She wanted to bite his lower lip.
Wanted to tug on the silver ring that pierced one corner of that delicious, toe-curling mouth.
But mostly she wanted to bite down with her teeth, taste the badness of him.
“Um, Molly?” A hand waved in front of her face. “Molly?”
Blinking, she forced her gaze away from the man who made her want to do bad, bad things and toward the petite form of her best friend. “What?” Her skin flushed until she wondered if her fantasies were visible to everyone in the room.
“You mind if I bug out?” Charlotte took a last tiny sip of her pomegranate martini before placing it on one of the small, high tables scattered around the room. “I want to spend tomorrow making sure all the files are in order for the new boss.”
Molly scowled, all embarrassment fading. “I thought you were trying to take it easy on weekends?”
The fringe of the black flapper-style dress she’d pulled out of her closet in a moment of whimsy swirled just above her knees when she shifted to give Charlotte her complete attention. “Isn’t making sure everything’s up to standard Anya’s job anyway?” It was Anya who was personal assistant to the CEO; Charlie officially worked in the records department, but Anya had a way of treating Molly’s best friend as her own assistant.
“New boss has a rep,” Charlotte said. “I don’t want to be fired because Anya didn’t bother to do what she should.” Narrowed hazel eyes behind fine wire-rimmed spectacles made it clear Charlotte had no illusions about the other woman.
Nodding, Molly considered the cherry that decorated her nonalcoholic but very pretty cocktail. “Let me get my coat.” Disappointment whispered through her veins, but really, what would’ve happened if she’d stayed longer? Zilch. Zero. Nothing.
Okay, maybe another blush or two inspired by the rock god across the room, but that was it. Even if he, for some wildly inexplicable reason of his own, decided he wanted her, the one thing Molly would never ever do was become involved with someone who lived in the media spotlight. She’d barely survived her first brutal brush with fame as a shocked and scared fifteen-year-old; the ugliness of it had left scars that hurt to this day.
“Oh, no, don’t.” Charlotte put a hand on her arm, squeezed. “I’ll order a cab. You’re having too much fun staring at Mr. Kissable.”
Molly almost choked on the cherry, lush and sweet, that she hadn’t been able to resist. “I’d say I can’t believe that came out of your mouth”—cheeks burning, she fought not to dissolve into mortified laughter—“but you have been my friend for twenty-one years and counting.”
Charlotte grinned as she took out her phone and texted a cab company. “You know who he is, don’t you?”
“Of course. He’s only one of Thea’s most important clients.” And on the cover of every second magazine that came across Molly’s desk at the library, all sleek muscle and tattoos and a sexy smile curving those dangerous, bitable lips. If she couldn’t resist reading the articles and sighing over the photos, that was her guilty little secret.
“You two talking about me again?” Her sister’s sultry voice sounded from behind Molly, followed by her slender body—currently clad in a tight red designer sheath.
“About your raking-it-in client,” Charlotte clarified.
“That’s über-client to you.” Raising her champagne flute, Thea clinked it against the glass that held Molly’s frothy concoction. “Here’s to rock stars with voices like sex and bodies like heaven.”
Molly felt her stomach clutch, and even though she knew it was none of her business, said, “You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience,” grateful her voice came out steady.
“Molly, m’dear, you know I never mess around with money.” Her older sister’s uptilted eyes, a burnished brown, were suddenly dead serious. “And Zachary Fox, known to his gazillion and one fans as Fox, and to any woman with a functioning sex drive as hot with a capital H, is serious money. As are the other members of Schoolboy Choir.” Putting down her empty champagne flute beside Charlotte’s cocktail glass, she said, “Come on, I’ll introduce you both to him.”
Charlotte shook her head. “No thanks. You know me and gorgeous men—I turn into a Charlie-shaped statue.” Having kept her phone in hand, she now looked down as the screen flashed. “That’s a message from my cab driver. He’s downstairs.”
“You’re sure about going home alone?” Molly couldn’t help but worry about her best friend. Charlotte was fierce and strong and the only person who’d stood by her when the scandal broke, but she knew Charlie’s own past had left invisible wounds that had never quite scarred over.
“Yes—I use this driver a lot for work stuff. He always waits while I unlock the door to my place and disarm the security.” She hugged Thea good-bye before doing the same to Molly, leaning up to whisper, “Live a little, Moll. Take the hot rock star home, then tell me all about your night of wild monkey sex.”
Molly’s breath caught at the idea of it, foolish and impossible though it was. “If only.” Over an hour into the party and Fox hadn’t even looked in Molly’s direction, that’s how high she registered on his radar.
“Fox knows who you are,” Thea said after Charlotte had left. “He saw a photo of us in my L.A. office—the one from after we went through the caves.”
Molly groaned. “You mean the one where we both look like drowned rats, have giant black inflatable rings around our waists, and dented helmets on our heads?” The trip through the waters of the underground cave system had been fun, but it did not make for alluring photos. “Let’s not forget the ancient gray wetsuits that made it look like we were molting.”
Choking on her laughter, Thea nodded. “He was interested in doing the black-water rafting thing when I told him where we took the photo. I’m sure he’d love to talk to you about it.”
Molly fought the temptation to get close to him any way she could, and it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. “No thanks,” she said, her mind awash in visions of what it would be like to meet him in a much more private setting, run her fingers over the firm lines of his body… bite down on his lip. “I’d like to keep standing over here with my fantasies.” Distance or not, the needy, achy feeling in the pit of her stomach continued to intensify, her response to the rock star across the room scarily potent.
Thea raised an elegant eyebrow.
“If I meet him,” she added through the shimmer of heat that licked over her skin when he laughed at something one of his bandmates had said, the sound a rough, dark caress, “and he’s an arrogant snob or worse, a stoned-out idiot, there go my fantasies.”
“Fox is neither a snob nor a stoner.” Thea’s lips kicked up. “The man is the whole package: intelligent, talented, and a nice human being unless you piss him off by pushing too hard about his private life—and I don’t think there’s any chance you’ll go paparazzi on me.”
“That just makes it worse,” Molly pointed out, trying not to watch as Fox bent his head to speak to a bombshell brunette in a dress the size of a handkerchief. “How can I fantasize about him ripping off my clothes in a moment of reckless passion if he politely shakes my hand and says it’s nice to meet me?”
Molly had learned her lesson about reality versus dreams as a teenager—once destroyed, some dreams could never be resurrected. And for some reason, she couldn’t bear for this silly, unattainable dream to be splintered by reality.
“If you change your mind,” Thea said with a shake of her head, “speak up soon. Fox never stays long at these things.” She picked up a cobalt blue cocktail from the tray of a passing waiter. “I’d better go make nice with the other guests.”
Watching her publicist sister expertly work the room, Molly smiled in quiet pride. Though they’d joyfully connected after a lifetime of not knowing the other existed, the bond was yet new, fragile, and no one who wasn’t aware of their family history would ever guess they were related. Twenty-nine to Molly’s twenty-four, not only was Thea naturally slender in contrast to Molly’s curves, she had the smooth golden skin of her Balinese mother as well as Lily’s eyes, but she’d gained her height from Patrick Buchanan, topping Molly by a good five inches.
Their shared father had put his stamp on Molly in a far stronger fashion, giving her the black hair she constantly fought to tame, creamy skin that burned easily, and eyes of deepest brown. Every time Molly looked in the mirror, she remembered what Patrick had done, and each time she wrenched her hair into a tight twist—as she’d done tonight—it was in silent rebellion of the shadow he threw over her life even from the grave.
Patrick Buchanan, “family values” politician and vicious hypocrite, was the kind of man who’d have taken a stranger home for a night of uninhibited passion.
Fingers tightening on the stem of her glass, Molly made the deliberate decision to turn away from the rock star whose presence made her body sing. It was just as well that Fox was oblivious to her existence, because should he turn those smoky-green eyes in her direction, Molly had the heart-thudding sense that she might break every one of her rules and give in to the other Molly who lived inside her. That dangerous woman was Patrick Buchanan’s irresponsible seed, someone who might well wreck everything Molly had built brick by brick after her world fell apart.
Releasing a shuddering breath, she wandered over to the plate-glass window that functioned as one wall of the exclusive penthouse suite Thea had hired for the party. The bright lights of New Zealand’s biggest city sparkled in front of her, a cascade of jewels thrown by a careless hand and bordered by the black velvet of the water that kissed its edges.
“Stunning, isn’t it?”
She glanced at the man who’d spoken. “Yes.” Rangy, with eyes caught between gold and brown, he was only a few inches taller than Molly, but there was a contained energy to him that made him seem bigger.
“I know.” She smiled. “David Rivera—you’re the drummer for Schoolboy Choir.”
“Wow.” David rocked back on his heels, hands in the pockets of the tailored black pants he wore with a stone-gray shirt. “You actually recognize the drummer. Big fan?”
Her smile deepened. “My sister’s your publicist.” Based in L.A., the only reason Thea even had an “office” in New Zealand was because of Molly. That fictional office had alleviated some of the pressure during their first nervous meetings, making Thea’s flights to the country about something other than the relationship they were trying desperately to build.
“I didn’t know Thea had another sister.” David’s eyes skated to where Thea stood with Fox, the lead singer’s arm around her waist, and all at once, he wasn’t the charming, well-dressed man who’d been talking to her, but one with a stiff jaw and rigid shoulders.
“Thea,” she said softly, as the rich darkness of Fox’s hair caught the light, “has three very specific rules.”
Sharp interest, David’s attention snapping back to her. “Oh?”
“One: never sleep with clients.” The words weren’t only for David’s benefit—the idea of her sister in bed with Fox caused her abdomen to clench so tight it hurt.
“What’s the second rule?”
“Never sleep with clients.”
“Why do I get the feeling I know the third one?” Thrusting a hand through the deep mahogany of his hair, he blew out a breath. “She ever made an exception?”
“Not as far as I know.” Having forced her gaze back to the multimillion-dollar view in a vain effort to control the visceral pulse of her physical response to a man who could never be hers, she followed the path of several blinking lights in the distance, a plane en route to the airport.
“You want another drink? I definitely need a beer.”
Molly shook her head. “No, I’m heading off.” She didn’t trust herself to stay any longer, didn’t know what she might do; every cell in her body continued to burn in awareness of the rock star on the other side of the room.
Putting her glass on a nearby table, she dipped into her little black purse to find the keycard Thea had handed her that morning. The card gave her temporary access to the building’s parking garage.
“Thanks for the advice on Thea’s rules,” David said with a rueful smile.
“Don’t mention it.” Molly wondered if her sister had any idea of the drummer’s feelings. “Will you be flying home soon?” Schoolboy Choir had played a sold-out concert three days ago as part of a new outdoor music festival that had attracted bands from around the world.
“No, we’re staying in town for a month.”
“It’s been a tough year,” David continued, “and we need downtime before the tour we have coming up. We liked it here, figured what the hell, we’d just stay on instead of flying somewhere else for a vacation.”
It made perfect sense… and Molly knew she’d spend the next month obsessing over whether she might run into Fox again. Her cheeks heated at the sheer ridiculousness of her response. God, she had to go home.
“I hope you enjoy your time here,” she said as she turned away from the view. Of course, her gaze went straight to Fox. A leggy blonde was currently whispering in his ear while several other women looked on grim-eyed. It was a stark visual reminder of the gulf that existed between them, regardless of her body’s potent response.
David’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“No, that’s okay.” When he frowned, she added, “There’s a guard on duty in the garage. It’s safe.” Smiling her good-bye, she began to tunnel her way out of the packed room.
Skirting around the tall form of the guitarist for Schoolboy Choir, an almost too-handsome blond male in the midst of charming an actress Molly recognized from a local soap opera, she managed to snag Thea for a quick hug. “I’ll call you later in the week,” her sister said in her ear. “I’m staying in the country with the band for the first part of their vacation.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Molly loved spending time with her older sister now that the initial awkwardness had passed. “If you’re in the city anytime, come into the library and we’ll sneak out for a coffee.”
With that, Thea returned to her guests while Molly continued on to the exit—where she gave in to the inexplicable ache inside her and craned her neck for one last glimpse of the man who’d turned her blood to molten honey. Fox, however, was nowhere to be seen. “Not exactly a surprise,” she muttered under her breath, recalling the gorgeous women who’d been buzzing around him.
More than likely, he was in a shadowy corner of the building, pinning one of those women to the wall while he pounded into her. The image poured ice-cold water on her fantasies.
Stabbing the button to summon the elevator at the end of the corridor, she tried to think of anything but Zachary Fox’s muscled body flexing and clenching as he drove himself into that nameless, faceless woman.
Her pulse fluttered, her breathing choppy.
“Thank God,” she said when the elevator arrived and, stepping inside, scanned her keycard over the reader before pressing the button for the garage.
Automatically pressing the Open button until the other passenger had ducked inside, she turned to give him a polite smile. It froze on her face.
Because there in the flesh stood the sex god whose lip she wanted to bite. All six feet four inches of him. Masculine heat, golden skin… and smoky, sexy dark green eyes focused on her mouth.
Patience wasn’t Fox’s strong suit, and he’d almost killed himself with it tonight. Then he’d just about killed David for getting close to her while he kept his distance. Now, finally, he was alone with Molly and all he wanted to do was mess up her hair, kiss her until her lips were swollen and wet.
Then he wanted to do it again. And again.
Fighting the gut-wrenching need that threatened to turn him inside out, he forced himself to lean back lazily against the elevator wall. “You’re Molly.” It came out a rough purr.
Her eyes widened, fingers curling into her palm. “Yes.”
He wanted those fingers on him—any part of him. “Would you mind giving me a ride?”
A large percentage of the women at the party would’ve taken that as the invitation it was and been all over him in one second flat. Molly, however, took a tiny step back. “Don’t you have a driver?”
Abdomen tight, he continued to keep his tone playful, easy, though he was feeling close to feral. “I gave him the night off.”
If she took another step back, Fox wasn’t sure he’d be able to restrain his need to put his hands all over her sweetly feminine flesh, taste her with his mouth. “I don’t know the address I’m going to.”
The elevator dinged at that moment, and he waited as Molly stepped out into the parking garage before following. The skin at her nape looked like cream; he wanted to lick it up, close his hands over her breasts from behind as he did so, press his rigid cock up against her. Yeah, he wasn’t in a patient mood.
“Oh?” It was a husky question. “If you don’t know the address, how do you plan on getting there?”
Unable to resist any longer, he bent to the soft, subtle, maddening scent of her and whispered,
“That’s why I need a ride, Molly,” his lip ring brushing the shell of her ear. “I don’t know where you live.”
She dropped her keys.
Fox bent and picked them up, the chocolate silk of his hair sliding over his forehead. “Here.”
Putting them gently into her hand, he closed her fingers over the cool metal, his touch callused from playing the guitar.
Goose bumps broke out over her skin.
Blood rushing through her ears, Molly squeezed her fingers until the edges of the keys dug into her palm. “Are you always this…” She waved her free hand, realizing for the first time that he’d come to a cocktail party wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt. Yet he’d undoubtedly been the most charismatic person in the room.
“I’m making an exception for you.”
Molly knew it was a line… and she didn’t care.
That terrified her. But not enough. For the first time since her world had imploded when she was fifteen, danger tempted more than it scared. Looking up into Fox’s face, his beauty holding a hard edge that said he’d break all kinds of rules, push her past her comfort zone, she knew she was about to give in to the other Molly, the one who’d been in a cage her entire life. “My car’s in the second row.”
Opening the driver’s side door for her when they reached her sporty white compact, Fox said, “I haven’t driven on the left before, but I like driving.”
It took her a second because that teasing grin, it had stolen her breath, the lean dimple in his left cheek devastating her senses. “You can like driving in your own car.” With the rest of her night about to spin heart-thuddingly out of control, she needed to be in charge of something, even if it was only the wheel of her car.
“It was worth a try.” Sliding into the passenger seat, he pushed the seat all the way back to accommodate his legs.
“Would you allow me to drive your Porsche?” Pulling out of the garage, Molly battled the need that urged her to stop the car and tell the rock star next to her that he could do anything and everything he wanted to her… just so long as he let her bite down on that pierced lower lip.
“I don’t have a Porsche.” He shifted in an attempt to stretch out farther before realizing it was a futile effort. “I have a Lamborghini Aventador. Hot red, and baby, she’s a sweet ride.”
Molly had no idea what kind of car that was, but it sounded fast and dangerous and sexy. Like Fox.
“So,” she said, her toes curling, “would you let me drive your Lamborghini?” Her voice came out a little breathless, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs.
“Sure, Molly. If you promised I could do hot, dirty things to you before, during, and after.”
Squeezing the steering wheel, she stared out at the road, the city center vibrant with groups of young males trying to make time with club-going girls in tiny glittering dresses and strappy tops—clusters of laughing wildflowers unworried by the autumn chill. Molly had never been that young, that carefree, had never stepped foot in a club after that first time in college—when she’d come face-to-face with the girl who, as a naïve and love-struck underage schoolgirl, had been photographed naked in the backseat of Molly’s father’s car.
She’d certainly never had a one-night stand.
Except now she had a rock star in her passenger seat, and they weren’t planning on ending the night with a cup of tea and nice, polite conversation. “We need to stop at a pharmacy or a convenience store,” she said, trying to act like the sophisticated woman he no doubt expected her to be, even as her hands threatened to tremble.
“You’re going in.” Molly wasn’t ever going to be sophisticated enough to brazenly walk into a store at ten at night to buy protection.
Molly asked herself what she was doing. Really, what was she doing? The idea of Fox in her bed, his strong hands, his mouth—that delicious, delectable mouth—on her flesh, it stretched her nerves to breaking point. Fantasy was one thing, but to take the next step? To make it real? Especially when she hadn’t exactly done any of this before? It made her throat dry up, her skin go alternately hot then cold.
“When did you pick me?” The words just tumbled out, her normal filters shredded by his proximity.
A small, charged silence, the car turbulent with smoldering male energy. “That’s an insult, any way you cut it.”
Her cheeks burned. “You’re right,” she said, knowing she’d just blown all chances of pulling off any kind of sophistication. “I’m sorry.”
That gritty purr was gone from his voice when he said, “Hey, I’m a musician. We all sleep around.”
“I’m a librarian,” she blurted out, unable to take the sexual tension entangled with the biting edge of male fury. “Everyone knows we’re repressed old ladies with too many cats.”
A chuckle. “Clever, Molly.” Again, he stretched out his legs, or tried to. There was simply too much of him to fit in her little car. “You know, if I go into a store and buy condoms, it’ll be all over the tabloids tomorrow that I fucked a local.”
She felt her cheeks heat again. At this rate, she was going to have third-degree burns by the time they got home. “Wear a disguise.” She fought to keep her breathing shallow, but it was no use—Fox’s scent had bonded with every molecule of air in the car.
“Where am I supposed to get a disguise, Miss Molly?” The teasing question was abrasive silk over her skin.
Biting down on her lower lip, she told herself to focus. “There’s a cap in the backseat, sunglasses in the glove compartment.”
He found the items, tried them on before ripping off the sunglasses. “I wear these girly things and my cock will shrivel up.” It was a growl. “Cap’ll do. Long as they don’t notice the ink.”
“Just act shady,” Molly said, her breasts straining against the lace of her bra, the fabric rasping against the taut tips. “The clerk will be so worried you’re planning to shoplift or do something else nefarious”—Nefarious? Really, Molly!—“that he won’t notice anything else.” As long as the clerk wasn’t female.
No woman would ever miss a single tiny detail about Fox.
“You think I can look shady?” A single finger traced the line of her jaw.
Her body wanted to whimper. “You have five o’clock scruff,” she managed to say past the sheer want choking her, “you’re dressed in black with a ball cap pulled low, and your left arm is covered in scary tattoos.” In truth, she found the ink beautiful, wanted to explore the artwork slowly and in intricate detail. “Yes, I think you can do shady.”
A chuckle, deep and low. “You’re mean under the blushes. I like it—I’ll also like licking up that blush from every inch of your body… after I use my tongue to get you off.”
Molly forgot how to breathe.
When she didn’t respond, he said, “Not even a little peek? I’ll start to think you don’t like the look of me.”
Instinctive self-defense had her saying, “You know exactly how gorgeous you are.”
She caught his shrug out of the corner of her eye.
“It’s a face. It’s mine. I don’t want to kiss my own face. I want to kiss yours—while we’re skin-to-skin and I have my cock balls-deep in you.”
Heart ricocheting against her ribs and fingers bone-white on the steering wheel, she pulled into the convenience-store lot. “Go.”
He left without another word, jogging to the door. She wondered if he really was that hungry for her. As hungry as she was for him. Until she had to convince herself not to simply drive to the darkest part of the lot and crawl into the lap of the beautiful, dangerous man she’d never expected to touch. It would take less than a minute to undo his zipper, nudge her panties aside, and—
“Jesus, Molly.” She pressed her forehead to the steering wheel and squeezed her thighs together.
It only intensified the ache between her legs.
They were taking precautions, she thought, trying to rationalize what she was about to do. She wasn’t drunk. Neither was he. They weren’t being stupid about it… but it was still going to be a one-night stand.
She took a deep breath to settle her frantic thoughts, but the lingering scent of Fox, hot and dark, seeped into her, derailing any attempt at coherent thinking. Undoing her seat belt, she opened the door and stepped out into the cold chill of the night, the soft breeze causing the layers of fringe on her silly, pretty dress to sway softly.
Could she do this and look at herself in the morning?
The answer was scarily easy. Every woman was allowed a Fox in her life, allowed one night of unrestrained passion… wasn’t she? This would be hers. When it was over, she’d put the wild, unruly part of her away forever—the part that came from her father and would otherwise destroy her life, as Patrick Buchanan had destroyed their family.
At least she was single, wouldn’t be breaking anyone’s heart by sleeping with Fox.
The convenience-store door opened on the heels of her decision, to reveal a man with a sinful smile and a body made to give a woman decadent pleasure. “Ready?”
The rest of the drive home passed by in what felt like seconds. Parking her car in the underground garage of the low-rise building in which she had her apartment, she walked with Fox to the elevator.
He put his hand on her lower back as they entered it, sending a jolt up her spine, but his attention was on their surroundings. “You need better security.” Narrowed eyes scanned the darkened parking garage. “It wouldn’t be that hard to bypass the scanner to the garage.”
It startled her, the edge of concern in his tone. “How do you know that?”
Hand still on her lower back, his lips curled up in a teasing half smile. “You’d be surprised what a boy can learn at boarding school.”
Molly couldn’t imagine him as a boy. His every action shouted strong, confident, adult male. “This is me.” Stepping out on the third floor, she headed down the hallway, her heels clicking on the uncarpeted surface and her nerves doing a stuttering dance.
“You know your neighbors?” He leaned against the white-painted wall as they got to her door at last—the one right at the end.
Unlocking the door with fingers that wanted to tremble, she pushed it open and flicked on the light to reveal the spacious entryway that flowed into an open-plan living room and kitchenette. “Yes,” she said, dropping her purse on the wooden bench where she usually sat to slip on her shoes. It was an effort to find words through the haze in her brain. “We keep an eye on each other.”
Fox came in behind her. “Fuck, yes.” The sound of the door being kicked shut on that harsh exhalation, strong male hands on her hips, hot breath against the curve of her neck.
She went motionless, her pulse in her mouth.
Tugging her hair free from its twist, then nudging the heavy wildness aside to bare her nape, Fox said, “I can’t wait to taste you,” in a voice that was pure whiskey and sex and hard rock.
Then those lips, that divine, delectable mouth, was on her. She shivered as he slid one arm around her waist, crushing her to him. His lips were firm and demanding on her, his stubbled jaw scraping deliciously over her skin. And that ring, it brushed against her in cool strokes that made her imagine what his kiss would feel like in other, more private places… places no other man had kissed.
Fox thrust a jean-clad thigh between her own at that second, forcing her to keep her legs spread. The denim was abrasive against her sensitive skin, the flex of his thigh threatening to send her over. “Fox.”
Making a sound of pleasure deep in his throat, he sucked on the curve of her neck and tightened his grip. He was pure muscle and strength underneath skin tanned a golden brown, his erection pushing against her lower back in a blatant demand that made it clear who held the reins. There was nothing of softness about Fox. When he moved onstage, it was all coiled power and deadly grace.
And now he’d focused that aggressive intensity on Molly.
“The dress,” he said, biting gently at the skin he’d sucked. “Take it off.”
Her fingers shook as she lifted them to undo the hidden zip at the side. “It—” Clearing her throat, she tried to speak past the arousal and nerves strangling her vocal cords. She had no idea what she was doing, Fox utterly out of her league. “It has to come over my head,” she managed to get out.
He caressed her hip before releasing her. “We’ll go slower the second time around.”
The second time around?
She’d barely processed the thought when his hands were gripping the bottom of her dress, gathering up the liquid-soft fabric in strong hands. He bared her so fast she had no time to worry about the fact she wasn’t built anything like the tall, slinky models and actresses who usually buzzed around him.
“I can’t wait to have you naked and wet beneath me.” His hand rose up, closed over the heavy mound of her lace-covered breast.
A little shocked at his bluntness, she gasped and arched into him, wordlessly begging for more. But he left her. Trembling, she blinked, tried to find her senses.
“Why the hell do they wrap these boxes in indestructible plasti—”
“Here.” Turning on legs that threatened to crumple, she took the small box in an effort to give herself time to think, to catch up with what was happening… and became hotly aware of Fox taking the chance to rip off his T-shirt. Breathing became impossible as he revealed a chest she’d never actually expected to see on a real man, the taut ridges of his abdomen inviting her to touch, to pet and kiss and suck.
“You’re supposed to open it.” He tugged the box from her grasp with a slow smile, one that said he knew exactly what he did to her—and that he planned to take brazen advantage.
As she blushed, he tore open the box and flat packets exploded around them.
She glanced down reflexively… and that was when Fox closed his hand over her nape, tilted back her head, and kissed her full on the mouth.
His lips… his lips should’ve been illegal.
Vaguely aware of him undoing her bra and tugging it down her arms, she moaned into the kiss as he pressed her closer with one big hand on her lower back, her bare breasts crushed against the tensile muscle of his chest. She whimpered, sensation prickling through every nerve ending in her body to pool between her legs.
“Yeah, just like that, baby,” he said into the kiss, his lip ring rubbing over the wetness before he gripped her jaw to hold her in position and thrust his tongue into her mouth.
The audacious intrusion startled her, made her realize once again that she’d taken on more than she could handle. Far more. Then Fox licked his tongue over her own, his hands sliding down her back to squeeze her lower curves, and reason fractured under a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that drove her to the edge of sanity.
She bit down on his lower lip.
A second after that single brutal word, she found herself lifted up as if she weighed nothing and pressed against the hallway wall, her legs around Fox’s waist, her ankles crossed at his lower back, and her arms wrapped around his neck. Then he was kissing her again. And again. And again. Each kiss was as open and as sexual as the last, one of his hands fisted in her hair, the other molding and squeezing her breast.
Gasping when he released her just long enough that she could suck in a breath, she fell back into a kiss that made it obvious her paltry experience of men had in no way prepared her for being taken by Zachary Fox.
“Returning to her contemporary romance roots, megastar Singh turns the heat up to blistering in her sexy new rock-star romance!”
“Rock Addiction has everything you expect from a rock star romance: a wickedly naughty tattooed hero, a sweet, admirable heroine and plenty of scorching hot sex!…I can’t wait to read the rest of the series!”
“Rock Addiction is the steamy beginning of a new contemporary romance series by Nalini Singh…If you enjoy romances with bad boy rockers who actually have big hearts instead of big egos, I think you’ll really enjoy Fox, Molly, and the rest of the sexy guys in the band.”
“I’m not going to lie… I really, really enjoyed Rock Addiction! There was just something about the book that drew me in and kept me glued to the pages.”
“Rock concerts, paparazzi, tabloid scandal, addiction, sex tapes, fast jets, and of course, HOT sex. This book is filled with everything you’d expect and more from a book called Rock Addiction.”
– Lyndsey Lou’s Book Reviews
“Nalini Singh has such an easy-going, smooth style of writing… if you are looking for a super-seductive rock n roll love story, Rock Addiction might be for you!”
~ Red Hot + Blue Reads