Rock Addiction

  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 cafes 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 cafes 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 back
pack 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.