It was Maxwell who cleared things up for her.
“He thought you were flavor of the month,” the crew boss said with his customary bluntness. “Since he’s planning to write the definitive article on the band at this point in their career, he’s not going to bother to include what he thinks is a bit of pu**y.”
Molly could feel herself turning bright red. Booming with laughter, Maxwell hugged her close to his bulk. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll kick himself later when he realizes his ‘definitive article’ has a hole the size of Alaska because he couldn’t see what was right in front of his face.”
“Damn straight,” Molly said, tugging on her Schoolboy Choir cap when Maxwell released her.
“Good girl.” His grin could’ve been of a proud father. “Boys don’t have a concert tomorrow and we’re not on the road, so get ready to paint the town red after tonight’s show.”
Molly might’ve been surprised at how circumspect the entire band had been the past five days, if she hadn’t understood the demanding physicality of the concerts. Dedicated to their music as all four men were, giving a mediocre performance simply wasn’t acceptable—it wouldn’t only disappoint their fans, it would mean letting down the other members of the band.
As a result, they were more than ready to blow off some serious steam. “Wear the red skirt,” Fox said, patting her on the butt after he’d showered off the sweat from the show. “With the sparkly top.”
The “sparkly top” was a low-cut sequined halter in shimmering gold he’d bought her two days ago after spotting it in a boutique window across from their last hotel. Trying it on with a strapless push-up bra and the skirt she’d fixed after Fox tore it in New York, Molly whistled at her own reflection. She looked hot. Feeling confident and happy, she spent time straightening her hair before pulling it back into a sleek ponytail. A bit of careful makeup, with the focus on knockout red lips, and she was done.
“Oh holy hell.” It was a harsh groan from the open bedroom doorway, Fox having slipped out to the living area of the hotel suite to raid the room service cart while she dressed.
Turning around on skinny black heels, she propped a hand on her hip, her stomach flipping at the heat in the smoky green of his eyes. “I love this outfit.”
Fox, dressed in camo-green cargo pants and a white T-shirt that hugged his biceps, began to prowl closer. “Not as much as I do.”
Molly held out a hand. “No way. I didn’t go to all this trouble for you to mess me up.”
Fox’s eyes gleamed. “Bet I could change your mind.”
“No bet. We both know I’m easy where you’re concerned,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing in the clean bite of his aftershave. “You’re all smooth.” She rubbed her cheek against his. “Not that I don’t like you rough.”
Fox cupped her butt with possessive hands. “I know just how rough you like it, Miss Molly.” Squeezing her curves, he ground his aroused body against her. “I’m absolutely going to mess you up.”
“No, you don’t.” It took serious effort to break out of his hold, the flesh between her thighs already damp. “I want to see what you guys get up to on a night out.”
“I sure as hell won’t be getting up to the same things now that I have you in my bed. Which is where I’d like to be right now.” Despite his frustrated growl, he held out his hand. “Come on, let’s go watch the other guys’ eyes pop out.”
The smug satisfaction in his tone made her want to drag him to the sheets. “Wait,” she said, fighting the temptation, “I have something for you.”
He watched curiously as she picked up a little bag emblazoned with a shop logo and pulled out a black leather cuff. “I thought this wouldn’t break rock star fashion protocol,” she said and closed the cuff around his left wrist, the studded design an echo of the belt hidden beneath his T-shirt.
“When did you get this?” he asked, admiring the workmanship.
“Secret.” Sliding her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, she kissed his jaw. Her glossy lipstick left a red imprint, but liking her mark on him, she didn’t immediately wipe it away. “I get to spoil you, too, you know.”
He echoed her position, his hands on her lower curves and his smile deep. “I’m already spoiled, but I could get used to this kind of a surprise.” Eyes dropping to her lips, he went to kiss her, sighed. “Damn it. I’ll ruin your pretty makeup.”
“Come here.” Lipstick or Fox’s kiss? No contest.
Noah wolf-whistled when he saw her ten minutes and a quick touch-up later, and suddenly she was being hauled to his side, one muscular arm around her waist. Startled, she landed with her hand on his T-shirt, the fabric black with silver detailing. The guitarist, she thought, could’ve stood in as a model for a fallen angel—beautiful and with an aristocratic look to him, his eyes holding a sardonic edge he made no effort to hide with people he didn’t like.
“Forget about that schmuck,” he said, motioning at Fox. “Don’t you know blonds do everything better?”
Fox claimed Molly back. “Find your own woman. I’m not sharing mine.” Nuzzling a kiss to her temple, his hand curving proprietarily over her hip, he glanced at David. “Car here?”
“Yep. Outside.”
The “car” proved to be a Hummer stretch limo, complete with a full bar and tiny lights on the roof that looked like stars. Sliding onto the black leather seat that ran along the side opposite the door, Molly accepted a flute of sparkling grape juice from Abe. “Thank you.”