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.