Fox was sprawled on the couch, the remote in hand while a cartoon played on the television screen. Stomach dipping at how right he looked there, how painfully good this felt, she forced her gaze off him and put on the coffee, then began to gather up the ingredients for omelets.
Since that would hardly fill Fox up, however, she put out some bread to be toasted, then went hunting to see what else she had. “Fox, do you want fried potatoes?” It wasn’t like he had anything to worry about in the weight department—the man was pure firm, strokable muscle, the energy he burned onstage brutal.
He also, her body reminded her on a ripple of remembered pleasure, burned energy in other ways.
“Hell yeah.” A grin over his shoulder that cut through the afterglow to hit her straight in the heart. “Come kiss me.”
“Not risking it while I’m starving,” she said, using humor to bury her worry at how fast she was falling for a man she could never hope to claim. “Next thing you know, I’ll be na**d again.”
“I’ll never say no to na**d Molly.” He prowled up off the sofa to take a seat on a stool on the other side of the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee while she quickly peeled and sliced the potatoes, the pan already heating up.
“What do you think about Sydney?” he asked without warning.
Disappointment pinched at Molly at the idea of losing even a tiny part of their month together, but she wasn’t surprised he was interested in a visit. The Australian city was only a three-hour flight away.
“I visited with Charlie last year and loved it. We were total tourists”—she laughed softly at the thought of how much fun they’d had—“even did a cruise around Sydney Harbour.” Putting the potatoes in the pan, she looked up to meet the dark green of Fox’s gaze, hoping he couldn’t see how much she was already missing him. “You can book flights easy enough, even at short notice.”
“I’m going over end of the coming week.” He grabbed a piece of the green pepper she’d diced for the omelets. “Favor for a friend. He set up a charity concert, but the entire band he booked just went into rehab.”
“What?” Molly turned around. “All of them?”
“Might be a publicity stunt, but yeah, it does happen. Except for those premade boy bands”—a smirk—“a lot of us were friends first, and friends get into bad shit together.” He ate another piece of the pepper. “Who else are you going to shoot up with but the people you trust most?”
Molly had never heard even a whisper of drugs attached to Fox, wouldn’t have been attracted to him if she had, but she couldn’t not take this opportunity to make certain. “Have you—”
An immediate shake of his head. “No, not my deal. Music’s my addiction.”
Relaxing, she whipped up the first omelet. “I didn’t realize bands as big as Schoolboy Choir could move so fast.”
“Normally no, but like I said, Marc’s a buddy, and he’s raising money for a children’s charity. It would’ve been a problem if we were already doing a concert in the city, but since that isn’t the case, there’s no bullshit red tape.”
She poured the omelet into a second pan. “So he’ll refund the people who wanted specifically to see the other band?”
A nod. “He figures he’ll make that up with the increased ticket sales.” Fox shrugged, his shoulders rippling with the lithe muscle that felt so beautiful under her touch. “Plus, we’re here, and it’s a low-stress outdoor gig.”
Putting the fried potatoes on a couple of thick paper towels to drain, she flipped the omelet. “I’m sure you’ll draw a huge crowd.” The words “legendary” and “iconic” were already being used in connection with the band’s name—Schoolboy Choir’s sheer, raw talent was as obvious as their love of music.
“You could be a part of it.”
Air was suddenly hard to find. “Are you asking me to go with you?” she said at last.
“It’s on Saturday night. You could leave work a little early if you don’t want to take the whole day off, be there in plenty of time.”
Molly bit the inside of her cheek, her throat thick. The fact was, since she usually never requested unanticipated vacation days, her boss wouldn’t quibble about either a half-day or a full day. “You’ll take this the wrong way,” she said when she could speak, turning to face Fox with her breath painful in her lungs, “but I don’t want to be known as the woman you’re sleeping with.”
His lashes lowered to hood his expression. “Yeah, how else should I take it?”
“You’ll go,” she said, gripping the counter behind her and fighting back tears. “After a month, you’ll go. But I’ll still be here, living my life. Being famous, even by association… I can’t handle it, Fox.” Already, her stomach churned at the idea of being known as “Fox’s Secret Lover,” the headline sure to be splashed across the magazines.
Molly might have decided to break out of the box into which she’d wedged herself at fifteen, but fame was the one thing she’d never touch, not for anything or anyone.
Not even a man who made her wish for an impossible dream.
Heart aching and throat raw from holding back her emotions, she turned back to the stove and plated the omelet, then poured in the other one while pushing down on the toaster lever to start the bread. “Don’t be angry,” she said quietly, aware it’d be difficult for him to understand the depth of her aversion to the idea of fame without knowing the ugly background responsible for her gut-deep abhorrence.