Nalini Singh - Rock Addiction

“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.”

Molly froze.

“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.”

“Deal.”

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.

“Hold up!”

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.”

“A taxi?”

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.

“Sure.”

“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.

“Okay.”

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.

“Pick you?”

“For tonight.”

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.”