Molly heard the pain he couldn’t quite hide, wanted to hurt the person who’d betrayed him. “Biggest skeleton in my closet has to do with my father.” The idea of the world salaciously picking through the ruins of her childhood made a stabbing sensation jab through her, but she’d already considered that consequence when she decided to be with Fox.
“Whatever happens with that,” she said, turning her face into his palm, “it won’t be any kind of surprise.” Today’s shock, however, had had one unforeseen consequence. “I was so nervous all this time about media exposure, but I forgot I’m not a vulnerable, scared girl anymore.” Hadn’t been for a long time. “I’m a strong woman, a survivor… and I have you.” A man who would never let her fall.
“Thank you.” It was a rough-voiced statement, his head bent, his breathing low and harsh.
“For what?” She stroked the side of his face, his stubbled jaw a familiar sensation against her skin. “Baby? What’s wrong?”
Chapter 29
“I know how private you are.” His fingers flexed then curled again around the side of her neck. “I was f**king terrified you’d turn and run in the other direction the first time you saw what being with me can mean.”
“What kind of rock chick would I be if I allowed boneheads like that to scare me off?” Stroking her fingers through the chocolate dark strands of his hair, she petted him as he’d so often done her. “I was just hoping we’d have longer to be us before the outside world started poking its nose into something that isn’t anyone’s business but ours.”
The instant the words were out of her mouth, she groaned. “I’m such a hypocrite. I have a gossip magazine in my bag for the flight home.” It had always seemed like harmless fun to read articles about the lives of the rich and glamorous; she’d never equated those “fluff” articles with the kind of hounding the media had put her family through. “I feel so bad now.”
Fox laughed, pressing an affectionate kiss to the curve of her jaw. “As far as vices go, that’s a forgivable one.”
“Still, it’s one I’m going to kick,” she vowed. “Otherwise, I can’t complain about the people who violate our privacy.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret.” Fox bent his knees so they were eye to eye. “A lot of the ‘shocking’ news articles and ‘scandalous’ photo ops are carefully choreographed.”
She pretended to pout. “Don’t burst my bubble.”
Nipping at her lower lip, he rose to his full height. “It’s not all fake. Some of us don’t want to play the game”—a growl of sound—“but we’re pulled into it regardless.”
“We lucked out in New Zealand, didn’t we?”
“Baby, you have no idea.”
“It has to be a hotel employee who sold the pictures.” Scowling, she curled her fingers into her palms against the taut muscle of his chest. “Has no one heard of confidentiality?”
“So innocent.” Fox shook his head. “You’ll be terrible for my bad boy image if this gets out.” Cupping the back of her head in one strong hand, he opened his mouth over hers, his tongue and lips doing things to her that made her whimper and want to beg for mercy.
A leisurely parting, their lips slick, he ran his knuckles down her throat, along the valley between her br**sts. “Clearly”—he began to undo the belt of her robe—“I have to corrupt you as much as possible.”
The robe fell to the floor, Fox’s hands on her skin. No nasty words, Molly thought before thought became impossible, could ever hold as much power as the passion and the tenderness of her lover’s touch.
Kathleen came up around ten thirty that morning. The actress was dressed with her usual pizzazz in a formfitting leather skirt the color of roasted coffee beans, her feet sheathed in five-inch designer heels in luscious raspberry—the color matched her sleeveless top, the prettily tied fabric bow to one side of the high neck keeping the outfit on the right side of sexy. “I’m doing librarian chic, see?” She twirled in those teetering heels, her hair smooth and shiny in a bun at the back of her head. “In honor of our new friendship.”
Molly bit the inside of her cheek. “I’d like to see you survive eight hours on a library floor in those heels.”
Cocking her hip, Kathleen placed a perfectly manicured hand on it. “I’ll have you know I ran in heels worse than this for an action flick I did three years ago. Did eighty takes at least because my douche-bag costar had to be a prima donna.” Fingers pressed between her high, firm br**sts, she fluttered her lashes and, voice a piercing falsetto, said, “What do you mean she gets to be in front of me? I’m the lead, not this jumped-up soap ‘star.’” Kathleen made air quotes with her fingers. “Dickhead actually did the air quotes.”
“Bet he’s sorry now.”
“He sends me weekly bouquets and asks for introductions.”
“Have you? Introduced him?” Molly made a coffee for the other woman, her own tea already sitting on the gleaming wooden table in the dining room.
“In his dreams.” Snorting, Kathleen took the coffee and leaned against the wall rather than taking a seat at the table. “How are you doing?” It was a gentle question. “I saw that piece on G&V.”
Molly blew on her tea to cool it, thinking of the forty-five-minute phone call she’d had with Charlotte. “My best friend pointed out that if I had to have a ‘debut,’ then better I got caught dressed to the nines in full makeup than wearing sweats while having a fat day with bad hair.”