Nalini Singh - Rock Addiction

Fox knew why the other man couldn’t sleep with anyone else in the room, but they never discussed it. Not like women discussed shit. They simply had each other’s backs—Noah knew if he felt himself sliding too deep into hell, he just had to reach out a hand and Fox would haul him out. Not that Fox was sure the stubborn bastard would reach out. Didn’t matter. Fox would never allow Noah’s demons to swallow him up.

He knocked lightly and wasn’t surprised when a rumpled Noah opened the door soon afterward. The other male looked like he’d rolled out of bed a second ago, his jeans hanging low on his hips, stubble on his jaw. It was an illusion—Noah rarely slept past dawn, regardless of his nighttime activities.

“You got coffee?” He walked in, leaving the door open. It was only the four of them up here, with the elevator locked to their personal keycards and service personnel instructed to come up only on request. It was one of the first things they’d realized after Schoolboy Choir’s first album went triple platinum—that if they wanted any privacy at all, they’d have to fight for it.

“Check this out.” Noah pointed to a machine that looked like it had escaped the deck of a spaceship. “Looks worse than the monstrosity you have at your place back home.”

“I know how my monstrosity works.” Fox scowled, kicking himself for not having properly checked things out before the party last night. He’d just thrown his gear inside his own apartment, the band having been at a nearby hotel till then. “Damn it, I walked right by the coffee place next door because there was a line.”

Dark gray eyes glinting, Noah found a mug, thrust it under one of the many spouts, and pushed three buttons of the thousands on the spaceship coffeemaker. Half a minute later, Fox was holding some kind of cinnamon-scented coffee so frothy he could feel his testosterone levels dropping just looking at it. “What the hell, Noah? You want me to drink this?”

“You have to drink it,” the blond male snarled. “It’s the only crap I’ve figured out how to make on this thing.”

Fox took a sip, got mostly foam. He tried again, shuddered. “Give me another mug.” When Noah handed it over, he started slotting in the shiny pod things that sat in a basket beside the coffeemaker and pushing random buttons.

Three pods later, he hit on the right combination for plain black coffee. “Clearly, I’m the brains of this outfit.”

“Gimme that.” Commandeering the coffee, Noah took a long drink, groaned. “This is coffee. Now show me what the fuck you did.”

Fox successfully made a second cup and, taking it, followed Noah out onto the balcony, both of them leaning their forearms on the balustrade. The view of the harbor was spectacular, the sparkling blue-green water busy with countless watercraft. Close to the city it was mostly commuter ferries, though there was also a tall-masted racing yacht and a boat that looked like it might be taking tourists out to see dolphins. Farther out, Fox could see sailboats and small personal fishing craft as people headed out to enjoy the brilliantly sunny—if cold—fall day.

“You had breakfast?” Noah asked as they watched a kayaker set off for one of the islands, his muscular arms and smooth pace as he rode the waves created by bigger craft making it clear he was no amateur. “I can scramble some eggs. Or we could wake David up and hold him upside down over the balcony until he agrees to feed us.”

Fox grinned at the reference to David’s superior culinary skills. “I already ate.” Finishing off his coffee, he dangled the mug from his fingers and thought of the delicious armful of woman who’d kicked him out of her car.

“You have a look that says ‘I not only got laid but had my mind blown.’” Noah froze in the act of grinning. “Shit, Fox. I saw you leave the same time as the woman Thea pointed out as her sister. If you’ve touched her, Thea will make your life a living hell, probably schedule you to appear on a Japanese game show.”

Damn right he’d touched Molly. And he planned to do it again. “She’s mine.” Sex usually worked women out of his system; it had only worked Molly in deeper.

Noah angled his body to stare at him. “What?”

“Molly. She’s mine.” This was no longer about anything as simple or as easily handled as physical attraction.

“I need more coffee.” It was a groaned-out statement from his bandmate. Grabbing Fox’s cup as well, Noah went back to the machine, returning a few minutes later to say, “You’re serious?”

“Deadly.” Fox drank from the full cup the other man had handed over. “You know when you get the whisper of a melody in your head, or the murmur of a song? And you have the gut feeling that if you could just hear the rest of it, just capture the music”—the need an ache as frustrating as it was piercing—“you’d have something fucking amazing?”

Noah nodded.

“Yeah well, that’s what it feels like with Molly.” The most compelling whisper of his life. “I’m not about to walk away from that.”

“Could just be lust,” Noah said bluntly. “It can hit hard, leave a man seeing stars, and then it’s over.”

Fox thought of Molly, of what her body, her scent, her taste, did to him.

His own body hardened at the memory. Yeah, their physical chemistry wasn’t in question; he could’ve happily stayed in bed with her all day today and been greedy for more. The things he wanted to do to Molly Webster… But despite their erotic connection, sex wasn’t the first thing that came to his mind when he thought of Molly.

It was her smile.

Eyes glowing from within as her whole face lit up, that smile had knocked him sideways at the party. Then had come her blushing smile in bed when he made a very dirty suggestion midway through their second time around, followed by her smart and funny response as her self-protective shields fell enough that he’d caught a glimpse of the heart of her.

Each glimpse had only deepened his craving to know more. He didn’t only want to fuck Molly; he wanted to talk to her, wanted to hear her use words like “nefarious” and discover what else might come out of her beautiful mouth. And he wanted that brilliant, real, full-body smile turned in his direction.

 “It’s not just sex,” he said into the silence that had fallen between him and Noah. “It’s something else.” A thing for which he didn’t have a name, but that he knew in his gut was important, rare. The idea of turning his back on it made every cell in his body scream “Hell, no!” “I have to hear the whole song, learn the entire melody.” Figure out if this was a song with staying power… or one that would fade into history without leaving a mark.

His shoulders grew tight.

Thrusting a hand through his hair, the blond strands glinting in the sunlight, Noah raised an eyebrow. “She good with that? Being involved with you isn’t exactly going to be a picnic for her once the media gets hold of the news.”

“Molly thinks we had a one-night stand.” Not that he could blame her. It wasn’t as if he’d made his intentions clear—but he had a feeling those intentions would make Molly run hard and fast in the opposite direction.

So he just wouldn’t tell her.

Work kept Molly busy, the library buzzing with a mix of adults and children as well as keen university students after some of the older material held in the archives. And if parts of her body twinged and throbbed in unfamiliar ways, they’d settle soon enough, erasing any lingering physical trace of Fox’s possession and leaving behind only memories—memories she had no intention of smothering.

Her dream of a stable, happily boring life hadn’t changed, would never change. It made her stomach lurch to even think about the horror that had been the unforgiving glare of “fame” after her high-profile father was found with that underage girl, the constant whispers and stares.

No, she didn’t want excitement. What she wanted was blissful normality: a job she liked; a steady, faithful man; a house on an ordinary suburban street; a sedate minivan with room in back for the slobbering family dog. But… when she was living that safe, stable life, the memory of her night with a smart, sexy, roughly tender rock star would be a hidden treasure, a quiet acknowledgment of the other Molly. The Molly who might’ve lived a life more adventurous and less ordinary in another time, another place… a Molly who, in this world, was a little too broken to ever again be permitted to hold the reins.

Fox hadn’t become the lead singer of one of the best-selling rock bands in history by being a shrinking violet. No, he went after what he wanted, no holds barred. And the raw promise he could feel between him and Molly? He had to know where it would lead, the need so strong he hadn’t felt anything like it since the day he’d figured out that music was his escape, the air in his lungs.

Which was why he was leaning against the wall beside Molly’s apartment at five that afternoon, a guitar by his side.

The elevator doors opened at a quarter after the hour, Molly going motionless two steps outside of it, the doors closing silently at her back. Yeah, she hadn’t expected him, but Fox was ready to work with that. Waiting patiently as she took a deep breath and completed the trek down the corridor, he drew in the scent of her, his gaze lingering on the fluttering pulse in her neck.

 “How did you get past security?”

Fox smiled slowly at the blurted-out question, wondering if Molly knew how bad she was at hiding her emotions. He liked it, liked that he saw the real Molly, not an illusion she’d created to tempt him—not that she had to do anything but smile to tempt him. “I told you the security sucks.”

Unable to resist, he reached out to run his finger down one creamy cheek flushed with a mix of surprise, passion, and, he was certain, sweet, hot feminine anger. His guess was borne out when Molly unlocked her door with jittery hands and put down her handbag on one corner of the bench, her fingers trembling before she curled them into her palms. “You’re breaking the rules.”

“What rules?” Closing the door, he leaned back on it and willed her to face him. Much as he loved the shape of her from the back, he liked watching those expressive eyes whisper her mood to him.

Shoulders tight, she turned. “This was supposed to be a one-night stand.”

“Ah.” Folding his arms over the plain black of his T-shirt, he said, “How about a one-month stand instead?” He knew he had to play this exactly right. Molly was wary of him, and yeah, he could understand why. To have her in his life beyond a fleeting instant, he’d have to win her trust.

She jerked up her head. “What?”

“Why not? I like you. You like me.” He smiled—because the reason Molly had needed to jerk up her head was that she’d been staring at his chest. “Admit it.”

Sitting down on the bench, she began to unzip her boots, very obviously not looking at him. “You’re okay for a rock star.”

He wanted to bite her, then pet her until she was limp and languid in his arms. “We burn up together.” Deliberately modulating his voice—his instrument—for maximum effect, low and bedroom rough, he saw her fingers stutter on the zipper. “I’m here for a month. It’s an easy equation.”

When the words “Let me think about it” fell from her mouth, he thought she might’ve been as startled as he was, her lips parting on a slight gasp—as if to call back the declaration.

Crouching down, he began to tug off her boots, distracting her from her thoughts. He had no intention of playing fair. There were very few things he’d ever truly hungered for in life, and he’d never been given any of them. He’d claimed each through sheer, unrelenting will and the grim refusal to surrender.

Now… now there was Molly. “Are you kicking me out?”

 “Don’t you want a different woman each night?”

He heard the tremor she tried to hide, and knew she’d said words similar to those that had lit a spark under his temper the previous night on purpose. Molly Webster was trying to scare him off because she was finding it difficult to say no.

Gut tight and blood hot, he got rid of her remaining boot. “You really have a high opinion of me.” Expecting warm, supple skin under his hands when he slid them up below the hem of her skirt—because he was more than happy to use her physical response to him to tie them together—he found an unexpected barrier instead. “You said no stockings.” The material under his touch was silky and soft and smooth.