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 discussio
n 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 p
ressed 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.