Rock addiction, p.1
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       Rock Addiction, p.1
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         Part #1 of Rock Kiss series by Nalini Singh
Rock Addiction


  By Nalini Singh

  New York Times Bestselling Author

  Table of Contents




  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23


  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Author's Note


  About the Author

  Other Books by Nalini Singh

  Copyright Information


  Her smile smashed into him with stunning force. He heard nothing of the party around him, saw no one but her. God, that smile, the way she cupped her sister's face with such open affection before the two of them hugged. Really hugged. No fake bullshit, no playing up for the journalists in the room.

  They weren't paying attention to anyone else, happy simply to see one another.

  Then she laughed as she drew back and the sound was chains around his heart, a thousand guitar strings pulling tight. It hurt and it was beautiful. For an instant, he almost forgot where he was, he wanted so badly to have that unguarded smile turned in his direction. He could imagine her warm brown eyes looking up at him as she ran her fingers over his jaw and rose on tiptoe to slide one hand around his nape to haul him down for a kiss.

  Fucking hell.

  When was the last time a woman had done that to him the instant she walked into a room? Never. Not even when he'd been a hormone-drunk youth. And the fact he knew she was exactly as she appeared to be, that she wasn't out for fame or money? Yeah, that just made her sexier. No way was he leaving this party without her, the raw need to possess her a violent craving in his gut.

  He didn't believe in fantasy shit like destiny or fate or the biggest con of all--love--but he knew himself. And he knew what he wanted: to tug her to him with his hand fisted in her hair, brand her with his mouth, warn every other male in the room that she was off-limits. But the instant he did that, he'd make her front-page news when he wanted her all to himself.



  No cameras.

  No lights.

  No fucking interruptions.

  Chapter 1

  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 uber-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.

  "Yes--I use this driver a lot for work stuff. He always waits while I unlock the door to my place and disarm the security." She hugged Thea go
od-bye before doing the same to Molly, leaning up to whisper, "Live a little, Moll. Take the hot rock star home, then tell me all about your night of wild monkey sex."

  Molly's breath caught at the idea of it, foolish and impossible though it was. "If only." Over an hour into the party and Fox hadn't even looked in Molly's direction, that's how high she registered on his radar.

  "Fox knows who you are," Thea said after Charlotte had left. "He saw a photo of us in my L.A. office--the one from after we went through the caves."

  Molly groaned. "You mean the one where we both look like drowned rats, have giant black inflatable rings around our waists, and dented helmets on our heads?" The trip through the waters of the underground cave system had been fun, but it did not make for alluring photos. "Let's not forget the ancient gray wetsuits that made it look like we were molting."

  Choking on her laughter, Thea nodded. "He was interested in doing the black-water rafting thing when I told him where we took the photo. I'm sure he'd love to talk to you about it."

  Molly fought the temptation to get close to him any way she could, and it was one of the hardest things she'd ever done. "No thanks," she said, her mind awash in visions of what it would be like to meet him in a much more private setting, run her fingers over the firm lines of his body... bite down on his lip. "I'd like to keep standing over here with my fantasies." Distance or not, the needy, achy feeling in the pit of her stomach continued to intensify, her response to the rock star across the room scarily potent.

  Thea raised an elegant eyebrow.

  "If I meet him," she added through the shimmer of heat that licked over her skin when he laughed at something one of his bandmates had said, the sound a rough, dark caress, "and he's an arrogant snob or worse, a stoned-out idiot, there go my fantasies."

  "Fox is neither a snob nor a stoner." Thea's lips kicked up. "The man is the whole package: intelligent, talented, and a nice human being unless you piss him off by pushing too hard about his private life--and I don't think there's any chance you'll go paparazzi on me."

  "That just makes it worse," Molly pointed out, trying not to watch as Fox bent his head to speak to a bombshell brunette in a dress the size of a handkerchief. "How can I fantasize about him ripping off my clothes in a moment of reckless passion if he politely shakes my hand and says it's nice to meet me?"

  Molly had learned her lesson about reality versus dreams as a teenager--once destroyed, some dreams could never be resurrected. And for some reason, she couldn't bear for this silly, unattainable dream to be splintered by reality.

  "If you change your mind," Thea said with a shake of her head, "speak up soon. Fox never stays long at these things." She picked up a cobalt blue cocktail from the tray of a passing waiter. "I'd better go make nice with the other guests."

  Watching her publicist sister expertly work the room, Molly smiled in quiet pride. Though they'd joyfully connected after a lifetime of not knowing the other existed, the bond was yet new, fragile, and no one who wasn't aware of their family history would ever guess they were related. Twenty-nine to Molly's twenty-four, not only was Thea naturally slender in contrast to Molly's curves, she had the smooth golden skin of her Balinese mother as well as Lily's eyes, but she'd gained her height from Patrick Buchanan, topping Molly by a good five inches.

  Their shared father had put his stamp on Molly in a far stronger fashion, giving her the black hair she constantly fought to tame, creamy skin that burned easily, and eyes of deepest brown. Every time Molly looked in the mirror, she remembered what Patrick had done, and each time she wrenched her hair into a tight twist--as she'd done tonight--it was in silent rebellion of the shadow he threw over her life even from the grave.

  Patrick Buchanan, "family values" politician and vicious hypocrite, was the kind of man who'd have taken a stranger home for a night of uninhibited passion.

  Fingers tightening on the stem of her glass, Molly made the deliberate decision to turn away from the rock star whose presence made her body sing. It was just as well that Fox was oblivious to her existence, because should he turn those smoky-green eyes in her direction, Molly had the heart-thudding sense that she might break every one of her rules and give in to the other Molly who lived inside her. That dangerous woman was Patrick Buchanan's irresponsible seed, someone who might well wreck everything Molly had built brick by brick after her world fell apart.

  Releasing a shuddering breath, she wandered over to the plate-glass window that functioned as one wall of the exclusive penthouse suite Thea had hired for the party. The bright lights of New Zealand's biggest city sparkled in front of her, a cascade of jewels thrown by a careless hand and bordered by the black velvet of the water that kissed its edges.

  "Stunning, isn't it?"

  She glanced at the man who'd spoken. "Yes." Rangy, with eyes caught between gold and brown, he was only a few inches taller than Molly, but there was a contained energy to him that made him seem bigger.

  "I'm David."

  "I know." She smiled. "David Rivera--you're the drummer for Schoolboy Choir."

  "Wow." David rocked back on his heels, hands in the pockets of the tailored black pants he wore with a stone-gray shirt. "You actually recognize the drummer. Big fan?"

  Her smile deepened. "My sister's your publicist." Based in L.A., the only reason Thea even had an "office" in New Zealand was because of Molly. That fictional office had alleviated some of the pressure during their first nervous meetings, making Thea's flights to the country about something other than the relationship they were trying desperately to build.

  "I didn't know Thea had another sister." David's eyes skated to where Thea stood with Fox, the lead singer's arm around her waist, and all at once, he wasn't the charming, well-dressed man who'd been talking to her, but one with a stiff jaw and rigid shoulders.

  "Thea," she said softly, as the rich darkness of Fox's hair caught the light, "has three very specific rules."

  Sharp interest, David's attention snapping back to her. "Oh?"

  "One: never sleep with clients." The words weren't only for David's benefit--the idea of her sister in bed with Fox caused her abdomen to clench so tight it hurt.

  "What's the second rule?"

  "Never sleep with clients."

  "Why do I get the feeling I know the third one?" Thrusting a hand through the deep mahogany of his hair, he blew out a breath. "She ever made an exception?"

  "Not as far as I know." Having forced her gaze back to the multimillion-dollar view in a vain effort to control the visceral pulse of her physical response to a man who could never be hers, she followed the path of several blinking lights in the distance, a plane en route to the airport.

  "You want another drink? I definitely need a beer."

  Molly shook her head. "No, I'm heading off." She didn't trust herself to stay any longer, didn't know what she might do; every cell in her body continued to burn in awareness of the rock star on the other side of the room.

  Putting her glass on a nearby table, she dipped into her little black purse to find the keycard Thea had handed her that morning. The card gave her temporary access to the building's parking garage.

  "Thanks for the advice on Thea's rules," David said with a rueful smile.

  "Don't mention it." Molly wondered if her sister had any idea of the drummer's feelings. "Will you be flying home soon?" Schoolboy Choir had played a sold-out concert three days ago as part of a new outdoor music festival that had attracted bands from around the world.

  "No, we're staying in town for a month."

  Molly froze.

  "It's been a tough year," David continued, "and we need downtime before the tour we have coming up. We liked it here, figured what the hell, we'd just stay on instead of flying somewhere else for a vacation."

  It made perfect sense... and Molly knew she'd spend the next month obsessing over whether she might run into Fox again. Her cheeks heated at the sheer ridiculousness of her response. God, she had to go home.

  "I hope you enjoy you
r time here," she said as she turned away from the view. Of course, her gaze went straight to Fox. A leggy blonde was currently whispering in his ear while several other women looked on grim-eyed. It was a stark visual reminder of the gulf that existed between them, regardless of her body's potent response.

  David's voice broke into her thoughts. "I'll walk you to your car."

  "No, that's okay." When he frowned, she added, "There's a guard on duty in the garage. It's safe." Smiling her good-bye, she began to tunnel her way out of the packed room.

  Skirting around the tall form of the guitarist for Schoolboy Choir, an almost too-handsome blond male in the midst of charming an actress Molly recognized from a local soap opera, she managed to snag Thea for a quick hug. "I'll call you later in the week," her sister said in her ear. "I'm staying in the country with the band for the first part of their vacation."

  "Oh, that's wonderful." Molly loved spending time with her older sister now that the initial awkwardness had passed. "If you're in the city anytime, come into the library and we'll sneak out for a coffee."


  With that, Thea returned to her guests while Molly continued on to the exit--where she gave in to the inexplicable ache inside her and craned her neck for one last glimpse of the man who'd turned her blood to molten honey. Fox, however, was nowhere to be seen. "Not exactly a surprise," she muttered under her breath, recalling the gorgeous women who'd been buzzing around him.

  More than likely, he was in a shadowy corner of the building, pinning one of those women to the wall while he pounded into her. The image poured ice-cold water on her fantasies.

  Stabbing the button to summon the elevator at the end of the corridor, she tried to think of anything but Zachary Fox's muscled body flexing and clenching as he drove himself into that nameless, faceless woman.

  Her pulse fluttered, her breathing choppy.

  "Thank God," she said when the elevator arrived and, stepping inside, scanned her keycard over the reader before pressing the button for the garage.

  "Hold up!"

  Automatically pressing the Open button until the other passenger had ducked inside, she turned to give him a polite smile. It froze on her face.

  Because there in the flesh stood the sex god whose lip she wanted to bite. All six feet four inches of him. Masculine heat, golden skin... and smoky, sexy dark green eyes focused on her mouth.

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