Rock Addiction by Nalini Singh
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,
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
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."