Molly laughed when Fox nodded, his expression solemn. Then his cheeks creased and she had to dig her nails into her palms to resist the urge to kiss his smile right into her own mouth. “I better go.” She cleared her throat, her voice husky. “I have to grab my stuff and meet Maxwell.”
Fox squeezed her thigh under the table. “You’re mine after tonight.” It was a low murmur of sound that made David’s face fall.
Bending down to the drummer’s ear once she was on her feet, she said, “Memo,” and left, her heart slamming a rapid beat and her nape prickling in awareness of Fox’s gaze all the way to the door. She’d have to tell him to stop that or everyone would think he was hot after a roadie… but another part of her wanted to turn, to lock her eyes with his, tell the world he was hers.
Molly could barely breathe at the idea of being able to walk up to Fox in public, kiss him, smile with him. It made her lips curve, her body already turning to send him a last look when a flashbulb went off. Startled, she blinked to see that a fan too shy to go up to them was shooting photos of Fox and David from just inside the doorway.
Stomach queasy at that tiny exposure to the spotlight, she hurried out, the ugliness of the past a shadow she couldn’t escape. Damn her father! She blinked back tears, angry with Patrick Buchanan for the damage he’d done, with herself for not being able to forget the pain, with fate itself.
Chapter 17
Molly had never attended a live concert. By the time she was old enough to be interested and would’ve been permitted to go with her friends, the scandal had broken, permanently altering the course of her life.
To have her first experience be backstage at a Schoolboy Choir concert while the crowd thundered out front and Fox belted out lyrics that made her want to dance and drag him off to bed at the same time… wow
Halfway through the show, he and Noah were both shirtless and sweaty under the lights, their T-shirts thrown into the delirious knot of fans who’d paid a premium to stand in the mosh pit right in front of the stage.
Fox’s had been caught by a young woman who’d screamed and clutched it to her chest before pulling it on over her sparkly top, Noah’s by a guy who’d held it up like a trophy. The two fans were part of an enormous sold-out crowd. It was exhilarating to be buffeted by the roar of that crowd, feel the beat of the music under her feet, hear the growl of Fox’s voice, then the raw ferocity in it as the band slowed down to play a ballad about loss and redemption that had been penned by the keyboardist, Abe.
The brutal tenderness of it brought tears to her eyes where she leaned against one of the supports at the back of the stage, concealed in the shadows but with an amazing view. Winking at her when she’d admitted this was her first live concert, Maxwell had said she was off for the night unless something went wrong and he needed all hands on deck. So she was free to just stand there and watch Fox move those magic fingers over an electric guitar while Noah took the microphone to belt out a rock anthem that had the crowd raising their arms and joining in.
The tattoos on Fox’s arms and back shimmered under the lights, his muscles defined by the sweat that gleamed on his skin. She wanted to lick it up, the impulse warring with her desire to keep on watching him forever—he was hypnotic, beautiful, and talented. Noah leaned in close to him right then, the two playing their guitars off one another in a rhythm that was immediately picked up on and echoed by Abe and David. It made it clear exactly how long the four had been friends and musicians together.
God, they were good.
Molly hadn’t truly appreciated the amount of sheer skill it took to do what they did until she’d seen them practicing yesterday and earlier today. The lights and the fireworks, that made for a good show, but behind it all was music, solid and pure. The four of them had been goofing off this afternoon, with Abe taking the mike, Fox on the drums, Noah on keyboard, David on guitar—all out of their comfort zones, and they’d still made great music.
Maxwell came to stand beside her. “So much na**d talent,” he said in her ear, as if he’d read her thoughts. “First time I heard them, I knew they’d be legends someday if they managed to stay together through the bullshit that comes with fame.”
“It’d be a tragedy if they ever broke up.” The four members of Schoolboy Choir created a stunning unit that truly was more than the sum of its parts. “Have they ever come close to it?”
“Won’t lie, been some rough times—booze, women, drugs, notoriety, it takes a toll.” Maxwell passed her a cold soft drink. “Any one of them could’ve dumped the others and struck out on his own when it got too hard, but even when they were fighting, they didn’t walk away.” A pause. “Drugs aren’t as dangerous as women.”
“It’s all right, Maxwell,” Molly whispered, rubbing a fisted hand over her heart. “I only have him for a little while—I’m no threat.”
To her surprise, the big man put his arm around her shoulders and tucked her close to the comforting bulk of him. “Maybe you should try to change that.” Startling words from the protective crew boss. “Boy’s never been this happy—and I like you.” He bussed her on the cheek in a paternal way, his beard scratchy on her skin.
David was right, she thought after he walked away—Maxwell had some weird voodoo going on.
Her pulse kicked as Fox turned his back to the audience and looked right at her. His mouth curved in a smile she knew was for her, and then he was taking the microphone once more. She exhaled, her abdomen taut. It was becoming clear she’d never become immune to Fox’s smile, his touch, his kiss, the ferocious power of his voice.