A source at the hotel confirmed they’d last been seen heading into his room, his mouth “devouring” hers.

Numb, Molly closed the page and got to work typing up the proposed program. Her fingers moved on autopilot, as did her body when it came time to move on to other duties. She was grateful the library continued to be hectic as the hours passed. So long as she didn’t have time to think, she was fine. The only person who would’ve immediately guessed something was wrong was Charlotte, and her best friend had flown down to the capital this morning with T-Rex for a big meeting.

Fox messaged her around three p.m. David’s in the clear. Be home tomorrow. xx

Where the xx and the use of the word “home” would have made her melt last night, today it seemed a mockery. Numb still and not knowing what to do, she ignored the message. Around four came another: In area with bad cell coverage. Talk to you when I return to the hotel.

Molly had no intention of talking to him. When she finally made it home, having opted to stay late to help a colleague with a project, she took off her clothes and stepped into the searing heat of the shower… only to collapse into a shattered ball on the floor. The block of ice within her chest bled a shivering chill through her veins and tears wracked her body, her throat lined with broken glass. It hurt, but nothing hurt as bad as knowing Fox had slept with another woman.

“Stupid, stupid, Molly,” she castigated herself, continuing to shiver under the white-hot spray. She’d known who he was from the start, and still she’d allowed herself to fall for his promises, to trust the rock star who’d just driven a knife through her heart.


Five hours later, she stumbled out of bed and walked to the living room to see the message light blinking on her machine. She’d turned it on before crawling under the blankets after her shower, having also switched off the ringer on the phone. Her cell phone, too, was off. Staring at the machine as if it might grow fangs, she reached out and pressed the Play button.

Thea’s smiling voice cut through the silence. Fox, Molly thought on a wave of blinding fury, likely had other priorities. She allowed the embers within her to simmer as she listened to Thea’s message. Better to be angry than to return to the heartbroken mess she’d been earlier. And if the anger was only a paper-thin crust covering devastating pain, it was enough to keep her going, keep her functional.

Leaving the machine on after the message had played, she walked into the kitchen and deliberately focused on the salad fixings in her fridge, well aware of her tendency to comfort herself with food. But her eye caught on the cheese and wouldn’t let go. One toasted cheese sandwich isn’t going to kill me, she thought mutinously and grabbed the block of cheddar.

Turning on her mini countertop toaster oven, she popped in the prepared sandwich and glanced at the clock. Three a.m. Great. She had to be up in less than four hours. Then again, it wasn’t as if she was going to get any sleep with her mind running the photo of Fox with the redhead in a continuous loop.

When the answering machine clicked on without warning, she jumped before realizing she’d never turned the ringer back on.

“Baby, it’s Fox. I know it’s late, but I wanted to hear your voice. Just got back into the country after hitching a ride on a friend’s jet. Call you later.”

Molly reached out to shut off the toaster oven when the cheese began to burn. Removing the sandwich, she put it on a plate and went to the table. She finished it with slow, deliberate focus, drank a huge glass of water to wash it all down, then replayed Fox’s message. He sounded so carefree, so normal. As if he hadn’t kicked her in the teeth, then stomped on her heart. How dare he!

Grabbing the phone, she began to stab at the keys, inputting the number for his cell phone… and paused halfway through, his declaration from their last fight blazing into her mind.

“You trust me, that’s what you do!”

Her fingers clenched on the phone. What if the paper was wrong? It was the first time her mind was clear enough to consider that, consider the fact that if Fox had slept with someone else, it meant he’d lied to her face when he’d told her he was hers for the duration. Not only that, he’d have had to have been with the redhead while he was messaging Molly, while he was telling her he was planning to stay late at the party because he didn’t want to go back to the hotel room without her.

Fox was too blunt, too honest, to play those kinds of games.

Or was he, another part of her asked. After all, what did she know about him? She’d known him for under two weeks.

He told me about his family, about his grandparents.

Yes, the cold facts were public knowledge, but the emotions he’d shared weren’t.

And he’d held her, comforted her, come to her on a boat in the middle of the night when she’d told him about her father. Could a man like that so recklessly trample on her heart? She wanted to say no, but the truth was that Fox’s lifestyle was a world apart from her own—he existed in a world where friends had jets and life was lived in the fast lane. For all she knew, he might not think it counted as cheating if she was in a different country at the time.

“God.” Sinking into the chair again, she shoved her hands through her hair, elbows braced on the table.

Maybe it was pointless to try to figure out any of this when she’d have lost him in just over two weeks in any case. “But he was supposed to be mine till then,” she said to the air, the words torn from her bleeding, wounded heart. She was too emotionally raw to any longer avoid the tiny bubble of hope that had bloomed inside her in Sydney. Hidden deep, deep inside her, that fragile hope had whispered that perhaps her and Fox’s relationship didn’t have to end; it was too powerful, too beautiful, too honest.

A sob caught in her chest.

She had to know the truth, good or bad. Fingertips as cold as her skin, she called Fox. He answered at once, his voice a low, masculine murmur. “I woke you, didn’t I? I’d say sorry, but I wanted to talk to you.” A rustle as if he was moving the phone to his other ear. “Hold on a second. I’m just getting in the elevator—the call might drop.”

When it didn’t, she said, “Did you have a good flight back?” unable to immediately ask the question that might end them here and now.

“Smooth and quick. Stroke of luck that James was in the country and heading back to New Zealand—his jet is a beauty.” She heard the ping as the elevator arrived at its floor. “Not as fast as I would’ve liked though.”

Her insides twisted at the warmth in his tone and she knew he was talking about her, about getting back to her. Before she could respond, there was a quiet knock on her door. Heart slamming into her ribs, she rose shakily to her feet. “Fox, is that you?”

“Unless you have other strange men who stalk you.”

Phone abandoned, she ran to the door and opened it to jump into his arms. He held her tight, walking in far enough that he could shut the door behind himself. “You did miss me,” he murmured against the side of her face.

It was music, his voice, edgy and dark, and it infiltrated her bloodstream, made her want to forget the world. Except she couldn’t. Not today. Not until she knew. Because she couldn’t ever look the other way.


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.”