Thrusting her hands into his hair instead, she pulled him down to her, ravaging his mouth as he ravaged hers. Teeth and tongue and fury, it was as much a fight as a kiss. The fact her body was liquid for him only enraged her further. Sucking on her tongue, his knuckles brushing against her clit before the blunt head of his cock did the same, Fox pushed up her thigh and shoved inside her in a single push.

She screamed into the kiss, her hands clawing at his back through his T-shirt while her body rocketed out of control. His mouth dropping to her neck, the lip ring grazing her skin, he bit down hard enough to leave a serious mark… and Molly’s orgasm tore her to pieces in a violent pulse that had her muscles locking around his cock. One hand tight in her hair, Fox pulled out and shoved deep again, and then he came and came inside her.


The first thing Fox did after his brain started functioning again was push up and look down into Molly’s face. “I lost my temper. Tell me if I hurt you.” The idea that he might have was a chunk of ice inside him. Never had he spun that out of control with a woman. That it had been Molly who’d borne the brunt of his temper? Fuck.

“No,” she said, and tried to turn her head aside, but he cradled her face with one hand, forced her to hold the agonizing intimacy of the eye contact, their bodies still locked together.

“Tell me the truth, baby.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” Naked vulnerability, confusion, the remnants of anger in those brown eyes that couldn’t lie, but no pain. “I was with you all the way.”

Blowing out a shuddering breath, he pressed down on his forearms, his hair falling across his forehead. “Now we’re going to talk.”

Fine tremors ran over Molly’s skin, each a kick to Fox’s gut. “This isn’t my world,” she said. “I don’t know the rules.”

“There’s only one rule you need to know with me.” The embers of his temper glowing to life again at the reminder she’d doubted him, his voice came out a growl. “I won’t fuck around on you while we’re together. I told you that at the start and nothing’s changed.”

“I believe you.” Her long, dark lashes lowered, rose again, her pupils deep ebony. “If I didn’t, I would’ve said no. I was just…” Right when he thought she’d finally admit that there was no way in hell this had ever been, or could ever be, a temporary affair, she said, “I’m sorry I overreacted.”

“Don’t be sorry you let me see you.” Fighting with Molly wasn’t his favorite thing in the world, but he’d damn well take her anger over icy distance. “Don’t you ever apologize for that.”

Molly broke the eye contact once more, her throat moving as she swallowed. “We should shower. We’re both sweaty from today. You need to…” Cheeks flushing, she shifted her hips in a silent reminder that he remained buried in her.

He could sense her pulling away emotionally in spite of their sexual entanglement, shaken by the visceral power of the minutes past. “I’m not done with you yet.” Possessive fury continuing to thunder through him, Fox opened his mouth over hers, slid his tongue between her lips, and began to use his intimate knowledge of her body to seduce her.

 If sex was all she’d give him, then he’d damn well use it to tie her to him until she could never again think of walking away. Fingers clenching on the rucked-up sheets, Molly moaned in the back of her throat as he flexed his hips in a lazy movement. “Not nearly done.”


Wrapping herself tightly in the robe again after they finally had that shower, Molly ordered room service for them both from the twenty-four-hour hotel kitchen. She was still wrecked from the smoldering heat of their second time together that night. Fox had wanted to make a point, and he’d made it with a relentless concentration that had left her shuddering in ecstasy, his body her only anchor.

He hadn’t liked being locked out, being distrusted. But even in his anger, he hadn’t hurt her. What he’d done was worse—he’d taken her, branded her, driven himself into every cell of her body. She couldn’t survive a month of this, of becoming further and further intertwined with a man who could never be hers. The thought of ending up an empty, broken shell like her mother was a nightmare… but even worse was the thought of losing Fox, of never again inhaling his scent, hearing his voice, feeling his touch.

“Room service.”

 Jumping at the knock on the door, she glanced at Fox where he lay on her bed.

Jaw clenched, he went into his room and closed the door while the waiter dropped off the food. His dark expression had grown heavier by the time he walked back in, his jeans low on his hips and his upper half bare. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to know he was angry about the continued secrecy of their relationship, but he kept his silence as the two of them ate the food while sprawled in bed.

Molly picked at a plate of fruit, then set it aside on the bedside table, not really in the mood to eat. “How did that woman get past security?” she asked, knowing she was revealing too much of what she felt for him but unable to stop herself.

“How groupies always get past security.” Fox shrugged and continued to eat his burger, but his voice held an edge that said his temper was still simmering. “Don’t waste any more time on her. She’s nothing.”

Molly winced, wondering if that was how he’d think of her once their month was past. Then she wanted to slap herself. “I’m really not cut out to be a rock star’s g—” She caught herself before she said “girlfriend,” the word a knot of painful emotion in her throat. “Lover.”

“Since I can still feel you hot and wet around my cock, I disagree.” With that forthright statement, Fox finished off his burger, then picked up the beer he’d had her order and half-emptied the bottle before suddenly frowning. “You mind if I drink?” he asked, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear. “I never asked.”

The tenderness shattered her. He remained angry, that much was clear, but still he thought about her. Cuddling close, she laid her head against his shoulder and felt the tension in her spine ease when he wrapped his arm around her without hesitation, his fingers closing over her nape.

“No,” she said in response to his question. “It’s my choice, doesn’t have anything to do with anyone else.” The golden silk of his skin an invitation to her senses, she stroked his side, petted his chest. It felt so right to just be with him. “Each time I turn down a drink, I remember why I made this choice and who I am. Does that make sense?”

Fox brushed his lips over the top of her hair. “Perfect sense. Was your mom a drinker or was she just drunk the day she got behind the wheel?” he asked, and she knew then that he’d read through articles not only about her father’s fall from grace but also about what followed.

Molly could remember every detail of that fateful hour when she’d lost what little remained of her world: the fine yellow paper of the note calling her to the school counselor’s office, the echoes created by the soles of her school shoes in the otherwise empty corridors, the Wet Floor sign where the custodian had wiped it clean of a spill, the kind face and sad eyes of the veteran cop who’d told her both her parents were dead. It was as defining a moment in her life as the day she’d watched televised images of her father being arrested.

“My mom was a high-functioning alcoholic for most of the last eight years of her life… then she was just an alcoholic,” she said through the agony of memory. “But,” she added, eyes gritty and throat dry, “from the things I picked up over the years, I know she began drinking years before, when she learned of my father’s first affair.”

Fox lifted his hand from her nape to run his fingers lightly over the side of her face. “Bastard has a lot to answer for.”

About to respond that her mother held half the responsibility for choosing to stay with Patrick Buchanan despite knowing what he was, Molly’s heart suddenly hiccupped, a wave of ice crawling over her skin. What was she doing speaking to Fox about things that made her feel as if she were that beaten, broken girl again? She knew how dangerous this was, how far she’d already fallen, how bad it was going to hurt when it ended.

She’d bleed the day Fox walked out of her life.

“The concert,” she said in a stumbling rush of words, “it was amazing. I’ve never experienced anything like that.”

It was about as subtle an effort to change the subject as a sledgehammer, but Fox let her retreat, maybe because he, too, didn’t want to go that deep. “Yeah? It’s a rush, isn’t it? I love performing, especially when the crowd is that pumped.”

Heart rate smoothing out as the ice eased its grip, she traced her fingertips over the ridges of his abdomen. “That teenager you let onto the stage to jam with you—he was so excited, I think he’s probably not going to sleep for a month.”

 “Me, Noah, Abe, and David, we were all that kid once.” Bracing one arm on a raised knee, he said, “You really had a good time?”

Surprised at the note of hesitation, she pushed up so she could look into those gorgeous eyes, his lashes lush and thick. “Yes! It was my first rock concert and I think I’m addicted.” Fox’s slow grin was the reward for her honesty. “The energy, the primal power of it, and most of all the music… my God, Fox, you four make the most incredible music.” It pulsed in her veins even now, compelling and haunting.

“In the end,” Fox said, “it’s about the music. That’s why we’ve stuck together—the money, the fame, it’s peripheral. All the four of us ever wanted to do was make music.”

Filching one of his fries when he put the little basket on his lap, she crunched it. “I was talking to Maxwell and he said you guys stuck through everything.”