Rock AddictionBy: Nalini Singh
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.