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 your 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.”