunk of cheese, and bit down. She might’ve made a mistake in her surprise, but the idea of discussing her mother with Fox had her chest going tight, her lungs strained—it was one thing to let go, another to trust him with the vicious pain that had shaped her. “Why didn’t you bring the grapes?”

Fox set aside the wine. “So you’d have to walk nude to the kitchen and get them.”

Relieved he’d taken the hint and dropped the subject of her aversion to alcohol, she shook her head. “Not happening.”

“Why not? You have an amazing body.” A bite on her shoulder, his hand sliding along the inside of her thigh. “Like that old painting of the redhead rising from the clamshell.”

The Birth of Venus.

Utterly undone at being compared to the sensually beautiful artwork, she thrust a cracker between his lips. “Shh.” His body might be so hot it should be illegal, but she was beginning to learn it was Fox’s mind that was his most dangerous weapon. Add that to his voice and it was no surprise women fell into his lap at the crook of a finger.

He ran his thumb along the inner seam of her thigh. “Want me to behave?”

Sensation curling through her body, Molly paused, not sure she did want him to behave—and he threw back his head. His laughter pleased every one of her senses, made delight bubble through her veins.

“I like the way you think, Molly,” he said, but stopped tormenting her, settling for claiming a kiss anytime he felt like it.

Fox, as she’d learned tonight, was a man who enjoyed kissing. It was an unexpected and wonderful discovery, and it made Molly realize she liked kissing, too. Especially the way Fox did it, with an exquisite patience that made her feel terrifyingly cherished.

It was only later, the bottle of wine still almost full—Fox had decided it was too sweet for him—and her lips wet and tingling, that he dragged on his jeans, held out a hand, and said, “Come on. I’m starving. Let’s go finish the takeout.”

Not hungry, but willing to keep him company, Molly said, “Pass me the robe on the back of the door.”

He picked up and threw her his T-shirt instead. Molly tugged it on, the scent of him a glove around her body. A deep warmth inside her, she got out of bed and took his hand, conscious all at once of exactly how tall he was.

“Did I tell you how hot you look when you’re dressed up all professional with your hair prim and proper?”

Molly certainly didn’t feel prim and proper now. “You just did.”

A slow smile that caught at her heart in a way that set off those warning bells again, but she didn’t want to listen. Not tonight, not when everything had been so wonderful.

“You ever wear those skinny skirts that go past the knee?” Fox ran his hands up and down her hips, the T-shirt moving softly against her skin. “The ones that look strict and professional and sexy at the same time?”

“Those”—she swallowed to wet her throat—“are called pencil skirts.”

A rumbling sound of pleasure when she shuddered at the kiss he laved on the curve of her jaw. “Yeah, you ever wear one?”

“No.” The shape hugged her body too closely.

Dropping kisses along the line of her neck, Fox shifted his hands to her backside. “I get hard just thinking about your ass in one of those skirts.” He nipped at her sensitive flesh. “Wear one for me?”

Molly thought she should probably refuse but couldn’t figure out a reason why when he was so close, the masculine scent of him short-circuiting her brain. “Okay.”

“Hot damn.” A groan, hands squeezing her lower curves. “I can’t wait to see your body in the skirt I’m buying for you.”

“Wait.” Molly pushed at his chest. “You didn’t say anything about buying it.”

“Semantics.” A hard kiss, one hand rising to grip her nape. “Be kind, Molly. Let me enjoy my fantasy.”

Her knees went weak at the rough appeal.

Molly had never been anyone’s fantasy, couldn’t find the willpower to stand strong against a rock god who saw something in her that she didn’t see in herself. For this one month, she’d be that woman, be that other Molly, the one who’d accept a rock star’s gift and who’d rise on tiptoe to tug on his lip ring. Yet even as she thought that, even as she fought the clawing echoes of memory, the panicked voice of the woman she’d spent years becoming yelled at her to stop, to think.

Fox had felt Molly slipping away over the past half hour. Frustration gnawed at him with every nonanswer she gave from across her round little kitchen table, the Molly who’d spoken to him with such vulnerable honesty in bed nowhere in evidence. Patience, he reminded himself as he finished eating, have some fucking patience.

He knew exactly what was wrong, knew that in some part of her she’d begun to realize what he already understood. That this, what they were doing, it wasn’t just sex, wasn’t just an affair—people who simply wanted to fuck didn’t talk about hidden hurts, didn’t treat each other with tenderness.

“I’m not going to turn on you because you are who you are.”

Her words continued to reverberate in his mind, so damn beautiful. She had no idea what her promise meant to him—he’d seen the truth of it in those eyes that couldn’t lie, felt it in the way she touched him. He wanted the right to that tenderness every day of his life and he’d fight dirty to get it.

“I saw an ad for a horror flick that’s on TV tonight,” he said after drinking the glass of water she’d poured him earlier. “Want to watch? You can pretend to be scared, and I can take the opportunity to slip my hand inside that cute fluffy robe of yours.”

Tugging on the belt of the robe she’d slipped into a quarter of an hour earlier in another damn sign of retreat after leaving his T-shirt on the bed, she straightened her shoulders. “I want to be up and going before eight tomorrow morning.”

“I thought you had Sunday and Monday off?”

“I do, but I want to go to the market to get fresh vegetables, dig around in the antique stalls.”

Fox stared at the woman who was turning him inside out. “You’re skipping sleeping in to get vegetables?”

Eyes sparking, she glared at him. “It’s fun. Even if the antiques are mostly fake.”

“Shit.” He laughed. “Now I have to come.”

Molly hesitated.

And Fox stopped laughing. “You want to keep me confined to the bedroom.” Anger kissed his bloodstream.

Throat moving, she bit down on her lower lip. “People will recognize you.”

Shit. He wrenched his angry response under control. “I’ll make sure they don’t.” Reaching across the table, he ran his fingers down her cheek, and when she appeared uncertain, he pushed the advantage. “Show me a little of this city I’d never otherwise see.”

“All right.” A husky whisper that caused a fierce exultation inside him.

“But,” she added quickly, “you can’t stay tonight.”

Fox gritted his teeth, consciously dropping his voice to the edgy purr that always made her blush, melt. “Molly.” He’d happily seduce her back into bed if that was what it took to keep her in his arms through the dark hours of night. Because sleeping together was a whole different ball game than sex, and the woman he wanted as his own knew it. That was why her breathing was ragged, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “It’s already late”—he slid his hand down to cup the side of her neck—“and you said we have to get up early for the market.”

Pushing back from the table in a jerking move, she broke contact and rose to her feet. “Stop,” she said when he got up and began to move toward her. “I want you gone. I’ll call you a cab.”

The flat rejection lit the fuse on Fox’s temper.

Chapter 8

“Don’t bother,” he growled, striding toward the bedroom to pull on the T-shirt she’d discarded. “I have a car.” It was a good thing he hadn’t ended up drinking more than half a glass of that damn wine.

His fury roared even more wildly when he emerged from the bedroom to see that she’d unlocked and opened the door, ready to throw him out. Fox wanted to slam that door shut, force her to face the reality of what pulsed between them, growing stronger with every second they spent together, but the small part of him that remained rational told him he’d lose her the instant he did.

Allowing her to simply shut the door on his back, however? Not ever going to happen. Fisting his hand in her hair, he kissed her startled taste into his own mouth. “I’m not the kind of man who likes to have the woman running the show. I made an exception for you, but it’s not working.”

She pushed at his chest, eyes glittering. “That’s the most arrogant thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah? I’m not done.” Backing her up against the wall, he bent his knees so they were eye to eye. “The sex between us is mind-blowing, and I want to have a whole hell of a lot more, but I’m not letting you blow hot and cold.”

Even as he spoke, he knew he was fucking up his grand goddamn plan to slowly seduce Molly into his life and his world. It had been a pipe dream from the start—he wasn’t the kind to mess around when he made up his mind. “So decide.” He held the eye contact, made her see him. “You either want me in your bed and your life for the month, or you don’t. I won’t play your sex toy.”

Molly’s gasp followed him as he released her and, slinging his guitar on his back, walked out the door. His blood was a pounding rush in his ears, his jaw rigid. The sane part of him knew he was overreacting, but he couldn’t stop the response any more than he could stop playing music. The scar ran too deep.

Molly was the only lover who’d ever torn it open.

And she’d done it on their second night together. It slammed home the fact that he was already in far too deep for this to be any kind of a brief affair. Not that he’d needed the fucking reminder. He’d never, never, reacted to a woman this way. And her stubborn blindness to the truth of what burned between them aside, the more time he spent with Molly, the deeper he fell.

Honest and smart and with a sweet tenderness to her that cut him off at the knees, she pushed buttons he didn’t even know he had.

“Stop.” A breathless demand. “You’re the one who proposed a one-month stand.”

Turning, he stalked back to her doorway just as another door opened down the hall. “Molly?” said a heavyset man wearing black sweatpants and a navy tee. “You okay?”

Fox shifted instinctively to protect her from the view of the other man, her body clad only in that silly fluffy yellow robe that drove him crazy. She flushed and looked around his side. “Yes, I’m fine.”

The stranger gave Fox a long, suspicious look before saying, “Just yell if that changes,” and shutting his door.

Fox waited until Molly’s eyes were back on him to speak, his voice harsh and his arms braced on either side of the doorway. “I might have proposed a one-month stand,” he said, “but I didn’t expect to be used and shoved out as soon as I’d served my purpose.” It infuriated him. “Or should I say as soon as my cock had served its purpose?”

Molly flinched, but she didn’t back down. “What? You expect me to let you move in for the month?” Her words came out in a furious whisper, her hands clenched to bloodless tightness even as her cheeks flared with hot spots of color. “I never did anything to make you believe I’d be fine with that. There are boundaries.”

Gripping her jaw, he said, “You don’t get to treat me as disposable.”

Shock rippled through the anger in the dark brown of her eyes. “No, I—”

“You can’t use me for sex,” he interrupted, too pissed to hold back the words, “then put me away until the next time. I will not be your fucking dirty little secret.” Not when it was brutally clear their relationship had already crossed the line from sex to a far more demanding, far more passionate bond. “Decide, Molly.”

“I can’t.” The words were shaky, the anger draining away to leave her expression stark with pain. “I can’t become entangled in you.”

“You’d rather live half a life?” he asked without mercy, knowing he was pushing her too hard, too fast, but unable to stop himself, his response to her a violence inside him. “Always with one step backing away, ready to run to safety?” Sensing his temper was about to slip the leash totally, Fox pushed away from the doorjamb. “Make sure you can live with that choice.”

This time when Fox turned and walked away, Molly didn’t call him back. Closing the door with fingers that trembled, she slid down to sit with her back to it, the robe he’d teased her about bunched around her thighs and her eyes on the bench where Fox had kissed her until he melted her bones.

“You’d rather live half a life? Always with one step backing away, ready to run to safety?”

The knuckles of one clenched hand pressed against her mouth, Molly shook her head. That wasn’t what she was doing. She was living life on her terms—she supported herself, had a job she truly enjoyed, a best friend she loved, and a sister she’d embraced. More, she had a plan for her future and if that plan wasn’t bursting with excitement, that was exactly what she wanted.

You’re also twenty-four years old, another part of her whispered, and the only two relationships you’ve had, if you can even call those fiascos relationships, have been with men who were… comfortable. The first was married to his job, the other in love with his ex-girlfriend. Neither one tried to get anything more than a kiss. And you didn’t really care. You don’t think something might be wrong with that picture?

It was a pitiless indictment of the life she’d built out of nothing. A safe, careful, content life. Rather than a strong, purposeful plan, it suddenly sounded unutterably sad.

A tear trickled into her mouth, the taste of salt hot.

Knuckling it away, she got up and found the phone as well as the chocolate-fudge ice cream and took both back to the couch

Thea’s sleep-slurred voice came on the line two rings later. “Hello?”

“Thea, it’s me.” Normally, she’d have called Charlotte, but if her smart best friend had one area of total cluelessness, it was on the subject of men.

“What’s the matter?” Instant wakefulness.

Thea listened, not saying anything until Molly had poured it all out. “I guess it’s too late to warn you against getting involved with someone in the industry?” Not waiting for an answer, she continued. “Here’s the thing, Molly, Fox isn’t the type of guy you can be with and expect to hold the reins. That vibe he gives off? It’s not an illusion—he really is that intense.”

Sipping sounds, Thea drinking the herbal tea she’d made while Molly talked. “I’ve worked with him for over two years,” she continued, “and never once has he delegated control of any aspect of his private life to an assistant, manager, anyone. You have no idea how rare that is at his level of success.”

Molly swirled her spoon in the melted ice cream, emotion a rock in her throat. “It was meant to be one night.”

“You’re the only one who can decide if you want more,” Thea said, “but speaking professionally, if you had to pick a time and a place to have an affair with a man like Fox, this is about perfect. You can stay off the radar if you’re careful, and he’ll be gone in a month.”

The idea should’ve comforted her. It didn’t. It… hurt. It really hurt. “What if I can’t maintain the distance?” she said on the heels of that staggering realization, her eyes burning. “What if I fall for him?” The agony and humiliation of being in love with a man who didn’t love her was her worst nightmare.

She’d grown up watching her mother drink away her pain, Patrick Buchanan’s infidelities acid on her soul, until by the time Molly was seven, her mother was a stranger, an alcoholic so accustomed to the effects that she was permanently drunk yet appeared sober. Molly had always known the truth, had hated seeing the distant ghost of the mother who’d once read her bedtime stories and promised her Daddy would be home soon. Daddy, of course, had no doubt been banging his aide or another young staffer at the time.

“Molly,” Thea said, breaking into the agonizing slap of memory, “you said it yourself—that bastard who donated sperm to make us did a real number on you.” Blunt, unexpected words. “The real question is, do you want him to manipulate the direction of your life from the grave?”

Long after the conversation with Thea had ended, Molly sat staring at nothing. Was her sister right? Was her whole life not a life at all, but rather an anti-life, as she did everything in her power not to repeat the mistakes of either her father or her mother?

“You’d rather live half a life?”

Fox’s words circled in her brain, smashing and crashing into what Thea had said until she couldn’t think. So she did what she’d done since she was a child alone in a large air-conditioned mansion, the nanny new and unfamiliar again because her mother didn’t want her daughter to grow attached to another woman: she called Charlotte.

Her friend was up reading.

Too confused and upset to talk about Fox anymore, she just told Charlie of her conversation with Thea, of her sister’s final, piercing question.

“I don’t think,” Charlotte said softly, “Thea knows how strong you are, how brave. She never saw you handling the bullies when you were fifteen.”

“But she’s right, too, isn’t she, Charlie?” Abdomen tight and shoulders tense, Molly dropped her head against the sofa-back. “I make all my choices based on what happened back then.” The shock, the disbelief, the public degradation followed by a screaming loss that had left her numb for months.

“If you’re happy with your life,” Charlotte replied, sweet and intelligent and perceptive, “what does it matter how it came to be?” The slightest pause. “Are you happy?”

It took Molly a long time to answer, to be honest about it. “No,” she whispered. “Sometimes the rules I’ve made feel like a straitjacket.” Squeezing until she couldn’t breathe, her chest compressed by the weight of the expectations she’d placed on her life.

“Then be brave again.” A quiet, powerful statement, followed by a fierce one: “Be that fifteen-year-old girl who told Queen B-face to shove her snotty nose in a dark, dark, place.”

Unanticipated laughter bubbled in Molly’s throat. “You mean Queen Bitchface?” she teased her friend affectionately. “I notice you still can’t repeat the words I actually said that day.”

“Sometimes, when I’m alone really late at night, I try to say bad words out loud,” Charlie said with the sharp, self-deprecating humor very few people were ever lucky enough—or trusted enough—to witness. “Once, I even said the ‘F’ word behind Anya’s back… very quietly.”

Molly’s smile deepened. “You degenerate.”

“Thank you.” Charlotte’s voice turned solemn again with her next words. “If you don’t want the same dream anymore, it’s okay, Moll. You’re allowed to change your mind.”

Her heart aching, Molly said, “I still want that dream. So much.” The white picket fence, the suburbs, the blissful ordinariness of being normal, she hungered for it so badly. “Only… maybe I can relax the rules, stop simply surviving and start living.”

Never again would she come into contact with a man as talented, as dangerous, and as fascinating as Fox. While they could never exist in the same world, his life lived on a wild, Technicolor stage that caused her veins to fill with pure terror, he was hers for this one month out of time.

Molly didn’t want to give up that month, not for anything. Especially not because of scars formed by the actions of two people so messed up their toxic relationship had eventually killed them.

Fox powered through the city streets until he hit the winding road that went along this part of the Auckland coast. The yachts and other seacraft had been moored for the night, but the area was vibrant with life as a result of the myriad restaurants clustered in the central section. Frustrated by the slow vehicle in front of him, he throttled back the speed—just as well, because right around the corner was a cop car.

That’d be perfect, getting his face splashed over the papers for racking up a speeding ticket after he’d told Molly he could keep a low profile. Teeth gritted at the reminder of why he felt like a powder keg about to blow, every muscle and tendon in his body stretched to snapping point, he continued to drive until he’d ground down the serrated edge of his temper.

Fox had never had any intention of allowing Molly to see that part of him, but he hadn’t counted on the effect she had on him. He couldn’t keep his distance. The only good news was that Molly hadn’t been the least afraid of him, despite the way he’d snapped. Grown men had backed down before him when he got that pissed, but Molly? She’d stood strong and fought.

He was proud of her spirit even as he was infuriated with her.

Now he had two options: return to his waterfront apartment, leaving the ball in Molly’s court, or drive back to her place and use sex to get what he wanted. He could, of that he had no doubt. Their chemistry was a thing of erotic beauty, his sexual experience a weapon against which she had no defense. Except if he did that, they’d repeat this cycle again as soon as her mind cleared.

And he had no intention, none, of ever again being kicked out of Molly’s bed.

Option one, however, carried with it a good chance she’d run scared. Fox wasn’t about to let that happen. Because their fight didn’t change the reason she’d said yes to a one-month stand despite her fear of addiction—the same reason she’d thrown him out and he’d blown up at her tonight.

And what they got up to between the sheets had nothing to do with it.

Eyes focused on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other on the stick, and his mind on the stubborn woman whose taste still lingered on his tongue, he decided on option three.

His body settled into the bucket seat, anticipation uncurling in his gut.

Chapter 9

Seven forty-five the next morning and Molly’s fingers trembled as she looked up the number Fox had input into her cell phone the first night.

“In case you ever need a musician,” he’d said with a smile that had made her want to straddle his hair-rough thighs and claim kiss after kiss while his hands roamed over her. She hadn’t been confident enough to act on that impulse, but she wasn’t going to stay silent this morning.

Regardless of the stuttering beat of her heart.

Initiating the call, she readied herself to wait while he woke up, but it was answered on the first ring. “If you’re a telemarketer, I’ll be supremely pissed,” was the growled warning.

“Fox, it’s me,” she said, then winced. As if he didn’t know a thousand women who had his name on speed dial.

She’d just opened her mouth to identify herself when he said, “Molly Webster,” turning her name into a purring caress. “You often prank-call strange men on Sunday mornings?”

Goose bumps broke out over her skin. “I wanted to invite you to the market,” she said before she could lose her nerve, twisting her fingers in the thin cotton scarf she’d wrapped around her neck because she liked the indigo color against the raspberry of her cardigan. “If you still want to come.”

“Baby, I always want to come.”

Face red-hot, though her nerves eased at the sign he wasn’t still furious, she laughed. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“How soon can you be ready?” he asked, and she could hear the smile in his tone.

“I’m pretty much done, but I can drive over and pick you up. It’ll take me about ten minutes at this time of day.” The roads would be all but dead, even in the city. “Is that enough time?”

“Man who needs more isn’t a man, but I don’t even need that.”

“I’ll start driving now.” The butterflies took flight again, her need to see him a scary, beautiful craving.

“Or you could come downstairs to the surface parking lot.”

Eyes widening, Molly ended the call and grabbed her purse. When she left the elevator on the ground floor to step out through the main doors, it was to find a low-slung beauty of a car parked near the exit from the underground garage. A bright, sleek yellow, it was a sexy, powerful intruder in amongst the compacts and sedans. Just like the man who prowled around the car to put his hands on her, her own on his chest a heartbeat later.

“You were so confident I’d call?” Her violent pleasure at his presence slammed up against annoyance at being taken for granted.

“Hell, no.” Smoothing his hands over her hips, his touch proprietary, he said, “But while I might possibly have a temper—”

Molly couldn’t maintain her annoyance in the face of his blunt response. “Possibly?” she said with a small smile, happiness dancing in her at having the heat and power of him so close, his scent in her every breath.

“Possibly.” He nudged her closer between his spread thighs, his hands moving to her butt, the green of his irises brilliant under the morning sunlight. “I’m not a man who gives up when I want something, and I want you, Molly. Under me, on top of me, with your luscious mouth on my co—”

Damp heat between her thighs, she pressed her fingers against his lips. “Stop. We’re going out.” Not back inside and to the bedroom where words weren’t necessary, pleasure and sensation their vocabulary.

A slow smile that turned her knees to jelly. “Yes, ma’am.” Squeezing her butt, he dipped his head, his lips flirting with hers until she wrapped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth. He stroked his tongue deep, the rhythm languorous and she had the thought that if she hadn’t made him leave last night, he’d have moved in her with the same unhurried patience this morning.

“Come on,” he said when their mouths parted, that sexy dimple creasing his cheek and his hand cradling her nape in a way that felt breath-stealingly protective. “Let’s hit this market before I take you up against the wall there.” His forehead touched hers. “I’m not sure your neighbors would approve.”

Cheeks blazing, Molly shot a nervous glance around the parking lot. It proved empty of all other life. Phew. “Aren’t you worried about photographers?”

“I fucking love this country.” He placed one hand on her lower back, nudging her toward the car. “Even your paparazzi are polite and don’t bother people until after ten.”

“Ha-ha,” she said, trying not to think too hard about how incredibly good it felt to be with him. “And wow, look, you picked such an inconspicuous car.”

“Smart-ass.” He lightly spanked that ass, to her renewed blush. “The rental company only delivered it yesterday, and as far as anyone knows, it was hired by a corporation.”

“Where’s your disguise?”

“Wait and see.” Leaning down to open the door, he said, “Into my chariot.”

Molly bit her lower lip and wondered if she should warn him about the parking situation at the market. Then the devil in her, long stifled, grinned and said why not give him the full local experience? “Is this a Lamborghini, too?” she asked, sliding into the buttery-soft leather bucket seat with a sigh of pleasure.

“Baby,” he said, after getting into the driver’s seat, “we need to have a serious discussion about your lack of knowledge of the most beautiful machines on this planet.” Closing a hand on her thigh, high enough up that her breath caught, he slipped on mirrored sunglasses with the other. “This is a Ferrari Spider.”

She widened her eyes, unable to tone down her awareness of that hand on her thigh… or of how possessive it felt. “Gosh, what a rookie mistake.” Faux embarrassment. “I mean, what ordinary person can’t tell a Ferrari and a Lamborghini apart on sight?”

“A certain librarian clearly wants to be in trouble today.” Shifting his hand from her thigh to grip the back of her neck, he held her in position for a patented Fox kiss. Deep, wet, lusciously sexual.

He didn’t stop until she was squirming restlessly in her seat. A final lick across her lips, a warning squeeze of her nape. “You’ll get the rest of your punishment later.”

“You—” Shaking her head, she pointed to the street—and if his grin kicked her in the heart, she’d already made her decision, already decided not to be a coward, to embrace this month no matter the consequences.

“Busy place,” Fox said fifteen minutes later, the area around the outdoor market a hive of activity, cars and pedestrians intermingling as the early birds made their way to the entrance.

The Ferrari received more than a few hoots and hollers, especially when the tiny paved parking lot proved full even so early, and Fox was waved into the overflow lot—a grassy field that also occasionally functioned as a racetrack.

“Molly, you have some explaining to do,” Fox muttered when the car’s undercarriage almost scraped a raised section of earth during their turn into the “parking space” pointed out by the orange-vested teenage boy acting as an attendant.

“Were you expecting valet service?” she asked innocently, enjoying playing with him in a way she could’ve never predicted that first night. “I heard they have that at the malls in L.A.”

“Oh, your punishment is going to last a long time.” He turned off the engine. “I think I’ll need to hear some begging before I show any mercy.”

His growled warning, voice holding that edgy roughness that had turned him into a megastar, had her clenching her thighs together as he reached into the miniscule backseat to grab a baseball cap and what looked like a sticker. Confused, she watched him peel off the backing and apply it to his cheek. Suddenly, he had an impossibly realistic-appearing tattoo of a knife-edged starburst on his face.

“Wow,” she murmured, running her fingers over the “tattoo.” “That’s incredible.”

“I have a friend who’s a makeup artist.” He tugged on the cap, the brim shadowing his sunglasses. “She fixes me up with these—people focus on it and don’t bother with the rest.” He pulled on a gray hoodie that covered his arm tats, and suddenly, he wasn’t Fox the rock star but Fox the gorgeous, intelligent, fun guy who was going to the market with her early on a Sunday morning.

Feeling her heart twist in a way that heralded trouble, she didn’t resist when he put an arm around her waist once they’d stepped out of the Ferrari—even though it wasn’t safe, wasn’t sensible.

She already knew that in a month, when he left, it would hurt.

“That is a smokin’ car,” the attendant said, having wandered over to admire it.

Fox halted. “You have a license?”

“Yeah.”

“Keep an eye on it and I’ll let you drive it around the block.”

“Man, thank you.” Shocked awe on the teenager’s face. “Man, shit. I’ll make sure no one touches it.”

Sliding his hand into the back pocket of her jeans as they left the lot, Fox allowed her to set the pace of their exploration. She’d worried the lip ring would make him noticeable, but no one seemed to pay him much mind even when he ditched the sunglasses, asking her to keep them in her purse. Of course, he attracted plenty of admiring female glances, with more than one envious one leveled at Molly, but none of that had to do with his rock star status. No, it was Fox’s raw sexual appeal.

“This is my favorite section,” she said, leading him to the dubious antiques while wondering how any woman stayed sane in a relationship with a man so desired by others. The idea of Fox with another woman—

Strangling the thought before it could ruin their day, she went to the best stall. “Some of it is actually real. Like this.” She picked up a teacup and saucer in beautiful condition. “See the mark on the bottom?” she whispered. “And they’re selling it for only five dollars.”

Fox pulled out a five and handed it to the stall owner before she could go for her wallet. Opening her mouth to protest, she saw the glint in his eye and knew he was expecting it. “Thank you,” she said instead, giving the cup and saucer to the stall owner’s son so he could wrap it up in cushioning newspaper.

“Good choice, baby.” His breath warm against her skin as he leaned in, one hand on her lower back, he said, “Don’t you feel guilty fleecing these nice people?”

She pointed to another similar set as her nipples grew tight and sensitive against the lace of her bra. “I saw that at our version of Walmart last week for seven bucks. He’s selling it for twenty. Trust me, they make their money.”

Fox carried her purchases for her as she rummaged for treasures. He was unexpectedly good-natured about the time she spent, even found an old metal lighter he thought David would get a kick out of. “He doesn’t smoke anymore, but he collects these.”

A fun two hours later, Molly picked up the fresh vegetables she wanted and they headed back to the horse-racing track turned parking lot where Fox’s car sat unmolested, the teenager on stern guard. Seeing Fox, he grinned and shoved his hands into the pockets of baggy camo cargos belted so low on his hips Molly half expected them to fall off. “So, we’re sweet, right?”

Fox fist-bumped the boy in answer. Glancing at Molly after he’d put the shopping in the trunk, he said, “You mind riding in the back?”

“That’s not happening.” A five-year-old would have trouble squeezing in there. “I’ll grab a coffee and wait while you two go for your ride.”

Kissing her to the kid’s wolf whistle, his hand cupping the side of her face with a tenderness she was coming to expect from her hard-rock lover, Fox said, “I’ll be back soon.”

Happiness floated in her blood, tiny bursts of starlight.

Fear attempted to take hold on its heels, but Molly locked it out. Not today, not this month.

She’d have endless time for regrets after Fox was gone. And though she knew it could never be any other way, for a piercing instant as she watched Fox laugh with the excited teenager, the sound entangling her heart, she wished it could. Wished her life had been different. Wished she was the kind of brave, strong woman who could give a man like Fox what he needed not just for a single month, but for a lifetime.

Fifteen minutes and surely more than a single block later, loud cheers told her the car was back. It prowled into the parking lot in Fox’s hands a few minutes after that, and she knew he must’ve stopped where the attendant’s friends could admire the vehicle. “Did you have fun?” she asked, getting in when he reached across to pop open the passenger door.

“Not as much fun as I have with you.” Tapping her cheek, he pulled out. “Breakfast?”

“My place. Your reward for pretending you enjoyed the shopping.”

“I do like shopping.”

“Liar.” She’d glimpsed the telltale twitches.

“Well, I liked watching your ass when you bent over to do your shopping.”

The butterflies in her stomach swirled and dipped in dizzying flight. “You’re impossible.” She threatened to peel off the sticker he’d told her needed to come off with water.

“I think you want to be naked over my lap.”

Throat dry and thigh muscles going tight at that deep-voiced response, she sat on her hands, not sure of her impulse control where he was concerned. They made it as far as the kitchen table—where she found herself bent over the smooth wood, her jeans and panties around her ankles and her fingers clawing at the tabletop as Fox pounded into her in a single powerful stroke.

Chapter 10

Hand in her hair, he tilted her head to the side and bent over to bite down on the spot where her neck flowed into her shoulder, his chest pressed against her back. “You are so fucking sexy, Molly.”

Fracturing within and unable to do much of anything in this position, Molly gave in to the experience of being taken by a man who made no bones about being turned on by her body and who said low, hot things that made her want to whimper and beg for mercy.

Fox, however, wasn’t in the mood to draw things out. Pushing into her after five deep, fast thrusts, he pinned her in place for a long, slow minute as his body shuddered, before coming down to kiss her neck. He’d shaved this morning, his jaw smooth against her skin. “Give me a sec and I’ll take care of you.”

Molly shivered at the way he said that, the blatant sexual promise in his voice. “That’s okay,” she whispered, though her breasts ached, her body on the brink. “You took plenty care of me last night.”

Pulling out to her gasp, he said, “That’s not how I work. Stay in place or I really will spank your sweet ass.”

Molly set herself to rights the instant he disappeared into the bathroom, the idea of giving him that particular view mortifying. Fox took one look at her when he exited, sans facial tattoo and T-shirt, and backed her straight onto the table. Where he flipped her around and, pulling down her jeans and panties, proceeded to make good on his threat, his hand caressing each cheek before he delivered four light swats that almost pitched her into orgasm.

That was only the start.

His body a muscled wall at her back, he tugged her head to the side again, his voice deliciously low in ear. “I told you I was going to punish you.” His fingers slipped between her thighs from the back, the callused tips rubbing the engorged tissues of her entrance with torturous subtlety. “And”—a lick along the edge of her earlobe—“I don’t think a naughty woman who teases her man all morning should get to come without earning it.”

Her man.

Molly barely had time to process what he’d said before Fox did something with his fingers that arced sweet white fire through her nerve endings, the pleasure a lightning storm.

Half an hour later, she tried desperately to catch a breath where she lay naked on the sofa, one of her feet flat on the floor, the other on the cushions. Part of her wanted to hide in red-faced embarrassment at her splayed position, but that part was buried under the exhaustion of a pleasure that had turned her bones to noodles.

A very satisfied-looking Fox, his jeans still on, knelt on the floor beside her. Placing his hand on her abdomen, he touched his lips to hers, his tongue owning her mouth. “How about I make breakfast?” Self-assured fingertips around one of her swollen nipples, a nipple he’d sucked until she begged.

It wasn’t the only thing he’d sucked.

She slapped at his shoulder, her aim off. “Be quiet.” Another ragged breath. “I’ll make breakfast—soon as I can move.” Right now, her muscles were jelly. “I think I might be dead.”

Chuckling, Fox kissed her again, stroking his hand up and down her body until she wrapped an arm around him, loving the sensation of being petted by that strong hand. Her stomach chose to growl right on cue.

Breaking the kiss on a blush that made him dip his head, lick along the upper curve of her breast as if to taste the color, she said, “I need my robe.” Before he made her forget everything.

Once again, he grabbed his T-shirt. “Raise your arms.”

He bit teasingly at the side of one of her kiss-reddened breasts before tugging the soft gray fabric down over her head. Padding to the bathroom to tidy herself up a bit, she returned to the kitchen a few minutes later, her feet stuffed into fluffy purple slippers shaped like monster claws that Charlie had given her as a joke gift, her hair corralled into a loose braid, and fresh panties on under the T-shirt.

Fox was sprawled on the couch, the remote in hand while a cartoon played on the television screen. Stomach dipping at how right he looked there, how painfully good this felt, she forced her gaze off him and put on the coffee, then began to gather up the ingredients for omelets.

Since that would hardly fill Fox up, however, she put out some bread to be toasted, then went hunting to see what else she had. “Fox, do you want fried potatoes?” It wasn’t like he had anything to worry about in the weight department—the man was pure firm, strokable muscle, the energy he burned onstage brutal.

He also, her body reminded her on a ripple of remembered pleasure, burned energy in other ways.

“Hell yeah.” A grin over his shoulder that cut through the afterglow to hit her straight in the heart. “Come kiss me.”

“Not risking it while I’m starving,” she said, using humor to bury her worry at how fast she was falling for a man she could never hope to claim. “Next thing you know, I’ll be naked again.”

“I’ll never say no to naked Molly.” He prowled up off the sofa to take a seat on a stool on the other side of the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee while she quickly peeled and sliced the potatoes, the pan already heating up.

“What do you think about Sydney?” he asked without warning.

Disappointment pinched at Molly at the idea of losing even a tiny part of their month together, but she wasn’t surprised he was interested in a visit. The Australian city was only a three-hour flight away.

“I visited with Charlie last year and loved it. We were total tourists”—she laughed softly at the thought of how much fun they’d had—“even did a cruise around Sydney Harbour.” Putting the potatoes in the pan, she looked up to meet the dark green of Fox’s gaze, hoping he couldn’t see how much she was already missing him. “You can book flights easy enough, even at short notice.”

“I’m going over end of the coming week.” He grabbed a piece of the green pepper she’d diced for the omelets. “Favor for a friend. He set up a charity concert, but the entire band he booked just went into rehab.”

“What?” Molly turned around. “All of them?”

“Might be a publicity stunt, but yeah, it does happen. Except for those premade boy bands”—a smirk—“a lot of us were friends first, and friends get into bad shit together.” He ate another piece of the pepper. “Who else are you going to shoot up with but the people you trust most?”

Molly had never heard even a whisper of drugs attached to Fox, wouldn’t have been attracted to him if she had, but she couldn’t not take this opportunity to make certain. “Have you—”

An immediate shake of his head. “No, not my deal. Music’s my addiction.”

Relaxing, she whipped up the first omelet. “I didn’t realize bands as big as Schoolboy Choir could move so fast.”

“Normally no, but like I said, Marc’s a buddy, and he’s raising money for a children’s charity. It would’ve been a problem if we were already doing a concert in the city, but since that isn’t the case, there’s no bullshit red tape.”

She poured the omelet into a second pan. “So he’ll refund the people who wanted specifically to see the other band?”

A nod. “He figures he’ll make that up with the increased ticket sales.” Fox shrugged, his shoulders rippling with the lithe muscle that felt so beautiful under her touch. “Plus, we’re here, and it’s a low-stress outdoor gig.”

Putting the fried potatoes on a couple of thick paper towels to drain, she flipped the omelet. “I’m sure you’ll draw a huge crowd.” The words “legendary” and “iconic” were already being used in connection with the band’s name—Schoolboy Choir’s sheer, raw talent was as obvious as their love of music.

“You could be a part of it.”

Air was suddenly hard to find. “Are you asking me to go with you?” she said at last.

“It’s on Saturday night. You could leave work a little early if you don’t want to take the whole day off, be there in plenty of time.”

Molly bit the inside of her cheek, her throat thick. The fact was, since she usually never requested unanticipated vacation days, her boss wouldn’t quibble about either a half-day or a full day. “You’ll take this the wrong way,” she said when she could speak, turning to face Fox with her breath painful in her lungs, “but I don’t want to be known as the woman you’re sleeping with.”

His lashes lowered to hood his expression. “Yeah, how else should I take it?”

“You’ll go,” she said, gripping the counter behind her and fighting back tears. “After a month, you’ll go. But I’ll still be here, living my life. Being famous, even by association… I can’t handle it, Fox.” Already, her stomach churned at the idea of being known as “Fox’s Secret Lover,” the headline sure to be splashed across the magazines.

Molly might have decided to break out of the box into which she’d wedged herself at fifteen, but fame was the one thing she’d never touch, not for anything or anyone.

Not even a man who made her wish for an impossible dream.

Heart aching and throat raw from holding back her emotions, she turned back to the stove and plated the omelet, then poured in the other one while pushing down on the toaster lever to start the bread. “Don’t be angry,” she said quietly, aware it’d be difficult for him to understand the depth of her aversion to the idea of fame without knowing the ugly background responsible for her gut-deep abhorrence.

Yet she couldn’t tell him, couldn’t bear to see pity—or even worse, disgust or speculation—in his eyes. She understood she wasn’t being rational, that Fox wasn’t like the teenagers who’d alternately shunned and tormented her after the scandal broke, but this was the one point on which she simply couldn’t be rational. It hurt too much.

Fox flexed his hand on the counter, his eyes on Molly’s back. “I get it.” Shoving a hand through his hair, he blew out a breath. “Shit, yeah, I get it. I once walked a girl home from a bar in London because she was drunk and the next day, she sold her story to the tabloids.” It had been early on in the band’s career, but Fox had never forgotten.

“Turned out we had a ‘mad sex romp’ in the seconds it took for me to make sure she got safely inside her place.” He’d felt like such an idiot for falling for what had obviously been a setup, given that the tabloid had pictures of him in her doorway. “That was her claim to fame and she milked it for all it was worth.”

The second omelet done, Molly put it on a plate then came over to wrap her arms around him from the back. “Well, whatever happens”—she rubbed her cheek against his skin, the open warmth of her affection a powerful drug of which he couldn’t get enough—“I promise not to sell the videos I made of our mad sex romps.”

He half-turned to tuck her under his arm, realizing his librarian was trying to make him feel better. The tenderness he felt for her dug its tendrils in even deeper, the emotion a punch to the gut. “Funny.” He scowled. “Not.”

Rising on tiptoe, eyes laughing, she rubbed her nose against his.

He was fucking undone. Just gone.

“Do you have a real one of those?”

“What?”

“A sex tape?”

“There was this time with an entire professional cheerleading team…”

Her expression was priceless.

Shoulders shaking, he claimed a hard, fast kiss. “Gotcha.”

“Funny. Not.” She pulled his hair in a retaliation that just made him want to haul her into his lap and mess her up with his mouth, his hands. So he did. It was the best damn breakfast he’d ever had.

They drove out of the city and down the coast that afternoon, the stark autumn scenery stunning through the windows of the low-slung car as it ate up the road. Stopping for ice cream at an isolated corner store, they took seats on the grassy verge of a windswept beach. Low tide as it was, the sand seemed to go on forever, smooth as sugar and sprinkled with minerals that made it glitter under the sun.

Despite the beauty, the cool temperature meant there were only three other people on the beach, and they were far out near the water’s edge—a bundled-up toddler and his parents. Nearby, there was only a long piece of driftwood worn smooth by time and water and the occasional seagull pacing the sand for tiny crabs and mollusks.

“This is the best date.” The unsophisticated words spilled over Molly’s lips, she was so happy.

Picking up her hand, Fox kissed her palm, the caress unexpectedly sweet. “Yeah, it is.”

She curled her fingers around his, let him taste her ice cream, took a big bite out of his, which made him cry foul and attempt to claim it back in a laughing kiss. There would, she thought as he wrestled her giggling form to the grass, be no forgetting Fox. It wouldn’t only hurt when he walked away, it would be brutal.

Strong, intelligent, and talented, he’d marked her deep inside.

That talent was in haunting evidence later that night, when—having picked up his acoustic guitar on the way back from the beach—he played for her. Lying curled up naked under the sheet in bed, a jean-clad but otherwise undressed Fox in a chair facing her, Molly listened and felt her entire body ache at the harsh beauty of his music, the edgy sound distinctively Fox.

“I can’t figure out how you create something so extraordinary from a few strings and your fingers.” She could listen to him forever. “Play it again, please.”

Fox’s smile was quiet, the look in his eyes unreadable as he complied. “It’s not finished yet.”

“Will you,” she began, hesitated, took the plunge. “Will you play it for me if it’s done by the time the month is over?”

A long look. “Yeah, baby. I promise.”

For some reason, she believed in his promise, despite the fact she’d spent a lifetime learning not to trust. “Thank you.” Then she lay silent as he moved his fingers over the strings with a grace that astounded and compelled. When he added his voice, keeping the volume low to avoid disturbing her neighbors, she felt her heart stop beating.

A fallen angel might have a voice like that, she thought, hard and pure and with an unashamed sexuality to it that invited the listener into sin. It made her eyes burn, tears roll down her face.

Setting aside his guitar as the last note faded from the air, Fox walked over to kneel beside the bed. His hand slid into her hair, his lips touched hers… and Molly felt herself fall, her shields crashing in splintered shards at her feet.

Chapter 11

Fox held Molly in his arms after she fragmented in pleasure. He’d touched her with all the tenderness he had in him after she cried while listening to the song he’d been working on for weeks, the final pieces coming only today. Because of his beautiful Molly who did things to him he didn’t understand, who spoke to him without lies, who made him wish he were a better man. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to give her up.

Brushing back her hair when her breathing quieted, he looked down. “Hey.”

A shy smile before she snuggled back down against his shoulder and traced the song lyrics on one side of his torso. “Was this your first tattoo?”

“No, that was the inner-wrist characters.”

“Did it hurt badly?”

“Like a bitch.” He laughed at the memory. “But I was with the guys—all of us decided to get inked to celebrate our first number one—so none of us could make a sound. Afterward, we went and got drunk and whined like pussies.”

Molly’s laughter was music he knew he could never capture with chords and notes.

“I have something for you,” he said after they’d lain in warm silence for several minutes. Reaching down to snag his jeans, he tugged out the folded piece of paper he’d put in the back pocket this morning. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

He knew the instant she found the answer to her question. Her cheeks went bright red, but he knew she was listening when he said, “I’m clean, Molly, and I haven’t been with anyone but you since that medical report. I wanted you to have the info before I asked you if we can ditch the condoms.” Even young and stupid, he’d never taken chances, but he wanted to be skin-to-skin with Molly, brand her from the inside out.

Yeah, it was primitive as hell. Fox didn’t care.

“Oh.” Molly carefully folded the report back into a neat square and gave it to him to put on the bedside table. “Why—” She coughed to clear her throat. “Why did you have this done?”

Fox thought about how to answer that without betraying something it wasn’t his business to tell. “Friend needed to go get checked after he did something idiotic, and I went with him. Moral support.”

“This was done a month ago,” Molly said a little hesitantly, and he knew what she was asking.

“Fact is,” he said, shifting so that she was below him, her eyes looking up into his as he braced himself above her, “I haven’t been with anyone for a hell of a lot longer than that. It’s been almost a year.”

Her pupils dilated. “But you’re so…”

“I have a high sex drive, but I got over the stick-my-dick-in-anything-hot-and-female stage a long time ago,” he said and, when she didn’t flinch away from the unvarnished answer, decided to lay it all out. He hadn’t been an angel and he’d rather tell her that than have her wonder or get the twisted version from the tabloids.

“At first, it was like having candy thrown in my face, women waiting wet and willing wherever I turned.” He’d been a nineteen-year-old suddenly drowning in money and women, with no parent to put a brake on things, and the label happy to use his exploits and those of the others to further build their hard-rock image. “I took the candy, fucked around.”

He gripped her chin to turn her back toward him when her eyes glanced away, wanting her to see he was dead serious about his next words. “These days, however, I prefer to take my time, choose a lover I enjoy in and out of bed.”

Molly knew and accepted that Fox was no kind of virgin, his sexual experience simply a part of him, but she found she didn’t like hearing about his conquests. It made her wonder if he’d done the same things with them that he did with her. If he’d cupped a woman’s face so tenderly while he kissed her slow and sweet, if he’d spent a lazy Sunday morning petting a lover until she turned boneless, if he’d wrestled with a woman over ice cream, his laughter filling the air.

It took conscious effort to push away thoughts that betrayed so much about the kind of trouble she was in. “Y…you know I haven’t been with anyone else,” she said, trying to sound as practical as he’d done and failing miserably, “and I had a physical for medical insurance four months ago. It was all clear.” She rubbed her foot over the sheet, this conversation so far outside her realm of experience that she had to think about every word. “I’m protected against pregnancy… so I think we could.” Her doctor had prescribed the Pill to regulate her cycle.

Fox brushed her hair off her face. “You okay with it? Because if you’re not, we go on like we’ve been doing. I’m not an asshole who’ll make you feel bad about your choice.”

Molly thought of having Fox inside her, no barriers, all hard heat and power, and knew she wanted the intimacy. “Yes. I can show you the insurance report if—”

“It’s okay.” His hand curved gently around her throat. “I trust you.”

She stroked her hands over his shoulders. “Not very smart of you.”

Shifting, he thrust his thigh between hers, the crisp hairs on his skin a deliciously coarse abrasion against her flesh. “I didn’t say I trust every woman, only a certain librarian who loves to play with my lip ring.” A more serious look. “But if the contraception fails for any reason, you tell me.”

Molly’s throat dried up, the discussion suddenly too intense, too much more than it should be for a fleeting relationship. Pushing at Fox, she would’ve left the bed, but he wouldn’t let her go. Instead, flipping over onto his back, he tumbled her on top of his body. “Hey, hey, what’s the matter?”

She raised her head, her breath hoarse and choppy to her own ears. “The idea of a child coming out of a relationship with an end date,” she said, speaking around the lump of ice that was her heart, “it’s terrifying.”

His pupils jet-black against vivid green, he nodded. “I get it, and baby, if anything does happen, I will be there for you.” Words potent with a raw emotion she couldn’t identify. “Don’t shut me out.”

All at once, she remembered an article she’d read about Fox, back when he’d simply been a darkly beautiful rock star she’d sighed over from afar. “You never knew your father.” She knew she was crossing another line, but Molly had realized she didn’t know how to compartmentalize sex and emotion.

Fox was no longer just that fantasy rock star; he was a man whose touch made her ignite and whose smile made her breath catch in her chest. He could cook a single fancy dish that he’d promised to make her the next time they had a night together, was talented, had a temper, and a fascination with fast cars. All those pieces and so much more made up the person he was… a person who’d begun to matter to her in a way that could have no happy ending.

“I promise I’ll tell you if it happens.” She was the one who brushed back his hair this time, suckled a soft, sweet kiss from his lips. “I’m sorry if I brought up bad memories.”

A crooked smile, his fingers spreading on her lower back. “What am I going to do with you, Molly Webster?” Running his hand up her spine, then back down, he surprised her by adding, “My mom was drugged out of her mind at the time I was conceived, couldn’t have picked the guy out of a lineup, and she certainly wasn’t ready for a kid. She dumped me with my grandparents the week after I was born.”

Her heart broke; she knew what it was like to be abandoned by your parents, but she’d been a teenager at the time, not a defenseless child. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be—I loved living with Gramps and Grammy.” Deep warmth in his tone. “I grew up digging in the garden, even had my own plot. My best harvest was seven carrots when I was six.”

Fascinated at this glimpse into his childhood, she hugged the moment to her heart. “What did you do with them?”

“I made my grandmother put carrots in the soup, and we also had to have them in our sandwiches.”

“Sandwiches?”

“Absolutely. Carrot and cheese sandwiches.”

Unable to resist that grin, she traced his lips with a fingertip, laughed when he pretended to bite. “How did your grandparents cope with an active little boy?”

“By tiring me out until I couldn’t cause trouble.”

As the night softened and went still around them, he told her stories of being allowed to go wild on his kid-sized skateboard while his grandparents watched over him, of playing stickball with the neighborhood kids, of cooking with his grandmother and learning carpentry with his grandfather.

It sounded like an idyllic childhood, but there was something beneath, a dark pulse of anger. Molly wanted to ask about it, wanted to learn every piece of him, but knew instinctively that it would be too profound an intimacy. She didn’t want to put him in the position of having to push her back, of fracturing the painful beauty of this instant when it was only Molly and Fox talking to one another.

No past that had altered the course of her life. No present where he lived in a world in which Molly simply couldn’t survive. No future where he’d be only a heartbreaking memory.

Keeping her silence and stifling her hunger to know this complex, talented man both in and out of bed, she fell asleep to the rhythm of his voice, only to wake to the unadulterated demand of his kiss.

Going back to work on Tuesday felt like stepping into a different world. She and Fox had spent the whole of Monday together as well, the day a lazy, playful one.

Her rock star had no inhibitions in bed and coaxed the same openness from her. “That’s it, baby,” he’d say, encouraging her to taste, to explore, to indulge and be indulged, his voice a finely honed instrument of which she couldn’t get enough.

“Earth to Molly.”

Molly jerked when a slender hand waved in front of her face. “What? Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Her colleague laughed. “Must’ve been some weekend—you were on another planet.”

Flushing guiltily, Molly reined in her wayward thoughts and focused on work. Three hours passed before she checked her phone—a deliberate act of willpower on her part—to find a message from Fox inviting her to the island hotel Schoolboy Choir had booked out, for a casual dinner with “the boys.”

Just meat on the grill, forget the greens, he’d added. And Noah lost a bet with Abe, so he’s making his (in)famous passion fruit cheesecake.

Molly’s fingers trembled. Putting down the phone before she dropped it, she went to help at the desk as the seniors’ book club came en masse to check out their selections for the week.

It wasn’t until forty-five minutes later, while she was on her lunch break, that she picked up the phone again. She didn’t know what to say, what to do, but she did know it was dead certain at least one aggressive member of the paparazzi had to have followed Schoolboy Choir to the island. Lusted after by millions of women and idolized by as many men, Fox, Noah, Abe, and David were too good for business to leave alone.

Wanting to be wrong, to be proven needlessly paranoid, she opened a browser window on her phone and input a news search for the band’s name. It took a split second for the search engine to show her several images of the villa-style hotel Schoolboy Choir had booked, as well as a couple of shots of two of the band members—Abe and Noah—throwing a football around on the beach.

Below that was a photograph of David diving into the undoubtedly freezing water.

The final image was of Noah and Fox leaning on the balcony railing of a waterfront apartment, the image clearly taken from somewhere on the ground. Molly recognized Fox’s T-shirt; it was the one he’d worn the first night at the party.

The caption made her tongue go dry, her breath coming so fast she knew she was in danger of a panic attack: The local female fans are apparently extending a warm welcome—Noah was spotted returning to his apartment around four in the morning, while a source tells us Fox spent the entire night with a lucky mystery woman!

Chapter 12

Screwing her eyes shut, Molly ignored the roaring in her ears and concentrated on doing the breathing exercise the school counselor had taught her back when the scandal first broke. It took several minutes, but she was eventually able to read the article associated with the apartment photo.

A wracking shudder of relief.

The article was pure fluff, the “source” probably created in the reporter’s imagination in order to spice up the photo editorial, which was heavily focused on Noah’s shirtless upper body.

Did you know, she messaged Fox, there are already photos online of the band on the island—and at your apartment building?

Grill’s out back in an enclosed space the paps can’t get at, came the reply. I’ll pick you up at eight.

The message was so Fox, confident and take charge, and if Molly was honest with herself, she liked that about him… but some risks she couldn’t take. No, she wrote back, I’ll see you another night.

The phone rang in her hand a second later. “I’m not changing my mind,” she said, before he could charm her into exactly that.

“Don’t worry, baby.” The grit and sex of his voice made her body ache, but more dangerous was the effect he had on her heart. “We know how to avoid the cameras when necessary—it’s why we give the paps an easy shot now and then, so the bastards stay lazy and don’t dig.”

She couldn’t bear to miss even a single night with him, wanted badly to give in, but her stomach churned at the idea of her past being dug up by the voracious media, of the nightmare beginning again. Sweat broke out along her spine. “No, Fox. I can’t risk it.”

“You’re being overcautious.” Edgy frustration, a kiss of the temper she’d already come up against once. “Even if someone snaps you from a distance, it won’t be a huge deal.”

Fingers clenching on the phone, she said, “It would be to me,” and hung up. A lump choking her throat as she fought the tears, she stared unseeing at the wall in front of her. Maybe he didn’t know her history, but she’d told him how much it meant to her to stay out of the spotlight.

And he’d said it didn’t matter.

Despite her angry hurt, she couldn’t help checking her phone an hour later, a cold tightness inside her. There were no further messages from Fox.

Exiting the elevator of her apartment building at six that night, Molly found herself searching for a tall male form leaning against the wall, guitar by his side. Her gut-wrenching disappointment when Fox wasn’t there offered an agonizing preview of exactly how much it would hurt if she never saw him again. Pushing through the door after unlocking it, she dumped her stuff and sat down on the bench to take off her shoes—and remembered what Fox had done to her in this spot.

“Stop it,” she ordered herself, but it wasn’t that easy. Fox had left his mark on her entire apartment.

She lasted an hour before she couldn’t stand the memories anymore. Picking up the phone, she called Charlotte. Her best friend was working late but fell in happily with the idea of dinner down at the Viaduct, that section of the waterfront always vibrant with life.

“So,” she asked, after meeting Charlotte in the lobby of her building, “how’s it going with the new boss?” Maybe the jagged knot in her chest would unravel if she just didn’t think about Fox.

“Honestly, after that disaster over the weekend, I’ve tried to stay out of his way.” A groan at the mention of a dinner she’d described in a text message as Silent Charlie-mouse waiting for the growling, bad-tempered predator to eat her. “He’s causing carnage in management. Two new firings today.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right? Anyway, enough about T-Rex.”

“What?” Molly laughed at the look on her friend’s face, Charlotte’s cheeks pink at having been caught out. It eased some of the tension in her body, though it did nothing to ease the ache deep inside her. “T-Rex?”

“He’s big, scary, and people run when they see him coming.” With that succinct description, Charlotte slipped her arm through the crook of Molly’s as they walked out into a night that actually wasn’t as cold as it could’ve been. “Do you want to get ice cream first and find a good spot to watch the water? Radio said there’s a super yacht coming in soon. Might be fun to see some gazillionaire’s fancy boat.”

“Dessert before dinner?” she said, forcefully ignoring the horrible sense of loss that continued to grow within her. “I’m in.”

Ice creams in hand an easy stroll later, they decided to sit on the wide, shallow steps near the ornate ferry building that was a piece of history amongst the steel and glass so prevalent in this section of the city. Hand-holding couples on dates, businesspeople on their way home, night runners with their earbuds in, the surrounding area was electric with activity.

“So,” Charlotte said after they’d taken their seats, “what’s the matter?”

Molly looked out over the harbor, the dark slick of water colored by the lights of nearby businesses. Even now, she could get on a ferry and be on the island in under forty minutes. “Why do you think anything’s the matter?” she asked, quashing the dangerous impulse that could destroy her.

A shoulder bump. “How long have we been friends? Spill. Are you still worrying about what Thea said?”

“No. But… there was a reason I had that conversation with Thea.” Taking a deep breath, Molly told Charlotte what had happened after the party.

Her best friend’s mouth fell open. “You—with Zachary Fox—” Throwing one arm around Molly with a cry of wild glee, she smacked a big kiss on Molly’s cheek. “My hero!” She pulled back her arm a second before her ice cream would’ve toppled over. “At least one of us will have outrageous stories with which to shock any grandchildren we might or might not have.”

Startled into a giggle, Molly leaned against her petite friend and shared the rest. Not the private memories, the ones that meant the most, but the reason why she’d be alone in her bed tonight. “Do you think I’m being ridiculous?” she said at the end. “About not being caught by the media with Fox?”

“Of course not.” Charlotte finished off her cone, balled up the napkin it had been wrapped in, and took Molly’s to the trash as well before coming back. “I was there, remember?” She closed her small-boned hand over Molly’s. “Did you tell Fox about what happened? So he knows it has nothing to do with him?”

Shaking her head, Molly pointed out the gleaming super yacht that had appeared in the distance. “I’m falling for him,” she whispered, admitting the truth to the one person she knew would never betray her trust. “I can hardly bear to think about the end of our month together.” If Fox even wanted to continue their affair after today’s fight. “If I let him in any further… it’ll be agony.”

Charlotte didn’t respond for a long time, the two of them watching the sleek progress of the yacht built to be a dream on water, golden light pouring through every window. Someone had also put up tiny colored lights along the railings, adding a sense of mischief and whimsy to the regal craft, the colors pretty against the silky deep blue of the night.

“I’m scared, Molly,” Charlotte said at last, her voice quiet. “All the time. You know why.”

Molly hugged her close. “We don’t have to talk about it.” It hurt her friend to discuss the events that had devastated her first year of university, causing internal scars that had never faded. Because while Charlie had been shy her whole life, she’d also always had a sparkling fire inside her, which that brutal year had all but doused.

“No, it’s okay.” Her friend turned to face her, soft blonde curls escaping the knot at the nape of her neck. “I miss out on so much because I’m scared—and the thing is, I’m intelligent enough to know it. That just makes it worse.”

“You’re selling yourself short.” Molly wouldn’t allow it. “You said I was brave, but I wouldn’t have made it through high school and foster care without you.” She didn’t know how many times she’d cried in Charlotte’s arms, or turned toward her for silent moral support when the taunts threatened to break her down. “You were my rock.”

“You were mine, too.” Charlotte shook her head, her eyes full of quiet power behind the transparent shield of her glasses. “Don’t let that tough, strong, fifteen-year-old girl down, Molly. Don’t shortchange yourself like I do.”

Heart breaking for what her friend had been through, Molly turned back to face the water before she started crying. “Is it worth it,” she said when she could speak without her voice cracking, “for a single month?”

“That’s for you to decide—but I vote for breaking the bed with Mr. Kissable.” Charlotte fanned her face.

Molly burst out laughing, grateful once again for her best friend. She only wished she could help Charlotte conquer her own fears, convince her to put away the shapeless, unflattering clothes that swamped her tiny frame and let down those pretty curls. But if Molly’s rules were her security blanket, Charlotte’s clothes were hers. “Maybe you need a rock star of your own.”

“No way. I’d rather go to bed with T-Rex.”

Molly’s antennae shot up. That was the second time Charlotte had mentioned her new boss—and she’d linked him to sex, however tenuously. “What’s he look like?” she asked casually.

Scowling, her best friend shrugged. “What most carnivorous monsters look like.”

“Charlie.”

A sigh, pointed chin propped up in fine-boned hands. “The name Gabriel Bishop sound familiar?”

Molly gasped. “No?” Gabriel Bishop, known on the field as “the Bishop,” was a former pro rugby player turned corporate genius. Tall, with wide shoulders and heavily muscled, he was certifiably hot in a hard-sex-and-hard-play kind of way. “Hey! Didn’t you once say you wanted to rip off his shirt and sink your teeth into his pecs?”

Charlotte spluttered at the reminder of her cocktail-induced sigh at the TV screen during a game where Gabriel Bishop had been roped in as a guest commentator. “I swear,” she said, “you have the memory of an elephant!”

“So?” Molly waggled her eyebrows, fingers discreetly crossed and hope a bright, bright flame in her heart.

“That was before I realized he wasn’t human.” With that pert comment, her friend shifted her attention toward the restaurant section of the Viaduct. “I’m starving.”

Luck was with them and they snagged an outdoor table with an amazing view of the water, yachts and other pleasure craft berthed in neat rows in the marina. As they ate, Molly thought of everything her friend had said, everything she herself had decided about stepping out of the box in which she’d lived for so long, and sent Fox a message: Search for Patrick Buchanan and scandal.

Chapter 13

Fox narrowed his eyes at the phone screen when Molly’s name flashed up. He was still pissed at her for hanging up on him, enough that he needed to wait a bit longer—get his boiling temper down to a smolder—before he went after her and got to the bottom of this. Stubborn as he was learning his Molly could be, he hadn’t expected a capitulation.

Tapping to open the message, he frowned, then did the search. “Fuck!” He barely controlled the urge to throw his phone.

Noah, who was sitting on the steps leading down to the sandy beach, while Fox was on the porch above, stopped strumming his guitar. “Care to elaborate, oh articulate one?”

“You know how I said Molly was mine?” He dropped his legs off the railing to hit the deck. “That I planned to convince her to enter into a real relationship?”

“Tough thing to forget.”

“Yeah, well, I was an arrogant prick.” Not just then, but today, when he’d told her it wouldn’t matter if she was snapped. He’d had no fucking idea who and what he was dealing with; what he’d just learned told him Molly was the last person in the world who’d ever want to be in a relationship with a man whose life was dogged by the prying lens of paparazzi cameras.

Checking her phone again as she entered the apartment after dropping Charlotte off at her town house, Molly felt her stomach drop at the continued lack of a return message from Fox. He was likely busy with his bandmates, she told herself, not the kind of man who’d have bothered to go immediately online to follow a cryptic message from a woman he’d known less than a week.

Or maybe he’d done the search, realized how messed up she really was, and decided to cut his losses.

A stabbing pain in her chest.

Swallowing past it to release a trembling exhale, she kicked off her shoes and wandered into the bedroom to change into flannel pajama pants and a faded gray T-shirt. That done, she shoved her feet into her silly purple slippers and, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, went into the bathroom to wash off her makeup and brush her teeth. Smoothing in some moisturizer at the end, she settled into bed and picked up a romance novel she’d been looking forward to finishing.

She’d forgotten she’d stopped right before a love scene.

Her breath caught, her mind seeing not the words on the page, but the erotic scenes that had taken place in this bed a day past. This was why she hadn’t wanted to get involved with a man like Fox—that addictive gene in her body had kicked into high gear where he was concerned, until she could smell him all around her. Impossible, since she’d changed the sheets while he was in the shower this morning.

Blood hot at the reminder of why she’d changed the sheets, she looked back down at the novel, determined to read on. Five minutes and one incomprehensible paragraph later, she put the book on the bedside table and got up to make a cup of chamomile tea. She’d just taken the tea from the pantry when there was a knock on the door.

Jumping, she froze.

The short, hard knock came again, and this time, she moved, padding over to the security peephole to see a rock star on her doorstep. Her throat dried up.

“Molly.” Quiet, sexy, a little rough. “Open up.”

Heart slamming against her ribs, she looked down at her pajamas, thought about her washed-clean face… and realized none of it mattered. Not when she’d just given him the key to her greatest vulnerability.

She unlocked and opened the door.

Fox, his arms braced above the doorjamb, his white T-shirt taut against his biceps, said, “I had to steal a boat for you.”

Toes curling in her slippers even as she stood there feeling exposed, raw, she somehow managed to say, “According to a certain celebrity magazine, you’re worth a cool kazillion or two—you probably bought the boat.”

“Noah wouldn’t be too happy. He’s become attached to the thing.” A dawning smile, but his eyes were serious. “Let me in.”

Realizing she’d been blocking the doorway, Molly stepped back and Fox came in, pushing the door shut behind him and flicking the deadbolt. The sound was loud in the silence, seemed to signal an intent to stay that had her stomach in knots.

“You look good enough to eat,” Fox murmured, his hands going to her hips.

She found her own against the firm warmth of his chest.

Fingers brushing the side of her breast through the soft fabric of her T-shirt, he ran one hand up over the skin bared by the scoop neck to close his fingers around her throat. “I got your message.”

Feeling vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the fact he was bigger and stronger, she looked away. “Did you do the search?”

“I’m sorry, baby.” Rubbing his thumb over her jaw, he tugged back her head with the hand not around her throat and bent to take her lips. “Open, Molly.” When she obeyed, he kissed her with an unhidden male hunger and a harsh tenderness that stole another piece of her.

Lost, she rose on tiptoe and linked her hands behind his neck, her taut, aching breasts crushed against his chest. He groaned and squeezed her neck a fraction, just enough to get her notice.

“Fox?”

“I want you in my lap.” Nipping at her lower lip, the ring rubbing over the kiss-swollen flesh, he drew her not into the bedroom but to the sofa.

Sprawling there, he crooked a finger. Molly really, really wanted to find that arrogant, but the sight of him aroused and ready for her made her breath catch, her body melt. Kicking off the slippers, she straddled him, and because he was her own personal piece of insanity, leaned in to tug on the ring that had led her into trouble in the first place.

His lips curved, and the painful happiness inside her grew bigger, threatening to crush her ribs outward.

“Kiss me, Molly.”

It was one demand he’d never have to make twice. Burying her hands in the thick silk of his hair, she indulged herself in the taste of Fox, having missed him until it hurt.

Pleasure thick in his veins, Fox ended the kiss on a soft suck of sound and looked into brown eyes that held a pained vulnerability. He felt something tear inside him, the need to take care of her a violent craving. “Come here.” Kissing her with all the tenderness he had in him, he brushed his hands up and under her T-shirt to caress the lush cream of her skin.

Touch by touch, kiss by kiss, he gentled her, seduced her, the raw sexual possessiveness he always felt when it came to Molly tempered by a vicious protectiveness. By the time he pulled off her T-shirt, she was liquid honey around him.

Easing her down onto the sofa on her back, he bared her lower half then rose to strip, conscious of the way she watched him.

“You’re so beautiful.” It was a husky feminine whisper as he came down on top of her.

Fox drew up her thigh and, pausing only to check she was ready for him, pushed into the welcoming heat of her body. He needed to be inside her, needed to reclaim her. Molly gasped, her neatly cut nails digging into his arms and her thighs wrapping around him.

God, she felt good, felt like his. Pulling her hands off his arms to place them on either side of her head, he wove his fingers with her own, their eyes locked as he rode her slow and deep; Molly moved with him, sensual and natural and fucking perfect.

Fox had done plenty of debauched things in the twenty-seven years he’d been on this earth, had treated sex as a bodily need, found pleasure before… but this… “Look at me, baby,” he demanded when her lashes fluttered down, her body an erotic song below his own.

Deep brown eyes met his own. “Fox.”

His name was the last word either one of them spoke as they rocked together to a pleasure that was a passionate kiss that engulfed both their bodies. And through it all, they held the eye contact, their hands clasped.

It was the most starkly intimate moment of Fox’s life.

“How was dinner?” Molly asked a long time later, cradled against Fox’s chest.

He’d sat back up after his breathing evened out and taken her with him, her legs on either side of his and her head on his shoulder. It was an unquestionably sexual position with both of them nude, but this felt affectionate… as the sex had felt like so much more. Now, from the way Fox was running his hand slowly over her back, it was clear he was pleasing himself as much as he was pleasing her. That did things to her she didn’t want to accept, didn’t want to think about.

“Bullshitted with the guys,” he said in answer, the vibration of his voice against her another small but potent intimacy. “Played some music. It was good.”

Molly went to speak, closed her mouth, afraid she’d break this moment. The way Fox had touched her, possessed her; the way he’d held her gaze to the very end; the way he’d so gently kissed her cheeks, her nose, her closed eyelids after the pleasure caught them both in its relentless current; it was more than she’d ever expected. Warm and strong and protective around her, he was everything, everything she’d never dared dream of. Why did he have to be from a world she could never survive?

Throat thick, she pressed a kiss to his collarbone, staying tucked up against him. “Thank you for stealing Noah’s boat.” For coming to her.

“You always let strange men in at night?”

Molly’s lips kicked up at the corners, the terrifying emotion that threatened to rip her apart woven through with a playfulness Fox alone seemed to awaken. “Only rock stars I’m banging.”

His laughter rumbled against her, his growling bite at her throat making her smile deepen. She was so happy. “It’s my turn to help close up the library tomorrow,” she said, trying not to worry about the inevitable flip side to this painful happiness, “so I have a later start. We can have a nice breakfast.” She didn’t want him to go, wanted to hold on for every minute, every second that he was hers.

Fox brushed aside her hair to bare her cheek. “About your father.” He stroked his other hand over the bare curve of her hip. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

Molly had been hoping he wouldn’t want to discuss the topic, though she’d known the hope was a foolish one. “It happened a long time ago.” She’d quietly begun to use her mother’s last name at eighteen, instead of her father’s, closing the chapter on that part of her history.

“You turned me down for dinner today because of it. It matters.” Wrapping his arms around her until she felt warm and safe and shielded from the cruelty of the world, he said, “You matter.”

Her barriers shattered. “It was all so sordid.” Swallowing the jagged rock in her throat, she fisted her hands against his chest and lifted her face to his. “All my life, I grew up with people idolizing my father—youngest politician ever to hold such a critical post, part of the ruling party, landslide victor of a major seat he continuously held through multiple elections, active in charities, smart, handsome, witty.”

Molly, too, had adored him—until she’d grown old enough to see through the illusion and her mother’s desperate fantasies, begun to understand that Patrick Buchanan cared only about himself. “Then he was busted with that girl my age, from my own school, in the back seat of his car, and I saw the other side of fame.”

Patrick Buchanan had been charged with statutory rape, though the girl, the child, had insisted it was consensual. “They released him on bail because he was a ‘pillar of the community,’ but the press hounded him.” She’d often wondered if her parents would both still be alive if the judge had made a different decision. “They camped out in front of the house night and day.”

Fox’s arms tightened. “Ah, hell, baby.”

“At least he deserved it, but they also hounded my mother. Asking her how she felt. How did they think she felt?” Her voice rose as old anger, old pain, had her thumping her bone-white fists against his chest. “I was in the car one day when a reporter shoved a microphone through the window as we left the drive and asked her if my father made deviant sexual requests in the bedroom.” Molly had almost thrown up.

Fox muttered some brutal words, cradling the side of her face with one big hand, his other arm steel around her.

“I was protected from any direct questions by the fact I was a minor,” she continued, the words shoving to get out after having been suffocated for nine long years, “but everyone at school knew.” Name suppression had been pointless when the photos of her father with the girl had been plastered across the Internet, the original images taken by a jealous boy who’d followed his fifteen-year-old girlfriend to the assignation.

“That’s when I learned how cruel people can be.” The boy who’d originally posted the photos had ended up in serious trouble, too, for distributing sexual images of a minor, but the damage was done. “I didn’t defend myself at first—I knew it was that poor girl who continued to stick by my father, saying they were ‘in love,’ who was the true victim.” Instead, Molly had taken blow after blow in penance, her soul bruised black and blue.

“Then”—she took a shuddering breath and buried her face against his shoulder, the memory vicious—“someone set up a page about me on a website we all used, calling me a slut and a whore and saying I’d probably had something going on with my father.” Nauseated, she’d curled over in the computer lab, dry heaving as her classmates stared… or sniggered. “I’d never even been kissed, but boys I didn’t know started posting that I’d done sexual things with them, that I was a ‘freak.’ I knew I had to fight back then or they’d break me.”

“Hey.” Fox’s hand on the back of her head. “The shitheads don’t matter.”

Shaking from the ugliness of the memories, she tried to curl impossibly deeper into him. “It wasn’t the bullies who did the real harm, it was the way the people I’d thought were my friends joined in.” The exclusive all-girls private school her father had insisted she attend, because that was where the child of a man of his “stature” should go, had turned overnight into a toxic hothouse.

Furious her tears wouldn’t stop falling, she swiped her hands across her cheeks. “Suddenly I wasn’t being invited over for sleepovers and birthday parties, and even the people who didn’t join in with the bullies looked uncomfortable when I walked by.” Charlotte alone had never turned her back, Molly’s small, fierce, loyal defender.

“I heard the other students gossiping about how I groomed my friends for my father, even though I didn’t know the girl at the center of it all.” The two of them hadn’t had a single class together. “Then the media reported children’s services had been to the house to see if I needed to be removed, and it was read as confirmation of the rumors. It was ugly.”

“Fuck, baby, you must’ve been strong as hell to stick it out,” Fox said, his voice holding a taut, angry tension. “Most kids would’ve left school for home study.”

“I did that later, when I was told I was being transferred to a public school.” Traumatized from her parents’ deaths after a horrific year, she’d had no resources left to deal with a whole new set of bullies. To their credit, children’s services hadn’t argued with her decision, instead helping her enroll in an accredited correspondence course.

“But back at the start,” she continued through a throat that felt as if it had been shredded by a steel grater, “I was determined to show them all.” It was teeth-gritted rage that had driven her. “Now I look back and wonder why it was so important to me when I hated most of my schoolmates by the end of the first week after it began.”

“No, I get it.” Fox kissed the side of her face, his embrace a living barrier against the darkness. “Part of the reason I raised so much hell as a teenager was to show my mother I didn’t give a shit.”

Chapter 14

Fox never spoke about his mother beyond the obvious, but when Molly raised her head, wiping the backs of her hands over her eyes to rid herself of the remnants of her tears before touching her fingers to his face, he knew she was about to ask for more. He would answer. After the brutal honesty of what she’d shared, to do anything else was unthinkable.

“Your mother, you were mad at her because she left you as a baby?” Her own eyes were yet bruised from the ugly memories of her teenage years, but her voice was painfully gentle, as if she was afraid of hurting him.

Fuck, what the hell was he going to do about this? Because no damn way was he walking away from Molly. “That was the best thing she ever did for me,” he said. “My mother was young, couldn’t handle a child.” He shrugged. “Gramps and Grammy might’ve been old-fashioned, not overly expressive, but I was safe, healthy, happy.”

One of his earliest memories of his mother was of her telling him to “Behave,” because his grandparents had been very good about putting off their retirement plans to look after him. So he’d always known he wasn’t a choice his grandparents had made—but that hadn’t mattered. Not when they’d never treated him as if he was just a responsibility.

“My mother used to come by now and then.” His muscles tensed, anger a dark burn beneath his skin. “She’d bring me gifts, play a game or two, then be gone.” For days afterward, her perfume—floral and rich—would linger in the house. That was how he knew she came to visit other times, too, while he was at school or with friends. He hadn’t been jealous about that. “I knew she was my mother,” he told Molly, “but to me, she felt more like a distant aunt, so I never felt neglected or treated unfairly. Gramps and Grammy were my parents.”

Molly pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, her hands stroking his nape—as if she knew what was coming was going to be bad.

Holding her close, he opened the doorway to the echoes of a lost little boy’s grief. “When I was seven, my grandmother died, and my grandfather followed three weeks later.” It had destroyed his world.

Molly hugged him tight, her tears quiet. Burying his face against her neck, he breathed in the warm, sweet scent of her and told her the rest. “I went to live with my mother and her family.”

Molly sucked in a breath.

“Yeah,” he said with a twist of his lips, “she’d pulled herself together a couple of years after she had me, married into money and had another child, a girl three years younger than me.” He clenched his hand against Molly’s spine. “Turned out she’d never told her Ivy League husband about me, and the prick refused to bring up ‘some piece of trash’ she’d had off a stranger in a club.”

“Prick is too nice a word.” Molly pulled back to look him in the eye, her expression livid in a way he’d never seen, not even when they’d fought. “Who says that in front of a grieving child? He deserves to be horsewhipped, the useless waste of space.”

Fox found himself grinning, the last thing he’d ever have expected. “Trust me, I’ve had a few fantasies along those lines—before I realized the limp-dicked fucker wasn’t worth it.”

Kissing him in that way she had of doing, one that always made his grin deepen, Molly said, “I’m sorry you had to live with such ugliness,” and brushed her fingers through his hair.

Fox’s smile faded. “I didn’t—to cut a long story short, the prick told my mother it was either him or me, and she chose him. I was placed in a boarding school in another state and left there to rot.” No way to dress it up and he’d stopped trying to convince himself otherwise a hell of a long time ago. “It was an expensive place, a sop to her conscience I guess. As she led me inside, she said, ‘I love you, Zachary,’ and it was the first time in my life anyone had ever spoken those words to me.”

Hearing the way he bit off the declaration, Molly knew the damage done that day had been brutal. Fox likely never again wanted to hear those words, wouldn’t trust them if he did.

“I was never invited back to their house,” he continued in the same harsh tone, “spent my vacations at the school and, later, at Noah’s house. My mother visited about twice a year, when I suppose she could sneak around the prick—or when she could be bothered.” He leaned back against the sofa, his fingers digging into her hips as his grip tightened. “When I was ten, I told her I didn’t want to see her again.”

Molly’s chest throbbed with an ache that made her eyes hot, but she didn’t allow her sadness for the boy he’d been to show. Fox, she knew instinctively, was too proud to accept that. Instead, she ran her hand down to tug at one of his, twining their fingers together when he allowed her to take it. Neither did she ask him if his mother had listened to what had been a desperate cry for love disguised as anger—his face told her the truth.

“Thank you for trusting me.” Grazing the rigid line of his jaw with her fingertips, she rubbed her nose gently against his. “I know that can’t have been easy.”

“It’s not exactly a secret.” He thrust his free hand through his hair. “The tabloids and gossip sites dug up every dirty detail of my life as soon as Schoolboy Choir hit the big time.”

“Mine wasn’t secret either,” she pointed out. “It still hurts to talk about it.”

His brow darkened. “I’m a man. I don’t have feelings.”

“Ha-ha.” A deep tenderness in her veins that she knew was going to get her into bad, bad trouble, the kind of trouble that could permanently scar, she kissed him on a wave of heartbreaking emotion. The contact helped heal the torn-up places inside her, at least a little.

She hoped it did the same for him.

His hands warm on her lower back, he pressed his forehead against hers afterward, their breath mingling. “I have a plan for Sydney.”

Molly stifled her immediate negative reaction, unable to back away after the emotional honesty of the past few minutes. Fox, she thought, wouldn’t be so tender with her, only to disregard her deepest fear. “Tell me.”

“You’re going to be a roadie.”

Blinking, she stared at him. “I am?”

“Yep. Stick a Schoolboy Choir crew cap on your head, give you a pair of big, black-framed glasses and a clipboard, and you’ll become invisible to the media.” A coaxing kind of a kiss, his hand cupping her nape. “Say yes, Molly.” Wickedness in the smoky green.

Molly felt her heart catch; she’d much rather see him this way than angry and hurt.

His next words were as wicked as his gaze, as his smile. “I don’t think my cock will survive a weekend without you.”

It wasn’t the most romantic invitation, but that did nothing to alter the fact that he was planning to go to a lot of trouble to have her with him. Her, Molly, when he could have any woman for the taking at the concert. Inhaling a deep breath, she seriously considered his suggestion. No one would ever mistake her for a starlet or supermodel, especially with the crew accoutrements Fox had suggested, and if she dressed down as she assumed the crew did.

It wasn’t as if she’d run the risk of a reporter spontaneously recognizing her from the old scandal. Molly Buchanan had been a late-blooming and gawky teen with braces whose breasts had barely budded. Molly Webster was a twenty-four-year-old with a rock star for a lover, a rock star who loved her curves. So long as she didn’t do anything to make someone pay specific attention to her past, no one would ever connect the girl with the woman. Her colleagues at the library certainly hadn’t.

“I think,” she said, adrenaline pumping through her veins, “I like the idea of being undercover.”

“That’s my Molly.” This time his kiss was unashamedly sexual, his arousal long and thick against her inner thigh. Breathing in shallow pants when he broke the kiss, she watched his mouth as he spoke, his lip ring an outward sign of who he was: Fox wasn’t a bad boy—he was the harder, more demanding, grown-up version.

“We’ll fly out on different flights,” he told her. “That’ll make sure no one connects the two of us.” Hands on her thighs, he smiled that smile, the one that dared her to do naughty, naughty things. “Ride me.”

“I…I’ve never…” Sucking in air, heat rising up her body in a lush pink wave that made Fox cuddle her closer, she admitted the truth. “Not on my own.” He’d always helped her. “Teach me how.”

He used the hand he had on the back of her neck to haul her down to his mouth, his tongue thrusting aggressively between her lips. “You’re gonna kill me,” he said afterward, cheekbones painted with a red flush. “I never was into the whole professor-student deal, but I’ve changed my mind.”

“Fox.” She tugged at his lip ring in retaliation for the sensual teasing, playfully threatening to pull it off.

Smile deep, he positioned her until the blunt head of his cock nudged at her, but he didn’t allow her to push down. “Use your hand to guide me.” He cupped her jaw, holding her in place for what she’d come to think of as a “just because” kiss, indulging himself in her.

It made her melt.

“Professor Fox,” he said against her lips, “promises to grade you fairly.”

“You,” she said, a wild sensual joy within, “shouldn’t be set loose on unsuspecting women.”

An unrepentant look. “Class is in session, Miss Webster.”

So wet it would’ve been embarrassing if she weren’t with Fox, with whom nothing was taboo, she reached down between them to close her hand over his thickness.

“Ah, damn, that feels good.”

Her breasts aching at that masculine growl, Molly discovered a long-hidden streak of wickedness within herself. “Enough for an A?”

“The exam”—the tendons in Fox’s neck strained taut—“is ongoing.” He hissed out a breath as she took the first inch of his rigid length inside her, her tissues stretching deliciously.

“Oh.” Removing her hand, she pushed down, eager to feel all of him.

Fox shuddered, one strong arm locked around her upper back, his other hand on her thigh. “Move on me, baby.”

He kissed her endlessly as she rocked on him, his free hand shifting to lie on her butt, urging her into a faster rhythm. She might’ve been the one on top, Molly thought before thinking became a vain hope, but Fox was in charge. The insight only made her wetter, needier, and soon the only sounds in the room were those of their rasped breaths and of skin slapping on skin.

When she came apart in his arms on a breathless scream, her vision hazing, he held her close and whispered, “My beautiful Molly.”

Another piece of her heart splintered away.

A second later, he thrust deep, holding himself there as he came in an intimate pulse inside her. One hand in his hair, her other arm around the width of his shoulders, she held him through his pleasure, emotion a knot inside her chest… and spluttered with surprised laughter when he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her throat and said, “We need to schedule a retest as soon as possible—it appears Professor Fox has difficulty grading and fucking at the same time.”

Molly spent the rest of the week attempting to come to terms with the fact she was about to fly off for a secret weekend with Zachary Fox, rock star, and the most intriguing, complex, and gorgeous man she’d ever known. Charlotte, when they met for lunch on Thursday, dragged her off to a designer lingerie shop. “You have a smoking-hot man who wants to do you six ways to Sunday. I say this calls for ridiculously expensive French lingerie.”

A fluttering sensation in her abdomen, Molly spent the next ten minutes touching the rich fabrics and laces, buttery and soft. “I can’t afford most of this.” She kept her voice to a whisper so the sales assistant wouldn’t give them the evil eye.

“Liar.” A poke in the ribs. “You might not be rich, but you hoard any extra money you have.”

That was the trouble with having a best friend who knew her so well. “What’s the point of buying lingerie that’ll stay on for five seconds at most?” she muttered instead of thinking about why it was so important to her to have a nest egg tucked away.

“Five seconds?” Charlotte put a hand over her heart with a dramatic sigh. “Wait while I have an orgasm.”

“What, you still haven’t jumped T-Rex? Even now that you two are attached at the hip?” To her best friend’s shock and Molly’s glee, Charlotte had been promoted to T-Rex’s personal assistant without warning.

Anya, meanwhile, had been given her marching orders.

Charlotte made a face at her. “Why would I want to jump a man who yells at me one minute and leaves chocolate cake on my desk the next?”

“What?” Paying for the decadent bra-and-panty set she hadn’t been able to resist, Molly pointed a finger at her best friend. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Hah! More like I’ve been protecting you from the madness,” Charlotte said as they walked out, her eyebrows drawn ominously together. “This is only my second day in the position, but he’s already driving me insane. Yesterday he made me work till ten at night, caused me to miss a date with Ernest—”

Not giving herself time to second-guess her reaction, Molly said, “What you and Ernest are doing isn’t called dating, Charlie.”

Charlotte folded her arms, a mutinous expression on her face. “So maybe he hasn’t made a move—”

“After a year.” Molly didn’t normally push Charlotte on this topic because she knew why her friend made the choices she did, but Charlotte was definitely reacting to T-Rex, and it was the first positive sign of deep healing Molly had seen in her. She’d be no kind of best friend if she didn’t nudge that healing along. “Doesn’t Ernest spend the whole time telling you about his model-airplane collection?”

A glare. “I admit he’s a bit obsessed with his models, but he’s small like me, kind, and he doesn’t raise his voice at me.”

“You know I like Ernest; he’s a lovely, sweet man.” She bumped her shoulder against Charlotte’s. “I understand why you want to be attracted to him”—the reason a heartbreaking one—“but the truth is you aren’t.”

Charlotte ducked her head, not saying anything.

Refusing to give up, Molly said, “You convinced me to be brave. I think you can be, too.”

“I’m not like you, you know that.”

“Do I?” Molly shook her head. “You said you were in awe of me for standing up to Queen Bitchface, but I remember you telling off the worst clique in the school until they crawled off with their tails between their legs.” Her best friend had been a tiny blonde fury that day.

“It’s different when it’s someone I love. When it’s me…” Charlotte swallowed, her next words a rasped whisper. “He scares me.”

Her hope for Charlotte flickering under the sudden cold front of her friend’s words, Molly drew Charlotte to a bench in the nearby square, the falling water of the fountain quiet music in the background. “T-Rex?” Receiving a nod, she put her hand over Charlotte’s. “Are you afraid to be around him?” If her instincts had led her in the wrong direction and this guy was—

“No,” Charlotte said before Molly’s mind could continue along that disturbing path. “No, not like that.” She checked her watch. “We better go—we’ll be late getting back to work.”

“I’ll make up the time.” This conversation was too important to abandon. “And since T-Rex didn’t let you leave till ten last night, I’m sure he can’t argue against a long lunch today.”

“Yes, he can.” It was a grumpy response.

“Do I need to storm the battlements and steal you away from his clutches?”

“Ha-ha.” Charlotte bit down on her lower lip before blurting out, “He scares me because of the way he makes me react. Sometimes I want to grab that tie of his and—”

“Do the kind of things I’ve been doing with my rock star?”

Charlotte’s blush was adorable. “Only in my more insane moments.” She pushed up her glasses in a quick, nervous movement. “Have you seen how big he is?”

“Sexy big.” All wide shoulders and heavy muscle, though he had nothing on Fox as far as Molly was concerned. “Also, you shouldn’t expect rational advice from me—I brought a man home after meeting him in an elevator.”

Charlotte’s shoulders shook, eyes gleaming. “Now you’re about to head off with him for a dirty, dirty weekend.”

Molly dropped her head in her hands. “What am I doing, Charlie?”

“I told you,” her friend said softly, “being the brave one.” She jumped as her cell phone rang. “It’s His Carnivorousness,” she muttered after glancing at the caller display, then answered in a professional tone. “Hello, Charlotte speaking.”

A pause, Molly watching in interest as Charlotte’s eyes sparked fire.

“Yes, I realize that,” her best friend said, still in that polite tone. “However, I did work well beyond my contracted hours yesterday.”

Another pause. Charlie’s teeth gritted as her fingers clenched on the phone. “Yes, I am,” she said in response to whatever she’d heard. “In fact, we’re about to check into a hotel.”

Molly squeaked, slapped a hand over her mouth. “Did you just tell your boss you were about to check into a hotel with Ernest?” she asked when Charlotte stabbed the End key.

Charlotte’s eyes went huge. “Oh God!” she wailed, as if only now realizing what she’d done. “I told you he was driving me insane.”

Molly nudged Charlotte’s head between her knees when her friend began to hyperventilate. “Breathe, Charlie.”

It took several minutes, Charlotte’s face bright red even after she’d sat up for another couple of minutes. “I can’t go back to the office now. I’ll have to quit.”

“No, you don’t.” Delighted that dealing with T-Rex was forcing Charlotte out of hiding, Molly dragged her to her feet and walked her to her office. Charlotte’s breathing was choppy again by the time she stepped through the automatic doors.

“Be brave,” Molly mouthed when her friend paused in the open doorway and looked over her shoulder.

A shaky smile, then Charlotte squared her shoulders and mouthed the same thing back at her. Be brave.

Chapter 15

Having taken two days off work, Molly stepped out of the Arrivals gate at Sydney Airport early afternoon the next day to find a driver waiting for her. He held a sign that said only SC Crew. Already in her roadie disguise, complete with jeans, cap, and a long-sleeved, checked shirt, she followed him to the car and got in. No one seemed to pay her any special attention—either at the airport, or when she checked into the hotel—though according to Fox, she had the room that directly connected with his.

His room wasn’t booked under his name, of course, but that of another roadie. The other man was having a luxurious time up on the penthouse floor with the other members of the band while Fox and Molly had the invaluable gift of privacy.

As she walked into her room, having brought up her own luggage—a single wheeled suitcase—she couldn’t help but think how smooth the whole operation had been to this point. That, of course, led her mind to wonder how many times Fox had done this type of thing before and with how many different women. She’d grown up with a man who juggled women like multicolored balls, knew how—

“Stop, Molly!” She cut off the hurtful train of thought the instant she realized where she was headed, annoyed with herself for doing her best to ruin the weekend before it began.

Fox wasn’t her father.

In fact, the two men didn’t even belong to the same species. Her father had been a particular kind of slime, and it wasn’t the fifteen-year-old girl he’d been discovered with who’d been his first victim. Thea’s mother, Lily, had been an innocent and trusting nineteen-year-old when he’d seduced her after convincing her that his marriage was about to end, only to arrange for her deportation when she fell pregnant.

Linking Fox to Patrick in any way was an insult to Fox.

With that mental reminder, she dumped her luggage on the stand in the corner, then pushed aside the curtains to expose an incredible view of Darling Harbour. The water glittered under the bright sunlight, the restaurants and cafés around it busy with locals and tourists both, while yellow water taxis bobbed at the nearest edge.

“This is the life,” she murmured, shaking her head.

What in the world was she doing here?

A glance at the connecting door gave her the answer. Beyond it lay the room and the bed of a man who’d become her addiction. He made her come alive in ways she’d never believed she could, had taught her she had the capacity to feel with a wild passion she hadn’t thought existed inside her. What would she do when he left?

The stab of pain in her gut was answer enough.

Walking over to the connecting door before the promise of future agony could paralyze her, she undid the lock on her side and tried the handle. It turned easily and while the room beyond was empty, she knew without a doubt it was Fox’s. His aftershave lingered in the air, one of his T-shirts was thrown across the bed, and a blue-green guitar pick lay on the bedside table. It was the one he’d used when he’d come to her house, the one that was his second favorite.

Smiling, she picked it up from the pile of papers on the bedside table. Blank sheet music, she noted absently, then realized not all the pages were blank. The one partially sticking out at the bottom had notations made in the light blue ink of the hotel pen that had rolled to lie against the lampstand.

She touched her fingers to the notes, feeling as if she’d glimpsed a secret. She’d known Fox had written a number of Schoolboy Choir’s songs, the majority in concert with David, but she hadn’t realized he had formal musical training. It simply made him more fascinating, made her wonder how many more facets of him she hadn’t glimpsed… would never get the chance to know.

She only had him for three more weeks, a blink in a lifetime.

Breathing past the melancholy thought, she tidied up the pages, then walked back into her own room, leaving the door open. Since the flight had only been a quick three hours, she wasn’t tired, and the idea of sitting in her hotel room didn’t appeal. She was considering heading down to grab a coffee at one of the harborside cafés when there was a brisk knock on the door.

Opening it, she found herself facing not a member of the hotel staff but a bearded man dressed in a Schoolboy Choir T-shirt, the black fabric stretched over a significant beer gut and tucked into faded blue jeans. On his head was a battered New York Yankees cap, and around his neck hung a nametag that identified him as part of the band’s crew.

“You Molly?” He grunted, then looked down at his clipboard. “Yep, you’re her.” With that, he thrust a lanyard and attached nametag at her. “Make sure you don’t lose that. It’s your passport backstage—without it, security will throw you out.”

Molly placed the lanyard around her neck, the photo on it a shot Fox had taken with his phone one night after dinner. “Got it.” She turned and grabbed the small backpack she’d carried on the plane.

Grunting again, the man scratched at the salt and pepper of his beard, then nodded at her to follow him. “So, you actually know any shit or are you just here to fuck Fox?”

His tone was so matter-of-fact that Molly answered before embarrassment could steal her tongue. “Fox must trust you a lot.”

A narrow-eyed look. “Hmm. Brains.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Maxwell. Don’t call me Max.”

“Nice to meet you, Maxwell. Are you the roadie in chief?”

“Roadie in chief?” He let out a deep laugh, slapping his beer belly. “Yeah, that’s me. I think I’m gonna put that on my business cards. Maxwell, Roadie in Chief.”

Laughing along with him, his amusement good-natured rather that mocking, she said, “Where are we going?”

“Out to where the band’s performing tomorrow night.” He stuck his pencil behind his ear, scowled again. “Never done anything this big this fast before, but it’s sick babies. Whattaya gonna do?”

“You flew down for this?” Molly had expected the band to just turn up on a temporary stage with borrowed equipment… but of course not. They had a reputation for the caliber of their concerts, would certainly not shortchange the charity or their fans by putting on a mediocre show.

“Boys flew our whole team down,” Maxwell told her. “Impossible to set up a show this big with a new crew, even with things stripped down to the basics.” Adjusting his cap, he led her out through a side entrance that exited into an open-air parking lot. “Today’s all about fine-tuning things, making sure the setup will work with the boys when they get going.”

Molly paused when Maxwell slid open the back door of a van and placed his clipboard on top of what looked like electronic equipment. “You know,” she said after he slid the door shut, hoping he wouldn’t take offense, “I don’t really know you and you want me to get in a black van with tinted windows.”

Booming laughter. “Yep. Brains.” Pulling out his phone with that pleased statement, he brought up the band’s website and took her to the Photos section. “Here.”

There was Maxwell with his arm around a sweaty post-concert Fox. Underneath were the words: Fox and Man-In-Charge-of-Everything, Maxwell, after the Chicago show.

“Convinced I don’t plan to drive you into the outback and feed you to the kangaroos?” Maxwell asked, a twinkle in his pale blue eyes.

Grinning, she said, “Can I look at the other photos?”

“Sure.” He handed her the phone. “If it rings, answer it for me—and by the way, you’re meant to be the roadie version of an intern, so nobody’s going to expect you to know much anyway.”

Molly waited until she’d belted herself in and Maxwell was pulling out before saying, “That’s clever.” She thought she’d kept her voice light and nonconfrontational, but Maxwell shot her a sideways look.

“Yeah, Fox’s clever.” A short pause. “Hasn’t ever used that brain of his to get a woman backstage incognito before though. Never snuck around with any woman, as a matter of fact. Always liked that about him—he doesn’t mess with women who aren’t free to play.”

Molly wanted to squirm and avoid the issue, but the fact was, she was the one who’d put Fox in this position with someone who was clearly important enough to him that he’d trusted the other man with the truth, and she had to own up to it. “I’m free,” she said quietly. “I just don’t want to be famous.”

Maxwell nodded. “Fair enough. Can’t escape being famous if you’re with Fox, though, so you better get used to the idea soon.”

Molly didn’t say anything to that—it was obvious Maxwell thought this was a long-term relationship given the effort Fox had gone to for her. Her fingernails dug into her palms, the idea of having Fox as her own a powerfully seductive one. It didn’t matter that she knew the relationship would never last in the hothouse atmosphere of a rock star’s life; this was her fantasy… at least for a short while longer.

It made her stomach hurt to imagine opening a magazine one day in the future and seeing him in the arms of another woman. A woman who would be right for him because she could survive in the environment in which he thrived, the roar of the crowds and the glare of the lights electricity in his blood.

Staring out the window until she could breathe again, she finished going through the photos on the band’s website. They told a story—of friendship, camaraderie, music, and parties. So many parties. So many beautiful women. All of them in skimpy clothes worn over taut, toned bodies, bodies that were usually draped over one member of the band or another.

Including Fox.

She closed the browser and put the phone in the cup holder. The photos hadn’t shown her anything she hadn’t already known—the fantasy was wonderful, but the harsh reality was that their lives and worlds were poles apart, would never again intersect after this month was over. Again, that stabbing in her abdomen, sharp and brutal, her throat thick.

“Here we go.” Maxwell drove through metal security gates after waving at the guards, and into what appeared to be a massive playing field or park with an unexpectedly solid-appearing temporary stage set up on one end.

Hopping out once they’d parked, Molly put on her fake glasses and helped Maxwell carry some of his more delicate equipment to the electronic nerve center of the concert, all of the audio and lights controlled by technology Molly had as much hope of understanding as she had of flying a fighter jet. That was when she saw Fox—he was on the stage with one of his bandmates. The blond one.

Noah.

The other man had recently been featured in a magazine article about the world’s most beautiful people, but it was to Fox alone that her eyes were drawn. Even dressed in one of his ubiquitous black T-shirts and a pair of old jeans, he exuded strength and a lazy sexuality as he and Noah apparently tested the sound system using electric guitars. She’d known he played one but had never had the chance to watch him perform live, was fascinated by how he held and moved with the instrument.

The guitar was gleaming red, of course.

Her lips curved.

“Don’t watch him like that if you want this to work.”

Coloring at Maxwell’s low-voiced warning, Molly turned away… just as Fox glanced at her. Her body responded to the touch of that smoky-green gaze as it always did, but aware of how many other people moved around them, she pinned her eyes to Maxwell’s back and became his shadow for the rest of the afternoon. While it was difficult to keep her attention off the man for whom she’d come here, she didn’t have to feign interest in the work it took to set up a big show—even a “stripped down” one.

There was the big stuff like setting up the stage and any pyrotechnics, but all that had been done already. Today, it was about going over the myriad tiny details, from making dead sure each of the speakers around the grounds was functioning as it should, to checking the individual lamps in the light system, to ensuring catering staff knew what to bring in for band and crew both, to confirming that there was a fridge backstage for the water and sports drinks.

Maxwell had every one of those thousand-and-one things on a mental checklist and he used Molly like she was a real intern.

Dropping her bag to the floor when she returned to the hotel room, Molly took off the black-framed glasses she’d worn for the past hours and flopped down on her back in bed. “I hope you pay Maxwell what he’s worth,” she said to the half-naked man who’d come to lean in the doorway between their rooms.

“Why do you think he’s still with us?” Prowling over, Fox straddled her supine body, the top button on his jeans undone to reveal a hint of dark hair.

Oh, but he was beautiful.

With that mental sigh, she placed her hands on his abdomen and shivered at the flex of all that gorgeous muscle as he leaned down to nibble at her lips.

“Sorry I left you to Maxwell’s devices.” Whiskey and hard rock, his voice had her nipples beading against the cotton of her bra, the heat of his body another kiss.

“It’s part of my cover.” Her breath caught at the sensation of his mouth on her throat. “I could hardly leave with the band when I’m meant to be learning the ropes.”

“Are you telling me you’re too tired?” Raising his head from her throat, he settled his lower body more heavily against her.

“I,” she somehow managed to say, her breasts swelling and lower body clenching, “am telling you I need a bath and a massage.”

A deeper smile, the dimple lean against his cheek. “Since they both involve your naked body”—words punctuated by kisses that made her smile even as they made her want—“I’m willing to make the arrangements.” Petting her breasts with bold possessiveness, he pushed off her and the bed. “Stay there.”

Since he’d turned her limbs to jelly, Molly had no trouble obeying. She heard him turn on the water and then he walked back into the room. “Let’s get you naked while the bath’s filling.”

“You know,” she said, teeth sinking into her lower lip and her mind blaring a warning she ignored, “we spend a lot of our time together naked.”

Fox’s expression was pure sin as he tugged off her sneakers and socks. “Are you complaining?”

“I’m not insane.” Being naked with Fox was the experience of a lifetime, but part of her wished they could do things like the market more often, like any ordinary couple. Her chest ached at the idea of it.

She knew it was her fault that they couldn’t. Fox hadn’t ever wanted to treat her like a dirty little secret. She was the one who’d made that choice, decided to hide what was becoming a relationship she knew she’d never forget, even if she lived to be a hundred years old.

One month. Don’t let the pain to come steal your one glorious month with him.

Swallowing her tears, she held out her hand to the rock star who kept slicing away pieces of her heart.

Chapter 16

Fox slid into the bath behind Molly, luxuriating in having her here. He knew it was a big step for the woman whose smile had captivated him and whose heart, intelligence, and honest, generous sensuality now held him prisoner. He intended to do everything in his power to make her see his life through a less aggressive and less terrifying lens. Being a roadie wasn’t the same as being his, but it provided a gentle, easy introduction to his world—because he wanted, needed her with him, and he’d do whatever it took to convince her to take a chance on him.

The hard stuff… yeah, that could wait until she’d committed to him.

Turning her face, she kissed his jaw. “I missed you last night.”

He’d missed her, too, hating the cold loneliness of the hotel bed. Now, cupping the heavy warmth of her breasts from behind, he took her mouth in ravenous demand, soothing the ragged edges of his need enough that he could take this slow. “How was dinner with Thea and Charlotte?” Meeting her best friend was on his agenda—Charlotte was clearly important to Molly, and so the other woman was important to Fox.

“I made a Thai mango-chicken salad. It was a success.” She softened against him as he moved his hands from her breasts to massage her shoulders and arms, aware how hard Maxwell could work his people.

Molly sighed and closed her eyes, the quiet expression of trust his undoing. “Can I just stay here?”

Grabbing the loofah she’d fished out of her toiletries case, he squeezed some liquid soap onto it. “No,” he said, smoothing the puffy, girly thing over her body for the simple pleasure of touching her. “I fucking hate cold water.”

Her laugh was startled, her eyes sparkling when she looked up. As she sassed him about being a tough-guy rocker, he thought of the wistfulness he’d sensed in her when she’d spoken of the amount of time they spent in bed and promised himself they’d do something silly and touristy and fun together in Sydney.

He wanted to take his Molly on a date.

Molly slept in Fox’s arms. The first time she woke, it was to the thick heat of him sliding inside her; the second time, she found herself alone, though the pale morning light told her it wasn’t yet time to go to the site—and Fox would’ve woken her for that anyway. Sitting up, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and looked around for a note. It was scrawled on a slip of hotel paper thrust under the radio alarm clock.

David fucked up. Gone to see what I can do.—Fox

David? The one the press called the Gentleman of Rock?

Frowning, she pushed off the comforter Fox must’ve covered her with before he left, his body heat more than sufficient to keep her warm when he was with her. She had to have slept through a phone call. Or Fox had already been up and grabbed it before it could wake her—her rock star, she’d learned, was a surprisingly early riser. Hoping David wasn’t in too much trouble, she showered and dressed for the day before calling Fox. It went straight to voice mail.

“It’s Molly,” she said. “Just wanted to say I hope it’s nothing serious. Talk to you when you get back.”

Since she didn’t know if Fox would return before she had to meet up with the crew, she decided to go down to the hotel’s breakfast buffet. “Mind if I join you?” she asked when she saw Maxwell sitting alone at a table in the relatively empty dining room.

“I never say no to a pretty girl.”

Smiling, Molly went to get a bowl of cereal and some toast. There was fresh coffee waiting for her at the table when she returned, as well as a glass of orange juice. “Seriously,” she said, “this is the life.”

“Not after you eat the same crap weeks in a row.” Maxwell’s heavy black eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “When we’re on tour, sometimes all I want is a bowl of grits or old-fashioned oatmeal.”

Molly hadn’t considered the situation from a long-term perspective, and as soon as she did, she saw his point. It was nice to be waited on and to have so many options at the buffet, but she’d be hankering for her own cereal within days, as well as her favorite brand of tea. “Do you carry things from home to make it easier?”

“Yep. What you’re drinking, it’s the best damn coffee in the universe—I had the hotel restaurant brew up a pot from my stash.” He took a sip, sighed. “Different folks bring different things, but most everyone has at least a couple of items.”

Molly tried to think of what it must be like to be on the road weeks or months at a time and couldn’t quite comprehend it. It made her understand some of the “diva” requests occasionally reported in the media—for what often seemed an odd thing about which to throw a star tantrum. Food, though, was only the tip of the iceberg.

“You must miss your family,” she said, having learned yesterday that the crew boss had a wife he adored as well as two teenage children.

“Yeah, it can be tough, but the boys pay me well enough that both my boys go to a fancy private school where they rub shoulders with the children of diplomats.” Pride in his smile. “At least my kids think my job is awesome since I can get them and their friends into concerts now and then, so I don’t have the hassle of having to deal with resentment. As for Kim and me, we have phone sex down to an art.”

Molly choked on her coffee, heard Maxwell laughing that deep, chesty laugh as she tried to catch her breath. She mimed scrubbing the image from her mind, which furthered the laughter on his end, then said, “Do you know what happened with David?”

Sudden remoteness, the smile wiped away as if it had never existed. “Figure you’d best ask Fox.”

Coloring, Molly looked down at her breakfast. “Sorry,” she said quietly after realizing what she’d done. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

The friendly man sighed and reached out to pat her hand where it lay on the table. “No, I’m sorry for snapping at you—we’ve all been bitten so many times that we don’t trust anyone until they’re blood. Takes time to become blood.”

Molly met his gaze so he’d know there were no hard feelings. “I understand.” It wasn’t as if she was any different in the trust department.

Male voices sounded in the doorway a couple of seconds later, Fox walking in with David and a slender man she didn’t know. Spotting her and Maxwell, they headed over, grabbing food along the way. Fox put his plate down on her left, while David took her other side, and the unfamiliar man slid into the chair beside Maxwell. In a few minutes, the table was covered with more food than Molly could eat in a week.

“Don’t even ask,” David muttered when she glanced at his black eye, the bruise vivid against the golden brown of his skin.

Molly poured him coffee from the fresh carafe the waiter had just placed on the table. The drummer clearly needed it—it was obvious he’d spent the night in the long-sleeved, formal white shirt and black pants he wore, his jaw darkly stubbled. “Did you put ice on that eye?”

“That’s what I told him to do, but he’s too pigheaded.” The stranger stuck his hand across the table, his skin a warm, deep teak against the blue-gray of his suit. “Justin Chan, attorney for these idiots while they’re in the region.”

“Molly,” Fox growled, “stop looking at David like you want to give him a hug and smack him upside the head instead. If we were in New York, I’d call his mother and have her do it.”

“Don’t worry,” Justin said cheerily, “his folks will hear about it soon enough, and then he’ll have to explain if this is the kind of example he intends to set for his brothers.” A glance at David. “Wouldn’t want to be you, dude.”

“Oh, fuck.” David banged his head against the table. “I should’ve stayed in jail.”

Uh-oh. “Did you do something Thea’s going to have to wrangle?” Her sister had flown in late last night to be on hand for media interviews the band was doing today.

Lifting his head, David groaned. “Yes. Mary, Joseph, and the saints combined, yes.”

“She’s been working since genius here called me.” Fox bit into a piece of toast. “He was too chickenshit to call Thea himself.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Strong words, but the drummer’s tone was morose. “God, could I have screwed up any worse?”

Molly thought about it, then leaned in to whisper in David’s ear. “You might as well tell me your side of the story so I can spin it for you when Thea calms down.”

Shooting her a considering look out of a bloodshot and blackened eye, he slugged back his coffee and blew out a breath. “I decided to walk around the city last night. It’s something I do night before a concert.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “On the way back, I ducked into a bar to have a drink. It never crossed my mind that I’d be recognized. I’m the drummer—nobody ever pays attention to the fucking drummer.”

Fox snorted. “Bullshit. I’ve seen the stacks of fan mail.” Thigh pressing against Molly’s, he reached for the pats of butter beside her plate. “Mind?”

“Of course not.” Feeling playful and happy to see him, she closed her hand over the muscled strength of his thigh under the table, close to the zipper of his jeans.

It earned her a warning look that told her he’d get his revenge. Stomach tight, she stroked her hand lower down, leaving it there in an intimacy that coiled around her heart, and returned her attention to David. “So, someone recognized you?”

“Yep. The fuckwits decided they didn’t want a ‘pussy rock star’ in their fine establishment.” The insult was rife in his voice. “Like I was an airbrushed pop star, not a real goddamned musician.” Snarling at his toast, he bit off a hunk. “I had to defend my honor, didn’t I? Not my fucking fault the fucking bartender decided to call the cops just ’cause we broke a cheap-ass fucking table.”

Molly had never heard David swear before this morning, not even in interviews or going up against pushy paparazzi. “Hold on,” she said, wondering how much of that was leftover anger, and how much frustration at what this would do to his chances with Thea. “You were on your own, and you only came out with a black eye?”

David shrugged. “I was consistently the shortest guy in my grade until I hit seventeen. Shrimps get picked on—and my dad, he’s old school. Decided to teach me how to kick ass. No one ever picked on me a second time.”

His physicality something she would’ve never guessed at, Molly might have followed the conversational thread, but David fell to his breakfast with the concentration of a man who was done talking. She looked across the table to Justin. “Are you on call all the time?”

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.” The lawyer’s teeth flashed bright. “Good thing David’s victims were too embarrassed to press charges—I mean, what hard man gets beat up by a pussy rock star?”

Giving him the finger, David stayed focused on his bacon and eggs.

Fox, his thigh continuing to press intimately against hers, jerked his head at Maxwell. “You feel good about tonight?”

“Setup’s tight,” the other man said, and the conversation drifted in another direction.

It was maybe ten minutes later, while Molly was having her second cup of coffee, that she ended up alone with David, the others having gone to pick up more food from the buffet. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who gets into bar fights.”

No response.

“You’re crazy in love with her, aren’t you?” she said softly, having grasped the depth of his feelings yesterday when he’d oh-so-casually asked her about Thea when they were backstage. The painful need in his eyes had resonated with the emotions growing inside her.

David paused with his fork against the plate, his eyes staring out into nothing. “Until I can’t think. I need to get over it.”

“Did you—”

“I asked her out. Had this whole argument worked out about how we’d be perfect together, but she never even gave me a shot.” Fingers turning white on the metal, he said, “She cut me off so smoothly it was like being sliced off at the knees. Professional smile, distant eyes, gentle hand on my arm as she ushered me out of her office.” He shook his head. “It was such a kick in the teeth that I just went.”

Thea, Molly thought, was a smart woman who’d grown up cherished by two people who loved her and each other. The man Thea’s mother had married when Thea was two had always treated Thea as his eldest daughter, “and no damn ‘step’ about it,” as Thea had once quoted, love bright in her expression. Her two “baby” sisters, fourteen and fifteen respectively, saw her as their big sister and that was that—complete with teary phone calls about boys and complaints about being grounded.

Molly had met Thea’s family over video calls and thought they were wonderful.

However, Thea had also had the bad luck to fall into a long-term relationship with a man who hadn’t been able to handle her strength and growing success. Thea’s ex had cheated on her, then blamed her for it, saying she wasn’t woman enough to satisfy his needs.

Molly didn’t know if David was or wasn’t the right guy to help her sister get over that awful hurt, but any man sweet enough to be in love with her sister after such an icy rejection would at least treat her right, remind her that not all men were swine.

“Write a memo,” she said before any of the others returned to the table. “About all the reasons why you’d be perfect together, then e-mail it to her.”

David gave her a look that said he was questioning her sanity.

“Thea is surgically attached to her e-mail.” Molly had figured that out the third time she and Thea had coffee together. Her sister had been on her best behavior the first two times.

Molly had actually been happy to see Thea taking quick glances at her phone—it had felt like they were both relaxed enough to be themselves for the first time, bad habits and all. “She’ll read the memo because she can’t help herself,” Molly continued, “and if I know my sister”—which Molly thought she did, at least when it came to this aspect of Thea’s personality—“she’ll send you back a point-by-point rebuttal, so you’d better have your arguments ready.”

Having twisted to face her, David shook his head. “That is either the worst or the best advice ever.”

“Trust me.” Molly took another sip of coffee. “Thea likes brains and she likes determination.” Molly thought about it and decided to give him one other tiny piece of advice. “If you send her ‘I’m sorry I messed up’ flowers, steer clear of white roses.” When David raised an eyebrow, she gave him a succinct answer. “Ex.”

His jaw tightened. “Got it.”

Maxwell and Justin returned to the table then, Fox waylaid by staff and guests.

“Damn.” David put down his fork with a sigh as he too was spotted by a tableful of young men who, from their uniforms, looked like they were part of a high school sports team.

It wasn’t until twenty minutes later that they could both eat again. Justin and Maxwell left soon afterward to take care of other matters, but Molly stuck around, promising to meet Maxwell in the parking lot in a quarter of an hour.

“That’s why we mostly order room service,” David said after he’d cleared his plate.

Fox leaned back with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. “We tend to have suites next to one another, and since Noah’s always up before dawn, anyone else from the band who’s up for breakfast turns up at his suite. Maxwell and some of the other crew usually find their way there as well.”

“It’s like a family, isn’t it?” Molly snuck a strawberry from the bowl of fruit one of the men had brought back to the table.

“Depends on the people,” David said, “and how long we’ve worked together. Maxwell, he’s been with us since the first tour—most of the time, he treats us like his kids. Should piss us off, but he’s got some weird voodoo going on where none of us can get mad at him. Or if we do, we feel so ashamed we end up giving him a raise.”

Molly laughed when Fox nodded, his expression solemn. Then his cheeks creased and she had to dig her nails into her palms to resist the urge to kiss his smile right into her own mouth. “I better go.” She cleared her throat, her voice husky. “I have to grab my stuff and meet Maxwell.”

Fox squeezed her thigh under the table. “You’re mine after tonight.” It was a low murmur of sound that made David’s face fall.

Bending down to the drummer’s ear once she was on her feet, she said, “Memo,” and left, her heart slamming a rapid beat and her nape prickling in awareness of Fox’s gaze all the way to the door. She’d have to tell him to stop that or everyone would think he was hot after a roadie… but another part of her wanted to turn, to lock her eyes with his, tell the world he was hers.

Molly could barely breathe at the idea of being able to walk up to Fox in public, kiss him, smile with him. It made her lips curve, her body already turning to send him a last look when a flashbulb went off. Startled, she blinked to see that a fan too shy to go up to them was shooting photos of Fox and David from just inside the doorway.

Stomach queasy at that tiny exposure to the spotlight, she hurried out, the ugliness of the past a shadow she couldn’t escape. Damn her father! She blinked back tears, angry with Patrick Buchanan for the damage he’d done, with herself for not being able to forget the pain, with fate itself.

Chapter 17

Molly had never attended a live concert. By the time she was old enough to be interested and would’ve been permitted to go with her friends, the scandal had broken, permanently altering the course of her life.

To have her first experience be backstage at a Schoolboy Choir concert while the crowd thundered out front and Fox belted out lyrics that made her want to dance and drag him off to bed at the same time… wow

Halfway through the show, he and Noah were both shirtless and sweaty under the lights, their T-shirts thrown into the delirious knot of fans who’d paid a premium to stand in the mosh pit right in front of the stage.

Fox’s had been caught by a young woman who’d screamed and clutched it to her chest before pulling it on over her sparkly top, Noah’s by a guy who’d held it up like a trophy. The two fans were part of an enormous sold-out crowd. It was exhilarating to be buffeted by the roar of that crowd, feel the beat of the music under her feet, hear the growl of Fox’s voice, then the raw ferocity in it as the band slowed down to play a ballad about loss and redemption that had been penned by the keyboardist, Abe.

The brutal tenderness of it brought tears to her eyes where she leaned against one of the supports at the back of the stage, concealed in the shadows but with an amazing view. Winking at her when she’d admitted this was her first live concert, Maxwell had said she was off for the night unless something went wrong and he needed all hands on deck. So she was free to just stand there and watch Fox move those magic fingers over an electric guitar while Noah took the microphone to belt out a rock anthem that had the crowd raising their arms and joining in.

The tattoos on Fox’s arms and back shimmered under the lights, his muscles defined by the sweat that gleamed on his skin. She wanted to lick it up, the impulse warring with her desire to keep on watching him forever—he was hypnotic, beautiful, and talented. Noah leaned in close to him right then, the two playing their guitars off one another in a rhythm that was immediately picked up on and echoed by Abe and David. It made it clear exactly how long the four had been friends and musicians together.

God, they were good.

Molly hadn’t truly appreciated the amount of sheer skill it took to do what they did until she’d seen them practicing yesterday and earlier today. The lights and the fireworks, that made for a good show, but behind it all was music, solid and pure. The four of them had been goofing off this afternoon, with Abe taking the mike, Fox on the drums, Noah on keyboard, David on guitar—all out of their comfort zones, and they’d still made great music.

Maxwell came to stand beside her. “So much naked talent,” he said in her ear, as if he’d read her thoughts. “First time I heard them, I knew they’d be legends someday if they managed to stay together through the bullshit that comes with fame.”

“It’d be a tragedy if they ever broke up.” The four members of Schoolboy Choir created a stunning unit that truly was more than the sum of its parts. “Have they ever come close to it?”

“Won’t lie, been some rough times—booze, women, drugs, notoriety, it takes a toll.” Maxwell passed her a cold soft drink. “Any one of them could’ve dumped the others and struck out on his own when it got too hard, but even when they were fighting, they didn’t walk away.” A pause. “Drugs aren’t as dangerous as women.”

“It’s all right, Maxwell,” Molly whispered, rubbing a fisted hand over her heart. “I only have him for a little while—I’m no threat.”

To her surprise, the big man put his arm around her shoulders and tucked her close to the comforting bulk of him. “Maybe you should try to change that.” Startling words from the protective crew boss. “Boy’s never been this happy—and I like you.” He bussed her on the cheek in a paternal way, his beard scratchy on her skin.

David was right, she thought after he walked away—Maxwell had some weird voodoo going on.

Her pulse kicked as Fox turned his back to the audience and looked right at her. His mouth curved in a smile she knew was for her, and then he was taking the microphone once more. She exhaled, her abdomen taut. It was becoming clear she’d never become immune to Fox’s smile, his touch, his kiss, the ferocious power of his voice.

When her phone vibrated in her pocket as he started in on one of the band’s biggest hits, she ignored it before realizing she hadn’t heard from Charlotte today. They stayed in daily contact, even if it was only a short e-mail or text message to touch base. It was a habit Molly had begun after Charlotte’s mother first got sick and that was now so much a part of both their lives they rarely gave it a thought.

Pulling out the phone without taking her eyes off Fox, she glanced quickly at the message and burst out laughing. The music was so loud that there was no risk she’d interrupt the band, but she bit down on her lip to stop herself anyway. Tears in her eyes, she looked at David where he was making magic on the drums, wanting to hug him. Because the message wasn’t from Charlotte.

David sent me a memo. WTF?!

In the year and a half that Molly had known Thea—after Thea decided to do some research on her biological father out of curiosity and discovered she had a sister—Molly hadn’t seen anyone discombobulate her. “Good on you, David.”

It’d be interesting to be a fly on the wall at Thea and David’s next meeting, which was at least a week away as Thea was now officially on vacation. Not that her sister ever actually stopped working, but she was currently at the airport, waiting for her plane to the Indonesian island of Bali. The trip to see her parents had been organized well before the Sydney concert had come up, and with the local interviews now all done, Thea had decided not to cancel it.

“If you want me to continue putting out fires for you,” she’d told the band before she left, “do not do anything that interrupts my vacation.” The terse words had been directed particularly at David, whose black eye had been spectacular by that stage. “And next time someone tells you to put ice on a bruise, you listen!”

Molly had found the tone of that last pithy comment intriguing to say the least. Now, vowing to keep her nose out of whatever might end up going on between the drummer and her sister, she crossed her fingers for them both and typed a short reply: Was it a good memo?

Thea’s response was quick-smart. Bullet-pointed! With an introduction and a conclusion.

Are you memo’ing him back?

Of course I am. I have to see what he does next.

Stifling her laugh again, Molly said, Keep me updated. And have fun in Bali.

I will—after I write this memo.

Leaving Thea to her rebuttal memo, Molly messaged Charlotte. Hey, what’s happening? I’m backstage at a rock concert. Surreal. As surreal as the fact the incredible lead singer would be in her bed tonight.

I’m at work. Yes, on a Saturday night. The good news is, T-Rex hasn’t yelled at me once in the past eight hours. I think he might be depressed.

Caught by the primal power of Fox’s voice, it took Molly a few minutes to reply. Ask him to dinner. Or dessert.

T-Rexes only eat raw meat. But I ordered him takeout from a restaurant he likes. Now I’m going home. Enjoy the concert—and Fox. xoxo

Sliding the phone back into her pocket, Molly let the music sweep her away into a wild jungle of a world, passionate and furiously beautiful, just like the man who held the mike close as a kiss.

While Molly helped the crew pack up sensitive gear after the concert, Fox and the rest of the band came out to sign autographs and take photos with the die-hard fans who’d stuck around well after the show ended. Though she tried not to, she couldn’t help but notice the number of adoring women in the group—the one about to take a photo with Fox was a raven-haired knockout with a beaming smile.

“Oh, I can’t believe I get to meet you!” she squealed when Fox put his arm around her waist for the shot.

He wasn’t the only one being showered with female attention; all four men had their own groupies. Suddenly, Molly wasn’t so sure she’d done the right thing in encouraging David’s pursuit of Thea. “Damn it,” she said as she broke a nail while rolling up one of the cables that crawled across the back of the stage.

Forcing herself to pay attention, she tried to keep her eyes off the tableau out front, but it was no use. This time when she looked up, it was to see Fox exchanging fist bumps with a tattooed biker type who turned around to have Fox sign his back with a black marker. Next to him was a brunette who tucked a piece of paper into Fox’s jeans pocket, blatant invitation in her eyes and her assuredly collagen-enhanced lips.

The bitchy thought would’ve normally made Molly feel bad, but not tonight, with the woman licking her tongue around her pouty lips in a message a man would have to be comatose to miss.

Gritting her teeth against the urge to stride over there and slap her straight, Molly took the wound-up cable to where another one of the crew was putting them neatly into a gear truck. The charity volunteer crew was handling the big items, all of which had been hired, but much of the more delicate equipment was the band’s and needed to be handled with care.

“Here you go, Jen.”

“Thanks.” The model-tall and slender black woman took the cable off her hands. “You want to schlep some water out to the guys? It looks like these fans aren’t leaving.”

Joining the cluster of fans was the last thing Molly felt like doing, but since she couldn’t exactly say that, she stalled. “They always go the extra mile?”

“Depends on how tired they are, how far along in the tour it’s been.” Jen nodded at the crate of water that had just come out of the portable fridge now being loaded for transport. “Go on.”

Reluctantly grabbing four bottles, Molly made her way through the small crowd after tugging down her crew cap and was soon at David’s side. He was talking music with an eager young male and smiled his thanks at her for the water. When he leaned in close to whisper, “I sent her the memo,” she decided her first instincts about him had been right. A guy who was still thinking about her sister, even surrounded by copious amounts of near-naked female flesh, was seriously gone.

Noah took his water with his usual charming smile, while Abe nodded quietly. Heading toward Fox, she found herself stopped by an exquisitely made-up blonde in skinny jeans and a plunging black top. “Are you like one of Fox’s assistants?”

Molly nodded.

“Oh my God! I would die for that position.” The blonde pressed her hands together and jumped up and down. “He is soooo hot.”

Realizing the woman was a girl despite the illusion created by her makeup, Molly gave her a gentle smile. “I better get him this water.”

“Oh, sure. Tell him to call me! I put my number in his left back pocket.”

Molly touched Fox on his lower back through the white T-shirt he’d pulled on and was surprised by his frowning look when he turned his head. It changed into a smile the instant he saw it was her. “Is that for me?”

Nodding at the straightforward comment that sounded like a caress, she gave him the water just as another woman, this one definitely an adult, laid her hand on his chest, her turgid nipples plainly visible through her spaghetti-strap top. “Hi”—a breathy sound as she pressed those nipples against his arm—“I’ve been waiting to talk to you all night.” Her eyes dropped to his groin. “Do I get a reward for my patience?”

Stomach churning, Molly walked away before she punched the groupie’s lights out.

It was hours later before the crew’s work was finally done. Fox had left with the rest of the band a while ago; it would’ve looked suspicious for Molly to go with them when the breakdown was only halfway complete. The truth was, she wasn’t sure she was in the right frame of mind to be with Fox just then. When the other crew members invited her out for a drink afterward, she went.

“Is it always like that?” she asked Jen as they sat at the bar, Molly with a pretty virgin cocktail, Jen with a margarita. “The women I mean?”

“That was nothing.” Jen sighed at the first sip of her drink, the salt from the rim of the glass a shimmer on her lips before she turned them inward to lick it off. “Rock star equals catnip for a lot of women.”

Molly couldn’t exactly argue, though it was only one particular rock star who was her personal catnip. “I guess that’s why real relationships don’t work in that life,” she said, and it hurt to speak the words.

Jen shrugged, her slender shoulders graceful against the black band T-shirt. “I dunno. There are plenty of long-term relationships in the business. Some of ’em the woman looks the other way, but a rare few are solid to the core. Depends how hard you want to work and how much you love, I suppose.”

Molly imagined living with a man—with Fox—knowing thousands of other women would be happy to crawl into his bed should he so much as crook a finger, and knew she couldn’t do it. The jealousy would eat her up. As it was doing now. “I think I’ll head back,” she said, conscious she was the one who’d created the distance tonight. Stupid, when she had so little time with him anyway. “I’m exhausted.”

“You did good for a rookie.” Jen finished off her margarita and swiveled off the stool. “I’ll come, too. Maxwell and I want to go see the opera house tomorrow.”

They walked back across the road and into the hotel, the crew having deliberately picked a place nearby so no one had to worry about driving. Molly was crossing the lobby when she spied Fox inside the small hotel bar; he was leaning against the bar itself, the sex-kitten who’d wanted a “reward” in the seat right next to him.

It felt like being punched in the stomach.

The ding of the elevator had her snapping her head away from the cozy tableau. Punching in the number for her floor, she tried to keep her face from crumpling, Jen thankfully too tired to pay her much attention. “Good night,” the other woman said one floor down from Molly’s. “If you want to check out the opera house, too, meet us downstairs at eleven.”

Molly nodded. “Thanks.”

Managing to keep herself together with the same furious will that had allowed her to survive that year of hell in high school, she entered her room and, striding across to the connecting door, locked it on her side. Only then did she give in to the urge to kick at the wall. It didn’t help.

Damn him. Damn him. Damn him!

She ripped off her Schoolboy Choir T-shirt, toed off her sneakers and, leaving a trail of clothes on the carpet, walked into the bathroom. Choosing a water temperature so hot it was almost unbearable, she was about to step inside the shower cubicle when there was a banging on her door.

Chapter 18

Molly’s heart leapt, but she knew it was likely a guest who had the wrong room. Wrapping herself in the hotel robe and switching off the shower, she frowned as the banging came again.

Not about to make herself vulnerable if the person was a drunk or otherwise aggressive, she padded out quietly and put her eye to the peephole—to see the last person she’d expected. Wrenching open the door when Fox went to pound again, she said, “What are you doing?” through clenched teeth. “You’ll wake everyone on the floor.”

Striding inside, he watched her close the door, then imprisoned her against it by slamming his hands palms-down on either side of her body, six feet four inches of pissed-off male. “What the fuck, Molly? You blow me off after the show and now you lock me out?”

Instead of being intimidated, she shoved at his chest. The fact it was a futile effort only ratcheted up her anger. “I didn’t think you’d notice.” Her eyes burned with furious tears. Blinking them back, she said, “You looked plenty busy at the bar!”

“Seriously? A groupie sneaks into the hotel with the intention of getting into any bed she can, and you—”

“And I what?” She thudded her fists against his shoulders. “I shouldn’t wonder what the hell you were doing the hours I was at the site?”

Grabbing her wrists, he pinned her arms above her head with one big hand. He gripped her chin with the other, the green of his irises violent and his breath hot against her skin as he said, “You trust me, that’s what you do!”

Kicking out at him, Molly tried to wrench away but he pressed his body so close that she couldn’t move. “Trust you?” She sucked in ragged gasps of air. “Why? What do I know about rock stars?”

“I don’t fucking care. You know about me!” It was a growl. “I made a promise and I don’t break my promises.” His kiss was a wild storm, his mouth demanding her response.

A red haze across her vision, she bit him on that luscious lower lip. Hard enough to hurt. Pulling away with a hiss, he shook his head. “That was not a good idea, baby.”

Dark and low and rough, his warning rasped over her skin. “What,” she said, hating that she was still so susceptible to him, “your little playmate didn’t scratch your itch?”

His fingers tightened on her wrists, his other hand curling around her throat. “Don’t push me.”

She could almost see him throttling back his temper, and it infuriated her that he could remain in control while she was falling apart, hot, angry tears rolling down her cheeks despite her every attempt to rein them in. “I’m not the one being pushy!” Twisting in his hold, her chest heaving, she was angrily aware of his jean-clad cock shoving against her abdomen. “If you think I’ll let you in me after you’ve been inside her—”

His temper snapped with a snarl, his mouth slamming down on hers and his hand shifting to hold her jaw so she couldn’t bite him again. Molly sent her knee up between his legs instead. Blocking her by pressing his body against hers, he thrust his hand into her robe, palming her breast with blunt possessiveness—as if he had the right to handle her however and whenever he liked. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

“I didn’t want to talk to you, that’s why.” Molly twisted again but only managed to open her robe even more. “You let her touch you!” Images assaulted her of that woman’s fingers on his chest, her skanky breasts rubbing against his arm.

“Shit, Molly, people think they can touch us all the time.” Tugging the loosened belt of her robe all the way open, he ran his hand down her otherwise nude body to squeeze her hip. “If I’d wanted her, I wouldn’t still be in the clothes I was wearing after the show, and I damn well wouldn’t have been at the bar keeping an eye out for you. I’d be in my room feeding her my cock.”

Giving an aggravated scream, she managed to wrench a hand free and slapped it on his chest, shoving hard. “You think that’s going to make me feel better?”

He released her all at once. Picking her up in an effortless move before she could take advantage of her freedom, he dumped her on her back on the bed. The robe gaped around her and when he came down over her, she felt him on every inch of exposed flesh. And his raw, masculine scent, it was pure Fox, no hint of the groupie. Her body surged to erotic life. Shoving his hand between them, he began to undo his fly. “Say no, Molly.” Harsh words. “Say no right fucking now if you want me to stop.”

Thrusting her hands into his hair instead, she pulled him down to her, ravaging his mouth as he ravaged hers. Teeth and tongue and fury, it was as much a fight as a kiss. The fact her body was liquid for him only enraged her further. Sucking on her tongue, his knuckles brushing against her clit before the blunt head of his cock did the same, Fox pushed up her thigh and shoved inside her in a single push.

She screamed into the kiss, her hands clawing at his back through his T-shirt while her body rocketed out of control. His mouth dropping to her neck, the lip ring grazing her skin, he bit down hard enough to leave a serious mark… and Molly’s orgasm tore her to pieces in a violent pulse that had her muscles locking around his cock. One hand tight in her hair, Fox pulled out and shoved deep again, and then he came and came inside her.

The first thing Fox did after his brain started functioning again was push up and look down into Molly’s face. “I lost my temper. Tell me if I hurt you.” The idea that he might have was a chunk of ice inside him. Never had he spun that out of control with a woman. That it had been Molly who’d borne the brunt of his temper? Fuck.

“No,” she said, and tried to turn her head aside, but he cradled her face with one hand, forced her to hold the agonizing intimacy of the eye contact, their bodies still locked together.

“Tell me the truth, baby.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” Naked vulnerability, confusion, the remnants of anger in those brown eyes that couldn’t lie, but no pain. “I was with you all the way.”

Blowing out a shuddering breath, he pressed down on his forearms, his hair falling across his forehead. “Now we’re going to talk.”

Fine tremors ran over Molly’s skin, each a kick to Fox’s gut. “This isn’t my world,” she said. “I don’t know the rules.”

“There’s only one rule you need to know with me.” The embers of his temper glowing to life again at the reminder she’d doubted him, his voice came out a growl. “I won’t fuck around on you while we’re together. I told you that at the start and nothing’s changed.”

“I believe you.” Her long, dark lashes lowered, rose again, her pupils deep ebony. “If I didn’t, I would’ve said no. I was just…” Right when he thought she’d finally admit that there was no way in hell this had ever been, or could ever be, a temporary affair, she said, “I’m sorry I overreacted.”

“Don’t be sorry you let me see you.” Fighting with Molly wasn’t his favorite thing in the world, but he’d damn well take her anger over icy distance. “Don’t you ever apologize for that.”

Molly broke the eye contact once more, her throat moving as she swallowed. “We should shower. We’re both sweaty from today. You need to…” Cheeks flushing, she shifted her hips in a silent reminder that he remained buried in her.

He could sense her pulling away emotionally in spite of their sexual entanglement, shaken by the visceral power of the minutes past. “I’m not done with you yet.” Possessive fury continuing to thunder through him, Fox opened his mouth over hers, slid his tongue between her lips, and began to use his intimate knowledge of her body to seduce her.

If sex was all she’d give him, then he’d damn well use it to tie her to him until she could never again think of walking away. Fingers clenching on the rucked-up sheets, Molly moaned in the back of her throat as he flexed his hips in a lazy movement. “Not nearly done.”

Wrapping herself tightly in the robe again after they finally had that shower, Molly ordered room service for them both from the twenty-four-hour hotel kitchen. She was still wrecked from the smoldering heat of their second time together that night. Fox had wanted to make a point, and he’d made it with a relentless concentration that had left her shuddering in ecstasy, his body her only anchor.

He hadn’t liked being locked out, being distrusted. But even in his anger, he hadn’t hurt her. What he’d done was worse—he’d taken her, branded her, driven himself into every cell of her body. She couldn’t survive a month of this, of becoming further and further intertwined with a man who could never be hers. The thought of ending up an empty, broken shell like her mother was a nightmare… but even worse was the thought of losing Fox, of never again inhaling his scent, hearing his voice, feeling his touch.

“Room service.”

Jumping at the knock on the door, she glanced at Fox where he lay on her bed.

Jaw clenched, he went into his room and closed the door while the waiter dropped off the food. His dark expression had grown heavier by the time he walked back in, his jeans low on his hips and his upper half bare. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to know he was angry about the continued secrecy of their relationship, but he kept his silence as the two of them ate the food while sprawled in bed.

Molly picked at a plate of fruit, then set it aside on the bedside table, not really in the mood to eat. “How did that woman get past security?” she asked, knowing she was revealing too much of what she felt for him but unable to stop herself.

“How groupies always get past security.” Fox shrugged and continued to eat his burger, but his voice held an edge that said his temper was still simmering. “Don’t waste any more time on her. She’s nothing.”

Molly winced, wondering if that was how he’d think of her once their month was past. Then she wanted to slap herself. “I’m really not cut out to be a rock star’s g—” She caught herself before she said “girlfriend,” the word a knot of painful emotion in her throat. “Lover.”

“Since I can still feel you hot and wet around my cock, I disagree.” With that forthright statement, Fox finished off his burger, then picked up the beer he’d had her order and half-emptied the bottle before suddenly frowning. “You mind if I drink?” he asked, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I never asked.”

The tenderness shattered her. He remained angry, that much was clear, but still he thought about her. Cuddling close, she laid her head against his shoulder and felt the tension in her spine ease when he wrapped his arm around her without hesitation, his fingers closing over her nape.

“No,” she said in response to his question. “It’s my choice, doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else.” The golden silk of his skin an invitation to her senses, she stroked his side, petted his chest. It felt so right to just be with him. “Each time I turn down a drink, I remember why I made this choice and who I am. Does that make sense?”

Fox brushed his lips over the top of her hair. “Perfect sense. Was your mom a drinker or was she just drunk the day she got behind the wheel?” he asked, and she knew then that he’d read through articles not only about her father’s fall from grace but also about what followed.

Molly could remember every detail of that fateful hour when she’d lost what little remained of her world: the fine yellow paper of the note calling her to the school counselor’s office, the echoes created by the soles of her school shoes in the otherwise empty corridors, the Wet Floor sign where the custodian had wiped it clean of a spill, the kind face and sad eyes of the veteran cop who’d told her both her parents were dead. It was as defining a moment in her life as the day she’d watched televised images of her father being arrested.

“My mom was a high-functioning alcoholic for most of the last eight years of her life… then she was just an alcoholic,” she said through the agony of memory. “But,” she added, eyes gritty and throat dry, “from the things I picked up over the years, I know she began drinking years before, when she learned of my father’s first affair.”

Fox lifted his hand from her nape to run his fingers lightly over the side of her face. “Bastard has a lot to answer for.”

About to respond that her mother held half the responsibility for choosing to stay with Patrick Buchanan despite knowing what he was, Molly’s heart suddenly hiccupped, a wave of ice crawling over her skin. What was she doing speaking to Fox about things that made her feel as if she were that beaten, broken girl again? She knew how dangerous this was, how far she’d already fallen, how bad it was going to hurt when it ended.

She’d bleed the day Fox walked out of her life.

“The concert,” she said in a stumbling rush of words, “it was amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like that.”

It was about as subtle an effort to change the subject as a sledgehammer, but Fox let her retreat, maybe because he, too, didn’t want to go that deep. “Yeah? It’s a rush, isn’t it? I love performing, especially when the crowd is that pumped.”

Heart rate smoothing out as the ice eased its grip, she traced her fingertips over the ridges of his abdomen. “That teenager you let onto the stage to jam with you—he was so excited, I think he’s probably not going to sleep for a month.”

“Me, Noah, Abe, and David, we were all that kid once.” Bracing one arm on a raised knee, he said, “You really had a good time?”

Surprised at the note of hesitation, she pushed up so she could look into those gorgeous eyes, his lashes lush and thick. “Yes! It was my first rock concert and I think I’m addicted.” Fox’s slow grin was the reward for her honesty. “The energy, the primal power of it, and most of all the music… my God, Fox, you four make the most incredible music.” It pulsed in her veins even now, compelling and haunting.

“In the end,” Fox said, “it’s about the music. That’s why we’ve stuck together—the money, the fame, it’s peripheral. All the four of us ever wanted to do was make music.”

Filching one of his fries when he put the little basket on his lap, she crunched it. “I was talking to Maxwell and he said you guys stuck through everything.”

Fox nodded. “We’ve had a couple of really bad patches. Right back at the start, when we were young and stupid and didn’t know how to handle the pressure, and a year ago, when Abe’s divorce had him trying to drug himself into an early grave.” He fed her another fry despite her scowl. “Your mad face is cute.”

“You could get murdered for saying stuff like that,” she muttered, charmed regardless.

His dimple flashed at her, and she was expecting the way he drew her down for a lazy kiss. Her palm flat on his chest, she sank into the pleasure, her earlier fear tangled with a poignant tenderness that urged her to continue being brave, continue hoarding the memories. Because now that she was thinking rationally again, she knew she wasn’t her mother, would never be her mother—as tonight’s fight had shown.

Karen Webster had never screamed at her husband. No, she’d been the perfectly coiffed and poised political wife, drowning her pain in alcohol.

If Fox actually had slept with that groupie, Molly would’ve slammed the door in his face. She had enough respect for herself to never allow any man, even one who was her personal addiction, to treat her in such a way. It would’ve brutalized her, but she would’ve eventually picked up the broken pieces of herself. What she would’ve never done was crawl into a bottle, just as now she wouldn’t scurry back into the claustrophobic box in which she’d existed for so long.

Molly was going to live.

Even if it smashed her heart to splinters.

Chapter 19

They ended up sleeping in till noon, which wasn’t surprising given the late night. Molly woke to find herself tucked into Fox’s body, her breasts pressed to his chest. One muscular, tattooed arm was locked around her waist while the other lay under her neck, his thigh—heavy with muscle and dusted with hair that rasped deliciously against her skin—thrust between her own. Yawning, she snuggled deeper and just wallowed in the feeling of warm safety, the emotional storm of the previous night having left her raw.

Fox had told her they had the whole day free to do whatever they liked, and what she liked was cuddling in bed with her rock star. At least until he woke up. Feeling him stir almost ten minutes later, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Hey.”

“Mmm.” It was a deep, sleepy sound before he tugged her impossibly closer to his body.

With both of them naked, the sensation was sensual, but right then, it was also just good. He felt strong and solid and protective around her, as if he was cherishing her. Though he was clearly aroused, it was the lazy arousal of morning, and he seemed far more interested in cuddling her to his body than in sex.

It made her melt, the idea that her hardcore rocker might not be against cuddling on a weekend morning in bed. Rubbing her nose lightly over his skin, she pressed another kiss to his chest, licking out with her tongue to taste him.

That initiated a sleepy rumble. Deciding to behave, she stayed snuggled up against him in silence, her bones lax and her sense of well-being incredible. No one had ever held her like this, ever made her feel so protected and anchored.

It was more than fifteen minutes later that he stirred again, his jaw moving as if in a yawn. Smoothing his hand in a slow circle on her back, he nuzzled his chin in her hair. “I like waking up with a soft, sexy librarian.”

His sleep-roughened voice made her nerve endings vibrate. “I like waking up with you, too.” Nuzzling him after the honest confession, she said, “What do you want to do today?”

“See some koala bears.”

Molly laughed, thinking he was joking.

“No, I mean it.” He tapped her playfully on her butt. “I’ve been to Australia so many times, but I’ve never seen a koala. It’s fucking embarrassing.”

Giggles bubbling in her blood, Molly wriggled out of his hold to get her phone from the bedside table. Propping herself against the headboard after tugging up the sheet to cover her breasts, a pillow at her back and Fox sprawled on his front by her side, she searched for places to see koalas. “There’s a wildlife park about a forty-five-minute drive away,” she said, skimming down the search results to tap on what looked like the best option. “It’s open today and their website says you can get close to the animals.”

Fox squeezed her thigh. “Come ’ere first.”

Her body one big languid sigh, Molly leveled a mock scowl in his direction. “The park’s only open until five, and it’s already”—a quick glance at the clock—“almost a quarter till one. If I slide back into bed, we won’t have much time there.”

Fox wanted to tug her down, kiss that adorable scowl into his mouth, but she was right. If he had her under him, they wouldn’t be leaving this room anytime soon, and he wanted a date with his Molly. “I’ll take a rain check.” Shoving off the sheet, he got out of bed. “Half an hour.”

Twenty-five minutes and rapid fire showers later, the two of them having eaten a quick room-service breakfast despite the fact it was technically lunchtime, Fox pulled on jeans and a plain white T-shirt, then sat down on Molly’s bed to finish lacing up his sneakers. In front of him, Molly was bent over, looking for something in her suitcase. He grinned. She had an incomprehensible woman thing about her ass, but he liked the view fine. Way better than fine.

Before he could give in to the urge to walk over and stroke the sweet curve of it, his phone rang. It was Noah, asking if he wanted to check out a music shop the guitarist had heard about.

“No, man,” Fox said with a wink at Molly, “I’m going to go get my photo taken with a koala bear.”

Lips twitching, Molly sat down beside him to do up her own sneakers. Wearing a casual but fitted pink shirt with fine white stripes and elbow-length sleeves teamed with jeans, the top three buttons of the shirt undone to reveal the white tank she wore underneath, she looked pretty and young and bitable. Her hair was in a ponytail, the tail fed through the back of one of his baseball caps, her creamy skin vulnerable to even the fall sun.

“Seriously?” Noah said into the phone. “I’ve never seen one either. Can I come?”

Fox thought about it. This was meant to be a date… but Noah rarely sounded excited about something as innocent as this, the world he lived in a dark place that often threatened to suck him under. Abe might appear the most dysfunctional of the four of them, but Noah was far more seriously fucked up. “Yeah,” he said, “but you have to be ready in ten. Underground garage, level two.”

Hanging up, he tugged on Molly’s ponytail, delighted with her. “Noah’s coming. He’s never seen a real koala either.”

“Ah, the debauched rock star life.” Molly leaned in to kiss his dimple, and yeah, he grinned, loving the little things she did that told him what they had, it was special, was way more than sex.

“That was nice of Justin,” she said afterward, “to take out a hire car in his name for you.”

Fox snorted and pulled on his own cap, having asked the lawyer to do the favor yesterday, then drop off the keys. “Nice, my ass.” Rising, they headed to the door. “I bribed him with the promise of a bottle of single-malt whiskey.”

Once outside in the hallway, Fox waited for Molly to pull the door shut before taking her hand in his. Her eyes were startled when she looked up, but then her fingers curved shyly around his and it slammed all the air from his lungs. If he had his way, he’d walk through the hotel lobby with her hand in his so no one would make any mistake about who she was to him—but Molly wasn’t in any way ready for the glare of the limelight.

So he satisfied himself with holding her hand until they stepped out of the elevator and headed to the black SUV Justin had hired. Unlocking it, he nodded for Molly to get into the front passenger seat. She shook her head. “Noah’s much taller than I am. He’ll have more legroom in front.”

“Push your seat forward.” Fox looked at the space behind her once she did. “He’ll be fine. Bastard’s the one horning in on our date,” he said with a grin as Noah exited the elevator… with Abe and David behind him.

“Well, fuck.” Fox groaned. “Damn it to hell, guys! How are we supposed to be anonymous if we go en masse?” Two of them could’ve skated under the radar if they were careful, but no way would that work with all four members of the band together.

“Hey, you don’t own the koala bears.” Abe folded his arms over a dark gray shirt with short sleeves, muscles bulging under the rich mahogany of his skin. His head was bare, his hair cut close to his skull and an intricate pattern razored in on one side—that pattern was dyed a vivid purple with jagged slashes of white and orange.

“You’re about as inconspicuous as David’s goddamn T-shirt.” Fox scowled at his other bandmate’s screaming tee. “Jesus. It looks like someone threw up a rainbow on you. You’ll scare the koala bears away before we get near them.”

David gave him the finger. “It was for charity.” A wink at Molly from his uninjured eye, the other one ringed by a deep blue-black bruise. “Also, koalas aren’t bears, you genius, they’re marsupials.”

“Shut your trap, Rainbow Boy.” Fox pointed a finger at Noah. “Explain.”

Shoulders rising under the black of his sleeveless sweatshirt, the hood flipped up to conceal his hair, Noah spread his hands. “What was I going to do? They saw me sneaking out.”

Fox thought of these men as his brothers, but they’d just ruined his one chance to be with Molly like a normal guy on a date with his girl. Before he could snarl at them, Molly stepped forward. “I have an idea,” she said with the smile that had hit him like a roundhouse punch that first night and showed no sign of decreasing in potency. “I’ll be your assistant.” She hefted the little multi-zip travel bag she’d slung across her body. “I’ll buy all the drinks, tickets, etcetera, and everyone will see what they expect to see.”

“She’s smart,” Abe said to Fox. “You should try not to fuck it up with her.”

Fox narrowed his eyes. “Just for that, you get to sit in the back. All three of you. Molly gets the front passenger seat.”

Much whining and complaining later, the three men somehow folded themselves into the back of the SUV. Then it began. The one-liners, the zingers back and forth, the insults, the jokes. Molly laughed until she protested that her stomach hurt, and Fox had to forgive the others then, didn’t he?

“Christ,” Abe groaned when Fox brought the car to a stop at the wildlife park. “I think my joints are permanently frozen in place.” Stepping out, he began to stretch his heavily muscled body.

Fox turned to Molly after they got out, held out his credit card. When her lips parted, he dropped his tone. “Don’t argue with me. I might’ve agreed to let you play assistant, but you’re not paying for anything today.”

Those clear brown eyes, so beautifully expressive, told him the instant she decided to listen. “Does it have a PIN code so you don’t have to sign for it?”

“Yeah.” He gave it to her, eyes on her lips. One day soon, he was going to have the right to kiss her anytime he pleased, in daylight and in darkness. “You look so pretty, Molly. Like sunshine.”

Her blood alight in joy, Molly began to walk toward the ticket booth, aware of Fox falling in behind her with the other men.

It was a fun, lighthearted afternoon.

The men had more privacy than they’d expected—the park was spread out, and with the majority of the clientele being families, even when people recognized them, they only requested an autograph and a photo, then let the band be. Molly took many of those photos, and each time she did, she marveled at the men’s patience. Clearly, this was an unusual day, an unusual circumstance, but they were in a great mood and didn’t turn anyone down.

She could understand, however, why Abe had punched out a reporter during his divorce, and why Noah had once infamously smashed a photographer’s camera. It must get wearing to be constantly under scrutiny, never able to let down your guard.

“We have to remember most people aren’t out to tear us to pieces,” Fox said when she shared her thoughts with him. “Fans like this,” he continued, “they don’t have a hidden agenda. No comparison to the tabloid reporters who want to make money off our backs by manufacturing gossip.”

They reached the koalas a few minutes later, and Molly watched as all four of the big, hardcore rockers fell in love with the shy animals. She took more photos, this time with her personal camera and those belonging to the men. Her favorite was of the four of them, arms around one another in front of a eucalyptus tree on which sat two koalas nonchalantly snacking on the leaves.

Fox was at one end, Noah on the other. They had their faces turned toward each other, laughing at something that had both David and Abe grinning.

“Hey!” Fox called out when Molly would’ve put away the cameras. “Our lovely assistant needs to be in this shot.”

“I’ll do it if you like,” said the middle-aged woman next to Molly who’d stood by indulgently while her teenage son and daughter snapped pictures of the group.

“Thank you.” Molly stepped into the space Abe and David had made for her between their bodies and was immediately enclosed in a heated wall of male flesh. Laughing as David whispered the word “memo” to her, she caught Fox’s dimpled grin, and then the camera clicked.

The resulting photo, Molly thought when she looked at it, would live forever on her bookshelf.

A number of the amateur shots from the park were already online by the time they took their seats in the Chinese restaurant they’d ducked into for dinner, several of the photos part of an article that had made the front page of a local news website.

“It says,” David read out for the other men after Molly pulled it up on her phone, “we were ‘refreshingly devoid of bodyguards and shepherded only by a cheerful local guide.’”

“And”—Noah’s golden hair glittered under the restaurant lights as he scrolled through several other sites on his own phone—“Molly’s face isn’t in any of the shots posted online.”

Relieved, Molly was able to enjoy the delicious dishes served by waitstaff too harried to worry about who was famous and who was not. Sitting sandwiched between Fox and David, she felt very much a part of the group as they talked and hassled one another in the way only good friends can do. Fox kept his hand on her thigh throughout the meal, and it wasn’t sexual. No, it felt as if he was touching her because she was his.

Such a dangerous thought. Such a wonderful thought.

Chapter 20

Returning home the next afternoon was a harsh reality check after the fantasy of the weekend, a fantasy that had lasted to the final minute she’d spent with Fox.

She’d woken beside him for the second day in a row, snuggled and warm, then hot and gasping, could still feel the blunt power of him inside her as she got into the shuttle for the ride to her apartment. Their morning loving had been slow, achingly tender, but he’d taken her again against the door just before she’d left for the airport, and that time it had been hard, rough, deep.

Her fingers brushed her emerald-green cardigan, over the mark he’d left on the upper curve of her right breast. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he’d all but growled, pinning her to the door with his strength, her legs around his hips and the thickness of his cock buried to the hilt inside her. “Think of me.”

As if she could do anything else.

Her apartment felt lonely and too quiet when she walked back into it, Fox’s scent missing from the air. He hadn’t been happy about the separation, but Justin had asked David to stick around while he sorted out some unexpected issues resulting from the bar fight. Fox, Noah, and Abe had decided to stay behind in support until David was cleared to leave the country.

Stomach knotted and ribcage crushing her lungs at the strange emptiness of her surroundings, she checked her answering machine just to hear the sound of another voice. Nothing, as she’d expected. Everyone close to her had her cell number, and it was the cell that rang twenty minutes later.

“Hey!” Charlotte’s voice was ebullient in welcome. “I was wondering if you were back. Want to have dinner together? I need to hear everything.”

“Come over.” Molly didn’t want to be alone. “I feel like staying in. We can get takeout.”

“No, I’ll bring my special pasta sauce and we’ll have spaghetti.”

It was so good to have Charlotte there, to sigh with her over Molly’s memories of the amazing live show, smile at the photos from the wildlife park. But for the first time since their friendship began all those years ago, Molly didn’t tell her best friend everything. Especially not about how the night of the concert had ended—in angry passion and a terrifying tenderness that had smashed her defenses. Her vulnerable, scarred heart was now brutally exposed.

At work the next morning, she smiled when her colleagues asked her how her long weekend had gone but didn’t elaborate beyond a few words. Nothing could come close to describing the intensity of the past few days. She’d never been as happy, as angry, as scared, or as pleasured.

When Fox had messaged her last night to say he was out with the guys to celebrate Abe’s birthday but that he missed her, she could’ve taken the chance to protect herself, backed away. Instead, she’d drawn in a trembling breath and told him what was in her heart: I miss you, too.

The resulting exchange of sweet, sexy messages had left her with a goofy smile on her face, especially when he ended with: Abe just called me pussy-whipped. I told him he was a jealous fucker and he agreed. He wants a Molly now, too.

The joy continued to hum in her blood this morning, even though she hadn’t heard from Fox again. Conscious of the time difference and not wanting to add pressure in case there was a real problem with the David situation, she decided to wait till early afternoon to check in. As it was, she barely had time to glance at her phone all morning.

Clearing her e-mails when she had a half hour to spare at last, she flicked over to the website of the country’s biggest newspaper, her plan to scan the day’s news before knuckling down to write up an after-school program they’d decided on at the midmorning meeting. The big headline was about a politician who had an interesting way of getting herself into the media for someone who professed not to value self-aggrandizement and work only for the people.

Rolling her eyes, she skimmed over the rest of the page, then clicked across to another news site more irreverent in tone. It often had at least one article that made her smile. Glancing at the updated feature links on one side of the page as she began to flip open her handwritten notes from the meeting, she was about to close the browser when her eye caught on the third link in the list: Fox Partying it up with Mystery Redhead in Sydney!

Her blood went cold, then hot, then cold again. Feeling as if she were watching someone else, she clicked on the link. It brought up a full-color image of a shirtless Fox with his arm around a stunning, voluptuous redhead who had her hand on his chest, the eyes she’d turned to the camera screaming her claim on him.

Molly attempted to read the text but her vision was blurred, her heart thundering in her ears. Swiveling in her chair to stare out the window behind her, she tried to breathe through the agonizing pain in her chest. It was hard. A long, gut-wrenching minute later, she forced herself to turn back to the screen and read her way through the article. According to the reporter, “superstar rocker Fox” had met the woman at a private party hosted by the hottest club in Sydney.

A source at the hotel confirmed they’d last been seen heading into his room, his mouth “devouring” hers.

Numb, Molly closed the page and got to work typing up the proposed program. Her fingers moved on autopilot, as did her body when it came time to move on to other duties. She was grateful the library continued to be hectic as the hours passed. So long as she didn’t have time to think, she was fine. The only person who would’ve immediately guessed something was wrong was Charlotte, and her best friend had flown down to the capital this morning with T-Rex for a big meeting.

Fox messaged her around three p.m. David’s in the clear. Be home tomorrow. xx

Where the xx and the use of the word “home” would have made her melt last night, today it seemed a mockery. Numb still and not knowing what to do, she ignored the message. Around four came another: In area with bad cell coverage. Talk to you when I return to the hotel.

Molly had no intention of talking to him. When she finally made it home, having opted to stay late to help a colleague with a project, she took off her clothes and stepped into the searing heat of the shower… only to collapse into a shattered ball on the floor. The block of ice within her chest bled a shivering chill through her veins and tears wracked her body, her throat lined with broken glass. It hurt, but nothing hurt as bad as knowing Fox had slept with another woman.

“Stupid, stupid, Molly,” she castigated herself, continuing to shiver under the white-hot spray. She’d known who he was from the start, and still she’d allowed herself to fall for his promises, to trust the rock star who’d just driven a knife through her heart.

Five hours later, she stumbled out of bed and walked to the living room to see the message light blinking on her machine. She’d turned it on before crawling under the blankets after her shower, having also switched off the ringer on the phone. Her cell phone, too, was off. Staring at the machine as if it might grow fangs, she reached out and pressed the Play button.

Thea’s smiling voice cut through the silence. Fox, Molly thought on a wave of blinding fury, likely had other priorities. She allowed the embers within her to simmer as she listened to Thea’s message. Better to be angry than to return to the heartbroken mess she’d been earlier. And if the anger was only a paper-thin crust covering devastating pain, it was enough to keep her going, keep her functional.

Leaving the machine on after the message had played, she walked into the kitchen and deliberately focused on the salad fixings in her fridge, well aware of her tendency to comfort herself with food. But her eye caught on the cheese and wouldn’t let go. One toasted cheese sandwich isn’t going to kill me, she thought mutinously and grabbed the block of cheddar.

Turning on her mini countertop toaster oven, she popped in the prepared sandwich and glanced at the clock. Three a.m. Great. She had to be up in less than four hours. Then again, it wasn’t as if she was going to get any sleep with her mind running the photo of Fox with the redhead in a continuous loop.

When the answering machine clicked on without warning, she jumped before realizing she’d never turned the ringer back on.

“Baby, it’s Fox. I know it’s late, but I wanted to hear your voice. Just got back into the country after hitching a ride on a friend’s jet. Call you later.”

Molly reached out to shut off the toaster oven when the cheese began to burn. Removing the sandwich, she put it on a plate and went to the table. She finished it with slow, deliberate focus, drank a huge glass of water to wash it all down, then replayed Fox’s message. He sounded so carefree, so normal. As if he hadn’t kicked her in the teeth, then stomped on her heart. How dare he!

Grabbing the phone, she began to stab at the keys, inputting the number for his cell phone… and paused halfway through, his declaration from their last fight blazing into her mind.

“You trust me, that’s what you do!”

Her fingers clenched on the phone. What if the paper was wrong? It was the first time her mind was clear enough to consider that, consider the fact that if Fox had slept with someone else, it meant he’d lied to her face when he’d told her he was hers for the duration. Not only that, he’d have had to have been with the redhead while he was messaging Molly, while he was telling her he was planning to stay late at the party because he didn’t want to go back to the hotel room without her.

Fox was too blunt, too honest, to play those kinds of games.

Or was he, another part of her asked. After all, what did she know about him? She’d known him for under two weeks.

He told me about his family, about his grandparents.

Yes, the cold facts were public knowledge, but the emotions he’d shared weren’t.

And he’d held her, comforted her, come to her on a boat in the middle of the night when she’d told him about her father. Could a man like that so recklessly trample on her heart? She wanted to say no, but the truth was that Fox’s lifestyle was a world apart from her own—he existed in a world where friends had jets and life was lived in the fast lane. For all she knew, he might not think it counted as cheating if she was in a different country at the time.

“God.” Sinking into the chair again, she shoved her hands through her hair, elbows braced on the table.

Maybe it was pointless to try to figure out any of this when she’d have lost him in just over two weeks in any case. “But he was supposed to be mine till then,” she said to the air, the words torn from her bleeding, wounded heart. She was too emotionally raw to any longer avoid the tiny bubble of hope that had bloomed inside her in Sydney. Hidden deep, deep inside her, that fragile hope had whispered that perhaps her and Fox’s relationship didn’t have to end; it was too powerful, too beautiful, too honest.

A sob caught in her chest.

She had to know the truth, good or bad. Fingertips as cold as her skin, she called Fox. He answered at once, his voice a low, masculine murmur. “I woke you, didn’t I? I’d say sorry, but I wanted to talk to you.” A rustle as if he was moving the phone to his other ear. “Hold on a second. I’m just getting in the elevator—the call might drop.”

When it didn’t, she said, “Did you have a good flight back?” unable to immediately ask the question that might end them here and now.

“Smooth and quick. Stroke of luck that James was in the country and heading back to New Zealand—his jet is a beauty.” She heard the ping as the elevator arrived at its floor. “Not as fast as I would’ve liked though.”

Her insides twisted at the warmth in his tone and she knew he was talking about her, about getting back to her. Before she could respond, there was a quiet knock on her door. Heart slamming into her ribs, she rose shakily to her feet. “Fox, is that you?”

“Unless you have other strange men who stalk you.”

Phone abandoned, she ran to the door and opened it to jump into his arms. He held her tight, walking in far enough that he could shut the door behind himself. “You did miss me,” he murmured against the side of her face.

It was music, his voice, edgy and dark, and it infiltrated her bloodstream, made her want to forget the world. Except she couldn’t. Not today. Not until she knew. Because she couldn’t ever look the other way.

Taut muscles relaxing at the unmistakable warmth of Molly’s welcome, a welcome that made him feel he was home, erasing his worries that the distance might make her question what was happening between them, Fox went to kiss her but she pushed away, disengaging from him. Instincts on immediate alert, he slid off the small pack that held his clothes without looking away from her. “You missed me, but you don’t want to kiss me?”

“I have to ask you something.” Breaking the eye contact, she played with the bottom of the T-shirt she wore over flannel pajama pants. “It has a high possibility of making you angry.”

Closing the distance between them, he backed her against the wall, bracing his hands on either side of her head. “You telling me we’re about to have a fight?”

“Yes.”

He could deal with a fight. What he couldn’t deal with was Molly pulling away from him. “Ask.”

“Wait,” she whispered and, ducking under his arm, walked into the living room to grab her phone.

Following, he forced himself to leash his impatience as she pulled up something, the moonlight that seeped in through the partially closed blinds bathing them both in shadows.

“Here.”

Fox swore the instant he understood what it was he was seeing. Setting the phone down on the coffee table, he dragged her into his arms. “Why didn’t you call me?” He hated the fact that she’d been so badly hurt, wanted to eviscerate those responsible.

Burying her face in his chest, she fisted her hands against the leather of his jacket. “It was like getting beaten from the inside out.” The confession scraped over his senses. “I lost my breath, couldn’t think. I just kind of went numb.”

Fox tightened his hold, his voice harsh as he fought to temper the fury in his blood. “That girl asked me for a photo—her friend’s the one who took it. I don’t know who she is, except that I bet you she’s the fucking ‘source.’” He paused. “Wait.” Pulling out his own phone, he made a call while keeping her locked to him with his other arm; Molly needed to be held tonight.

“Noah,” he said when the call was answered, the guitarist wide-awake despite the late hour. “Talk to Molly.” He thrust the phone into her hand. “Ask him.”

“No.” She tried to give the phone back. “This is between us—”

“I don’t want you to have any doubts, Molly. You ask him.” He wasn’t angry at her—she’d come to him instead of shutting him out, and that meant everything. But he refused to allow any room for even the tiniest worry, would not permit the users and the liars of the world to poison their relationship. “Go on, baby.” When she continued to hesitate, he pressed his forehead to hers, his hand clasping the side of her neck. “For me.”

It slayed him when she patted his chest and accepted the phone at last. “Noah?” A slight pause. “Can you look up a website on your phone?” She read out the web address of the article and went silent.

A second later Fox heard Noah swear with vicious ferocity before his bandmate lowered the volume on his voice. Fox knew the other man was telling Molly the truth. That Fox had been by his side the entire night. Noah had bad nights and good nights, and last night had been a bad one. So Fox had made sure he wasn’t alone.

“Thank you,” Molly said to the guitarist and returned the phone to Fox.

Taking it, he said, “Go to sleep, Noah.” The phone thrust into a pocket, he slid his hand around to grip Molly’s nape, bending his knees so they were eye to eye. “We okay?”

The shocked hurt that killed him was gone from her expression, but her jaw was now a hard line, her body stiff. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt in that shot?” she snapped, her hand closing over his wrist.

“Because when Abe uncorked the champagne, he sprayed David and me.” It came out a growl. “Honestly, I didn’t think anything of it. I’m shirtless onstage all the time.”

“Well you should have!” she ordered, color on her cheekbones. “You should’ve thought of—”

Oh no, Fox thought when she bit herself off, Molly didn’t get to stop there. Not when she’d come so damn close to claiming him. “I should’ve thought of what?” Having risen to his full height, he tugged back her head with a hand in her hair when she would’ve lowered her eyes.

“Nothing.” Mutinous denial. “We should go to bed.”

“No.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip. “Should I have thought of you?”

Chapter 21

Her skin burned under his fingertips, but she held her stubborn ground. “Ignore me. I’ve had a hellish day. I should really catch some sleep.”

Fox didn’t budge. “You were very clear on the rules,” he said. “If you want to change them, tell me.”

A long, tense silence before she said, “You’re leaving in two and a half weeks.”

His pulse turned into a drumbeat. “That’s not an answer.”

Breaking his hold without warning, she walked into the bedroom, her movements jittery as she stripped off her T-shirt and kicked away her pajama bottoms to reveal the white lace of her panties. His poor Molly was running to the safety of their scorching physical connection, a connection that required no words, no arguments.

His body reacted as always to the lush sight of her, his erection pushing against the zipper of his jeans. But this was too important to allow himself to be distracted. Shifting to face her, he ran his knuckles down the centerline of her body. “Tell me what you want.”

Eyes huge and stark, she angled her face away, went to cover her breasts with her arms, but he enclosed her in his embrace before she could complete the action. Never did he want Molly to feel ashamed of her nakedness with him. She didn’t struggle, but neither did she speak. Fighting his impatient fury to have her belong to him, he reminded himself that the scars that marked Molly were brutal and had been caused at a time in her life when she was incredibly vulnerable.

His temper simmered again, directed at those who had mauled an innocent young girl with such ugly savagery. Nuzzling a kiss to her temple, he cuddled her close, her creamy skin holding a shocked kind of coolness. “Molly?”

“Yes?”

“You can always ask,” he said at that wary sound. “I’d rather you get pissed at me, scream and yell, than let suspicion stew inside that smart head of yours.”

Trembling, she splayed her hands over his T-shirt. “You said I should trust you.” A soft reminder, her head bent, the curling darkness of her hair in his vision.

“You should.” He couldn’t keep the demand out of his voice. “But until you do, I’ll take questions.” As long as she came to him, he could handle anything; all he needed was a chance to fight for her. “We agreed on that?”

She nodded, her fingers playing with the edges of his jacket.

“Molly?”

Clear brown eyes holding his own without blinking. “I’ll always ask,” she said. “I don’t have it in me to stay quiet—not about something like that. I’ll try to be an adult about it, but I can’t guarantee no screaming and yelling.”

“There it is,” Fox murmured, his dimple appearing as his smile lit up his eyes. “There’s my Molly’s mouth.”

The affectionate caress of his words broke Molly. Rising on tiptoe, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, hating that she might’ve hurt him. She wanted to trust him without question, wasn’t sure the capacity for such faith hadn’t been crushed out of her in childhood.

The fact Fox hadn’t berated her for her need to ask, had instead done what was necessary to ease her worries, it meant more than he could ever know. Her father had always belittled and made her mother feel stupid on the rare occasions when Karen Webster had even mildly questioned his behavior.

Swamped with what she felt for Fox, she poured it into her kiss. And when the smooth metal of his lip ring invited her to play, she did. His responding chuckle was sexy, was Fox. “And that’s definitely my Molly.”

She wanted to be his Molly. So much.

Taking control of the kiss, he nudged her into a seated position on the bed. When she lifted her hands to his jeans, he shook his head. “I’ll take care of you tonight, baby. I think you need it.”

Molly grabbed his hand, shook her head. “This hurt you, too.” Kissing his palm, she pressed it against her cheek. “Let’s take care of each other.”

Fox’s eyes flashed, and she was flat on her back in bed a split-second later, his body big and heavy on her own.

“The things you say, Molly,” he said in that whiskey-and-sin voice, his bristled jaw rasping over the palm she lifted to his jaw. “I’d planned to seduce you, coax you, and now all I want to do is push my cock into you, your skin touching mine, your heart beating against mine.”

“Yes,” she whispered, pushing his jacket off his shoulders.

The action made him exhale harshly and then he rose off the bed to strip down to the skin. Always he’d been her beautiful rock star. Today, his body was no less beautiful, but all she saw was the potent emotion in his eyes, an emotion that echoed the painful, hopeful thing inside her.

Needing him, she slipped off her panties and held out a hand. “Fox.”

He came to her in a storm of masculine heat and blunt sexual words that made her feel adored. Breath lost when he entered her, she blinked back tears at the sheer rightness of their intimate connection, skin sliding against skin, breaths mingling.

Then Fox intertwined his hands with her own, pressing them on either side of her head, and she lost the battle. Kissing away her tears, Fox attempted to pull out, but she held him too possessively, her legs locked around his hips.

Shuddering, he said her name, buried his face against the side of hers. Rolling with his shallow thrusts, she turned her face to kiss his jaw, any part of him she could reach.

He lifted his head, met her kiss, his hair tumbled across his forehead and his fingers locked with hers.

“My Fox,” she whispered, and then there were no more words, only the searing ache of a bond new and vulnerable and with the potential to break them both.

Fox brushed Molly’s hair gently back from her face as she slept curled up against his chest, shaking inside at the glory of what had passed between them tonight.

“My Fox.”

No one had ever claimed him in such a way, a way that had nothing to do with obligation or money or fame. No one had ever cared enough to be possessive of him. Not of Fox, the rock musician who made a nice accessory or trophy to brag about, but of Fox the man. The fact Molly had been pissed off about the shirt thing? He fucking loved it, even if it was an uncivilized reaction. He wasn’t exactly civilized where the woman in his arms was concerned. But he had to pretend he was, at least for a little while longer, give his lover time to come to terms with the violent beauty of what lived between them.

If she took the ultimate risk, if she came to him despite the fears that haunted her, if she chose Zachary Fox as no one else had ever done… she’d fucking own him, whether she knew it or not.

Chapter 22

Molly had to have two cups of tar-strong coffee to wake up the next morning. Still not quite human, she decided to wear a shirt with an old-fashioned tall collar edged in lace. A little Victorian with its long sleeves plus the white ribbon and lace in the detailing, the vintage find always made her feel pretty. She paired it with a simple calf-length black skirt that came with a wide belt, and her trusty black leather boots, the heel barely there to allow for easy walking around the large and busy library.

The rock star in her bed whistled when she exited the bathroom after pulling her hair into a neat twist and putting on her basic work makeup—nothing much more than a lick of mascara and gloss. “I want to tempt you back into bed,” he said, “except I think you’ve worn out my cock.”

Knowing she was being teased and not ready to think about the passionate power of the previous night, Molly decided to respond to his earthy sexuality in the same vein. “Wasn’t I the one who woke up with something long and impatient sliding inside me?” she said through her blush.

His dimple came into view. “I like this naughty side. Show me more.”

God, he made her feel so young and happy. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.” Picking up her purse and fighting the urge to kiss that dimple because she wasn’t sure she’d stop once she started, she pulled out her spare apartment key and set it on the bedside table.

It was the first time she’d given a key to anyone other than Charlotte, but Fox was already so deep inside her, it made little sense to keep him out of her apartment. “Lock up when you leave. Though,” she added, the “naughty side” in fine form this morning, “I won’t kick you out if I come home to find you naked in bed.”

Completely unconcerned by his nudity, Fox walked over to kiss her his way, his lips curved in a smile that hit her sideways. “Have a good day.” A bold, petting stroke of his hand over her butt. “I’ll see you tonight.”

There was, Molly thought as she walked up the steps to the main entrance of the library, something to be said for having her day start with a kiss and a smile from her gorgeous, talented man. It only got better when said man had an extravagant bouquet delivered to her: two dozen roses in his favorite color, arranged in a clear crystal vase. There was no card, but she didn’t need one—not with the adorable stuffed koala sitting in the sea of scented red.

She knew her grin had to be foolish, but she didn’t fight it, picking up and setting the koala beside her computer before turning to face her colleagues, all of whom were agog. Charlotte had the same reaction after Molly showed her a photo of the bouquet at lunch. “I think you should keep him,” her best friend said solemnly as they sat in the vibrant international food hall they’d chosen for today. “Also, find out if he has a twin brother.”

Grinning, Molly sipped some of the miso soup she’d ordered to have with her sandwich. “Won’t T-Rex mind if you run off with a rock star? He seems to be unable to do without you.”

Charlotte stabbed at her sushi. “T-Rex can go bite himself.”

Startled at the hostile statement from her sweet friend, Molly pushed at Charlotte’s practical little black heel with her foot. “Spill.”

“That meeting in Queenstown?” Charlotte ate a piece of sushi with grim-eyed focus before continuing. “Afterward, he made me go with him to every single jewelry store in the city to find the perfect bracelet for some woman he’s dating.”

“Oh.” Molly winced, feeling awful she’d encouraged Charlotte in that direction. Luckily, Charlotte seemed more mad than sad. “That must’ve sucked.”

“Yeah.” Charlotte stabbed at her sushi again. “Every time I pointed one out just to end the whole excruciating experience, he questioned me in that Spanish Inquisition way of his until I finally gave him my actual opinion.”

“What did you pick?”

“Here.” Charlotte pulled up an image on her phone. “I was sneaking a photo of it when he caught me.”

The bracelet was a stunning delicacy of diamonds and emeralds set in platinum, the design evocative of tiny flowers and spring leaves. It was made for someone as fine-boned as Charlotte, would accent rather than overwhelm.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” A soft sigh, hazel eyes melting before a self-satisfied smirk curved her best friend’s lips. “It also put a significant five-figure dent in his wallet.”

Laughing, Molly thought hmm and considered the fact T-Rex had bought the one piece Charlotte had truly loved. Either he was an insensitive jerk or he was displaying the cool, strategic intelligence that made him a feared opponent in the business world. Molly wanted to believe the latter for Charlotte’s sake, but it was hard to say when she’d never seen the two of them together. Still…

“Forget him,” she said and saw Charlotte’s fingers tighten on her chopsticks. “I think we both agree that Ernest is never going to be lover material, not for you”—a twist of Charlotte’s lips, followed by a reluctant nod—“but what about Derrick? Didn’t you say he sent you a flirtatious e-mail a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes, but he didn’t follow it up in person. Figures. He’s a wimp.”

Molly’s mouth dropped open. “Charlie!” Her friend was never unkind.

“If I can stand up to T-Rex,” Charlotte said with an adorable hint of pride, “I can’t exactly respect a man who goes off with his tail between his legs each time the boss snarls.”

“Okay, you have a point.” Even if T-Rex was an idiot who couldn’t see what was right in front of him, he was doing fantastic things for Charlotte’s confidence. That alone put him in Molly’s good graces.

“Anyway,” Charlotte said, “I’m not the one with the exciting life.” She looked pointedly at Molly’s shirt. “Funny how that helpfully covers your neck.”

Molly felt her skin heat. “It’s one of my favorite shirts.”

“Oh, please. You have a love bite, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Fox had left his mark on her and each time she thought about it, her stomach fluttered. “He’s…” She bit her lower lip. “He asked me if I wanted to change the rules.” And then he’d loved her with a tenderness that made her heart ache.

“Do you want to?” No lingering amusement in Charlotte’s eyes.

Molly swallowed the single word she wanted to say, the declaration she wanted to make. “Where can it lead?” She put down her spoon, the soup forgotten. “He has a life on the other side of the world.” A life lived in the glare of media attention, something it made her nauseous to even consider. “Mine is here. My work is here. You’re here.”

“I love that you put me on your list.” A vivid Charlie smile. “But I can and will always visit you wherever you are.” She closed her hand over Molly’s. “The real question is—can you live with ‘what ifs’ for the rest of your life if you don’t try to see if it could somehow work?”

For such a sweet person, Charlotte had a way of asking the most difficult questions. Could she walk away from the promise of a life with Fox? If she did, Molly knew her cowardice would haunt her for the rest of her life. But how could it ever work? “Charlie, I…” Breaking off, she just stared at her friend, lost and scared and fragile with hope.

Charlotte squeezed her hand. “Come on, let’s treat ourselves to fancy coffees, then we can discuss that scene in the book you lent me.”

Molly’s emotional equilibrium was no longer so shaky when she and a smiling Charlotte arrived at the entrance to the building where her best friend worked… just as someone else was about to stride up the steps, having appeared from the other side of the street. “Ms. Baird. Good, you’re back,” said T-Rex, his black hair lifting slightly in the breeze. “I need you with me at a meeting in ten minutes.”

Her free hand clenched by her side, Charlotte sipped silently at her frothy mochaccino as the six-feet-five stone wall dressed in a flawless Italian suit who was her boss glanced at Molly. She went to introduce herself when he said, “You must be Molly. I’m Gabriel.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Molly said, wondering how he knew who she was.

“Likewise.” Steel-gray eyes shifted from her to Charlotte. “You have foam on your upper lip.”

Then he was gone.

“Yes, he’s hot,” Molly said consideringly, though inside she was dancing a delirious jig. No man noticed such a tiny fleck of foam on a woman’s lip unless he was paying careful attention to those lips. “Kind of big for you though.”

It was like poking a hornet’s nest.

“Just because I’m not an Amazon doesn’t mean I can’t handle T-Rex!”

“Aha! So you admit you want to handle him?”

Charlotte growled at her, threatening to tip her drink all over Molly’s white shirt. “You’re an awful friend. Go away.”

Molly’s laugh bubbled out of her. “Do you think he’s built in proportion?”

Charlotte pinked and avoided her eyes as she said, “I have to go before he decides to fire me again today.”

“Wait,” Molly said, not taking the teasing any further because if, despite all evidence to the contrary, T-Rex wasn’t interested in Charlotte and she put herself out there, the rejection would crush her friend. “How does he know who I am?”

“Because he thinks my business is his business.” Turning at the automatic doors, her best friend held Molly’s gaze, a deep caring in her expression. “Think about what I said.”

Molly did think about it. And knew Charlotte was right—she couldn’t live with the “what ifs,” couldn’t watch Fox walk away because she was too scared to reach for him.

Her nerves were in knots by the time she returned home after work, but she wasn’t about to chicken out in her decision to talk to Fox, standing forever in place, caged by the grief and anger of the fifteen-year-old girl she’d once been. He wasn’t in the apartment, but his scent lingered in the air. Hugging a pillow to her chest for a minute, she breathed deep, then got moving; giving herself too much time to think would only ratchet up her nerves.

She was in the middle of preparing dinner when the sound of a key in the door had a smile breaking out over her face. “Thank you for the flowers,” she said and walked into his arms, the material of his black T-shirt soft against her cheek.

Duffel sliding to the floor and guitar already propped up beside the door, Fox massaged the back of her neck as he kissed her slow and deep. “I had images of you naked on a bed of petals when I picked out the roses.” He stroked his finger down the shell of her ear with that sinful confession, his lips curved. “What are we doing tonight?”

She’d intended to suggest they stay at home and talk, but all at once, that felt too confining, too claustrophobic for what she needed to say. “I thought dinner, then maybe we could drive up Mount Eden?” The volcanic cone offered sweeping views of the city, the vista breathtaking at night.

“Sounds good.”

An hour and a half later, Molly realized she shouldn’t have delayed, her nerves so frayed that Fox had watched her with careful eyes throughout dinner. However, he hadn’t said anything, and now he parked the Ferrari at the top of the mountain she’d suggested, in front of the huge, sloping crater that told of a massive explosion millennia ago.

Getting out, he whistled at the view of the city spread out around them in every direction, thousands of lights glinting against the silky black of the night. “Damn. It’s three hundred and sixty degrees.”

His pleasure fed hers. “It’s one of my favorite places in the city.” Sliding her hand into Fox’s when he held it out, she walked with him along the path that led to another vantage point on the other side of the crater.

And in his touch, she found her courage. “My mother,” she began into the silence broken only by the whispering of the long grasses moving in the slight breeze, “loved my father.” It had been a toxic love that meant Karen Webster couldn’t walk away, even when loving Patrick Buchanan was a cancer on her soul.

“After the scandal broke,” Molly continued, Fox’s hand strong and warm around her own, “she resigned her board positions with various charitable organizations and stayed home with my father. I think she was waiting for him to dust himself off as he’d always done before.” Patrick Buchanan had been like the proverbial cat with nine lives. “She didn’t seem to understand how serious the charges were, that he’d certainly end up in prison.”

Arriving at the vantage point, the spot otherwise empty tonight, Molly gave herself a break and pointed out the glittering lights of the cars snaking over the Harbour Bridge, Auckland a city surrounded by water.

Fox wrapped his arms around her from behind, a tall, strong wall of protective heat. “Nice view, but you know the view I like better.” He bent to kiss her throat.

Shivering, she angled her neck for another.

“You figure people are making out in those cars where we parked?” Fox asked after fulfilling her silent request.

“I saw steam on the windows of the hatchback.” A long, quiet minute as she luxuriated in the feel of being held under a starlit sky while the city sparkled like a jewel-bright carpet below them. “Do you want to hear the rest?” she asked when she felt strong enough to face the past again. “It’s not particularly unique.”

“It’s about you.” Fox spread his legs, drew her even closer. “I want to know.”

Holding on to his forearms where they crossed her chest, Molly drew in a trembling breath. “When they granted him bail, my father came home and literally never left again until the day he died. He became an apathetic shadow of the brilliant, manipulative, controlling person I’d always known.”

To this day, Molly didn’t know if his withdrawal had been driven by shame, or simply disbelief that he, Patrick Buchanan, had been caught and held to account. “My mother… it was like she couldn’t function on any level without his orders.” Molly could still remember the bewildered look in her mother’s sky-blue eyes.

“After I came home and found her passed out drunk every day for a week”—Molly’s stomach churned at the remembered smell of alcohol drenching the air—“while my father sat staring at his computer, I began opening the mail that had piled up. That’s when I saw what he’d been doing.”

Chapter 23

“Drugs?”

“Close.” Her hands had begun to shake as she looked at the bank statements and final notices for bills. “Online gambling. He’d bankrupted us in a matter of weeks.” Worse, he hadn’t paid any of the insurance premiums since the day of his arrest, invalidating all the policies.

Fox’s voice was harsh when he spoke. “No man has the right to do that to his family.”

“I confronted him—I think part of me was hoping I’d misunderstood.” Like a child wanting to be assured the bogeyman wasn’t real. “When he stirred enough to yell at me to get the hell out, I waited for one of my mother’s sober days and showed her the papers. The way she looked at me… I broke her heart into a million pieces that day.” Molly would never forget that instant, never forget the unvarnished agony that had sent Karen Webster to the floor in a fetal curl.

Molly had begged for her mother to talk to her, said sorry a hundred times, but she’d continued to lie there, mute and fractured. “I don’t think she was ever sober again.”

“That is not on you.” A ruthless declaration as Fox turned her to face him. “Baby, you have to know that.” He crushed her against the strong planes of his chest and only then did she realize she was crying.

Wrapped tight in the protective circle of his arms, she felt so safe that she couldn’t fight the crashing wave of shattering emotion—feelings she’d hidden away for so long that she’d almost convinced herself they no longer existed. That none of it had the power to hurt her any longer.

Her nose was stuffy, her throat scratchy, and her eyes wrung dry when Fox spoke against her ear, the whiskey and sin of his voice an addiction—and that was the greatest irony of her life.

“You’re telling me this so I’ll know how bad you’re messed up?”

Molly leaned back enough to meet his gaze, the smoky green black in the darkness. “Yes.” He’d read the newspaper reports, knew what had happened next—the loss of their family home and everything else not already consumed by escalating legal costs, her parents’ deaths in a car crash on the way to a court appearance, her mother later discovered to have been five times over the legal limit.

The only miracle was that Karen Webster had taken only her husband with her, her car smashing not into another vehicle but into a concrete pylon. When it came out that there had been no skid marks on the road, the media had called it a murder-suicide. Molly wasn’t sure they were wrong.

“I’ve worn the coat of being a well-balanced, ‘normal’ person for so long that I almost believe it myself most days,” she confessed, “but I’m not. I have stuff inside me that chokes me up until I can’t breathe. I’m really messed up.”

Fox rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the remnants of her tears. “I got plenty of fucked-up parts inside me, too. Yeah, they kick my ass sometimes, but I wouldn’t be me without those parts, and you wouldn’t be you.” His voice dropping, holding her captive. “That’s the Molly I want, the messed up, smart, sexy one standing right in front of me.”

Passionate and edgy and starkly romantic, his words kissed the torn-up places inside her. “This,” she said, her voice husky, “us. It’s not working.”

Molten fury, Fox’s skin pulling taut over his cheekbones. “Hell it’s not.”

“Wait.” Molly pressed her fingers to his lips. “That didn’t come out right.” She swallowed, blurted out the words that had been building inside her since the moment he asked her if she wanted to change the rules. “I don’t want a deadline.” Her heart ripping open, the exposure terrifying. “I don’t want to pretend like my mother did, that my life—our relationship—is something other than what it is.”

Fox’s heart staggered at hearing the words he’d been waiting for since the instant he’d first realized she was his. Parting his lips to speak, he suddenly became aware of a large group of energetic and giggly teens racing down to the lookout. “Shit.”

Grabbing Molly’s hand, he led her back up the rise, head angled to avoid being recognized, and drove home as fast as legally possible. This was one night he definitely did not need to be pulled over. Backing Molly against the closed door of her apartment the instant they were inside, one hand on her hip, his other arm braced over her head, he said, “Let me get this right.” His heart ricocheted inside his ribcage. “You’re saying you want us to go on for longer than a month? No limits?”

Molly nodded.

When he simply watched her, she wet her lips, spoke in a throaty whisper. “Yes. I want to change the rules.”

“You sure?” No doubts, there could be no doubts in her mind. “Because once you take that step, I won’t allow you to back away.”

“Yes.” The single word was potent with emotion. “I’m sure. I want to be with you in every way… I want to see who we’ll become together.”

A dazzling kaleidoscope exploding in his mind, Fox thrust his hand into Molly’s hair, unraveling her ponytail to fist his hand in the silky black strands. “No more hiding,” he ordered. “You’re mine, in private and in public. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” It was a thready sound, her throat moving as she swallowed. “You want the same thing?”

“Baby, I never had any intention of letting you go at the end of the month.” Fox’s words shattered everything Molly thought she knew. “You’re like the perfect song and I knew that the first night we spent together.”

The perfect song.

No one had ever said anything so beautiful to her. Already-gritty eyes burning, she said, “H…how do we do this?” Her fingers curled against his back. “Will you fly down to spend time with me after your tour is complete?”

“No half measures, not ever,” was his unbending response. “You come with me.”

Again, he’d hit her with the unexpected. “I can’t.” Breathless words, her pulse in her mouth. “My life, my friends, everything is here.”

“I’m not.”

It was a simple, absolute fact. Shaken, she gripped at him to keep herself upright. “If I choose to stay here?”

“I told you, no half measures.” His expression was brutal, all the niceties stripped away to reveal the strong, determined man at the core of him. “If you don’t come with me, what’ll we have? A few weeks a year?”

“We could make it work,” she argued, so overwhelmed by the careening speed of this that her mind scrabbled to find steady ground.

“No.” A flat rejection. “I want to take you out to dinner. I want to walk with you down the street. I want to pretend not to be bored while you shop. I want to kiss you before I go onstage. I want you in my bed every damn night.”

Each word he spoke, it echoed her own secret desires.

“So you decide, Molly, once and for all, if you want me enough to take the chance.”

“That’s not fair.” She adored him, but he was asking her to alter the course of her life in a way that could never be undone. “I want to be with you more than I’ve ever wanted anything—”

Kissing her without warning, his mouth hot, his tongue stroking deep, the slight abrasiveness of his callused fingertips familiar on the side of her face, he whispered, “Say that again.”

“I can’t bear to think of being alone in this apartment again,” Molly said, her voice shaking, “of watching you leave… of hearing that you’ve found someone else. You’re mine.” A raw claim.

Fox shuddered. “Fuck, baby, I got no argument with that.” One hand continuing to cradle the side of her face, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, he said, “Why the hesitation, then?”

The stark, unconditional honesty of the moment demanded she speak the truth. Finding another strand of courage, she gave voice to the fear that had a clawed grip on her heart. “What if we don’t last in the real world?” The pressure of the media, the constant barrage of attention, it could wear a person down to the bone. “What if I’m not strong enough?”

“I know it’ll be hard.” Fox’s breath hot against her skin, his body a wall of muscle. “But you’ve faced hard before and kicked it to the curb.” Green eyes violent with a pride that tightened the chains around her heart. “Delaying the decision won’t make it any easier.”

“No.” The only way to know if they had what it took to make it under the unforgiving glare of the world stage or if it would smash them into jagged shards was to step into that life.

Ever since she’d been old enough to understand the poisonous nature of her parents’ relationship, Molly had promised herself she’d never make the same mistake, never become addicted to anything or anyone. Except here she was, addicted to a rock star who lived in a world that was the diametric opposite of the staid, suburban existence that had been the goal she’d set herself as a devastated and heartbroken teenager—the lights, the cameras, the intrusion, the cruelty, it was her personal nightmare.

No matter what happened, the instant she made this decision, she ended her chance of ever having an ordinary life. It hurt to think of the death of a dream she’d held on to for so long, but nothing hurt more than the thought of losing Fox. “Yes,” she said on a whisper of sound. “I’ll come with you.”

Fox’s eyes held her own, a passionate, possessive fire in their depths. “No half measures, no regrets.”

“No half measures,” she vowed, her pulse a staccato beat and her heart on her sleeve. “No regrets.”

Fox’s kiss branded her, his body imprinting on her cells.