Текст книги "Rock Addiction"
Автор книги: Nalini Singh
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
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.”
