“You sure we have to do this?” she asked Fox.
A squeeze of her hand. “We take the offensive,” he said, his confidence and determination a powerful force. “We control the situation, and we damn well stand proud.”
It was the same thing Charlotte had said when Molly called her best friend.
“Don’t you dare let them shame you.” Charlie’s voice had been fierce. “Go out there and show the world that Molly Webster is a force to be reckoned with. Also, try not to smack anyone—you sound like you’d really like to.”
Molly realized the anger was still there, embers burning beneath the nerves. “Charlie told me not to smack anyone,” she said to Fox, “but I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself if a reporter gets out of line with you.” Fox had focused only on her pain, shrugging off the exposure of his own body, but Molly was fuming over the way this incident had torn open his scars. “Don’t let me do anything dumb.”
His dimple appeared, her Fox back with a vengeance. “Follow my lead,” he said, and hauled her in for a deep kiss, his free hand covering the side of her face in the hold that always made her feel cherished. “Ready?”
Chapter 37
“Yes.” There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him.
Looking over his shoulder, Fox nodded at Noah, David, and Abe, who were set to follow.
She’d thought the distance to the hotel entrance would seem endless, but the five of them were walking through the automatic glass doors what felt like a second later. David flanked Fox, while Noah and Abe stood next to her, a solid wall of friendship and loyalty. Charlie might not have been physically present, but Molly could hear her best friend’s voice in her mind, telling her not to smack anyone. It almost made her smile.
The mass of reporters, photographers, and cameramen—corralled off the hotel steps by a wall of black-suited security—began to scream questions the instant they spotted Fox.
“Spin is everything,” Thea had said to Molly and Fox in a call a quarter of an hour ago. “Make the world see you as an ordinary couple trying to have a relationship under the spotlight—and point out that this could happen to anyone.”
Her sister had barely taken a breath before continuing. “Allow them to glimpse your anger but don’t look hounded. The scent of blood only makes predators hungrier—shrug and say you’ll deal, but that the ones behind this will pay. No one messes with you and gets away with it.”
Now, looking at Fox as he stood in front of the cameras, ignoring the screaming until the media people began to nudge one another to shut up, Molly thought Thea had been wasting her breath. He’d do exactly what he’d do.
“Fox! Fox!” One reporter’s voice rose above the other fading ones. “Do you have a statement about the recent intimate photos of you and your”—the slightest pause—“lover?”
“Yeah, I have a statement,” Fox said, his tone a growl.
The entire rabble went quiet.
“Being caught with a gorgeous, sexy woman having one hell of a good time isn’t exactly something I’m going to apologize for.” He paused as the reporters laughed, the tension dropping in a steep dive. “Especially when that woman is Molly.”
Heads swung toward her, questions congesting the air.
“Are you going to introduce us?” another reporter managed to shout above the wall of noise.
“World, meet Molly.” Gripping her jaw, Fox kissed her full on the mouth, complete with tongue. “Molly, world.”
Blushing, she found herself half-laughing as she faced the cameras. “I’m going to kill you,” she muttered under her breath when his hand landed on her butt.
His smile turned wicked.
“Molly! Molly! Are you as unworried about this as Fox?”
“Well, I did get caught in bed with a rock god. I’m real sorry.” She didn’t know where the words came from, but they were the right ones from the way the reporters began to hoot and clap.
Fox held up a hand when they would’ve shouted more questions, his other one hooked into the back pocket of her jeans. “One thing I want to say—Molly and I, we’re never going to be sorry about what we do between the sheets.”
Another wave of laughter and conspiratorial grins.
“But,” Fox continued, “I’m the possessive type. I share my music, my voice, and I don’t think anyone will argue when I say I’ve been more than open when it comes to interviews”—a round of nods—“but the one thing I will not share is Molly.”
He waited to let that sink in before continuing, the ruthless edge back in his voice. “No matter how long it takes, I will crush both the voyeur who decided to get his pathetic rocks off by violating our bedroom, and the scum-sucking site that put the footage up.”
He held up his hand again when the media would’ve asked more questions. “I have a request of Schoolboy Choir fans—we’ve always been accessible to you guys in every way we could be. Now I’m asking you to honor the years we’ve been on this rock-and-roll ride together by not sharing or reposting this content. This isn’t about the music, it’s about hurting my girl, and that is not f**king okay.”
Molly wanted so badly to kiss him at that instant that she almost didn’t hear the question that floated into the air as they turned to leave.
“Molly! Is that a Kiwi accent?”