“Sure.” He handed her the phone. “If it rings, answer it for me—and by the way, you’re meant to be the roadie version of an intern, so nobody’s going to expect you to know much anyway.”

Molly waited until she’d belted herself in and Maxwell was pulling out before saying, “That’s clever.” She thought she’d kept her voice light and nonconfrontational, but Maxwell shot her a sideways look.

“Yeah, Fox’s clever.” A short pause. “Hasn’t ever used that brain of his to get a woman backstage incognito before though. Never snuck around with any woman, as a matter of fact. Always liked that about him—he doesn’t mess with women who aren’t free to play.”

Molly wanted to squirm and avoid the issue, but the fact was, she was the one who’d put Fox in this position with someone who was clearly important enough to him that he’d trusted the other man with the truth, and she had to own up to it. “I’m free,” she said quietly. “I just don’t want to be famous.”

Maxwell nodded. “Fair enough. Can’t escape being famous if you’re with Fox, though, so you better get used to the idea soon.”

Molly didn’t say anything to that—it was obvious Maxwell thought this was a long-term relationship given the effort Fox had gone to for her. Her fingernails dug into her palms, the idea of having Fox as her own a powerfully seductive one. It didn’t matter that she knew the relationship would never last in the hothouse atmosphere of a rock star’s life; this was her fantasy… at least for a short while longer.

It made her stomach hurt to imagine opening a magazine one day in the future and seeing him in the arms of another woman. A woman who would be right for him because she could survive in the environment in which he thrived, the roar of the crowds and the glare of the lights electricity in his blood.

Staring out the window until she could breathe again, she finished going through the photos on the band’s website. They told a story—of friendship, camaraderie, music, and parties. So many parties. So many beautiful women. All of them in skimpy clothes worn over taut, toned bodies, bodies that were usually draped over one member of the band or another.

Including Fox.

She closed the browser and put the phone in the cup holder. The photos hadn’t shown her anything she hadn’t already known—the fantasy was wonderful, but the harsh reality was that their lives and worlds were poles apart, would never again intersect after this month was over. Again, that stabbing in her abdomen, sharp and brutal, her throat thick.

“Here we go.” Maxwell drove through metal security gates after waving at the guards, and into what appeared to be a massive playing field or park with an unexpectedly solid-appearing temporary stage set up on one end.

Hopping out once they’d parked, Molly put on her fake glasses and helped Maxwell carry some of his more delicate equipment to the electronic nerve center of the concert, all of the audio and lights controlled by technology Molly had as much hope of understanding as she had of flying a fighter jet. That was when she saw Fox—he was on the stage with one of his bandmates. The blond one.

Noah.

The other man had recently been featured in a magazine article about the world’s most beautiful people, but it was to Fox alone that her eyes were drawn. Even dressed in one of his ubiquitous black T-shirts and a pair of old jeans, he exuded strength and a lazy sexuality as he and Noah apparently tested the sound system using electric guitars. She’d known he played one but had never had the chance to watch him perform live, was fascinated by how he held and moved with the instrument.

The guitar was gleaming red, of course.

Her lips curved.

“Don’t watch him like that if you want this to work.”

Coloring at Maxwell’s low-voiced warning, Molly turned away… just as Fox glanced at her. Her body responded to the touch of that smoky-green gaze as it always did, but aware of how many other people moved around them, she pinned her eyes to Maxwell’s back and became his shadow for the rest of the afternoon. While it was difficult to keep her attention off the man for whom she’d come here, she didn’t have to feign interest in the work it took to set up a big show—even a “stripped down” one.

There was the big stuff like setting up the stage and any pyrotechnics, but all that had been done already. Today, it was about going over the myriad tiny details, from making dead sure each of the speakers around the grounds was functioning as it should, to checking the individual lamps in the light system, to ensuring catering staff knew what to bring in for band and crew both, to confirming that there was a fridge backstage for the water and sports drinks.

Maxwell had every one of those thousand-and-one things on a mental checklist and he used Molly like she was a real intern.

Dropping her bag to the floor when she returned to the hotel room, Molly took off the black-framed glasses she’d worn for the past hours and flopped down on her back in bed. “I hope you pay Maxwell what he’s worth,” she said to the half-naked man who’d come to lean in the doorway between their rooms.

“Why do you think he’s still with us?” Prowling over, Fox straddled her supine body, the top button on his jeans undone to reveal a hint of dark hair.

Oh, but he was beautiful.

With that mental sigh, she placed her hands on his abdomen and shivered at the flex of all that gorgeous muscle as he leaned down to nibble at her lips.

“Sorry I left you to Maxwell’s devices.” Whiskey and hard rock, his voice had her nipples beading against the cotton of her bra, the heat of his body another kiss.

“It’s part of my cover.” Her breath caught at the sensation of his mouth on her throat. “I could hardly leave with the band when I’m meant to be learning the ropes.”

“Are you telling me you’re too tired?” Raising his head from her throat, he settled his lower body more heavily against her.

“I,” she somehow managed to say, her breasts swelling and lower body clenching, “am telling you I need a bath and a massage.”

A deeper smile, the dimple lean against his cheek. “Since they both involve your naked body”—words punctuated by kisses that made her smile even as they made her want—“I’m willing to make the arrangements.” Petting her breasts with bold possessiveness, he pushed off her and the bed. “Stay there.”

Since he’d turned her limbs to jelly, Molly had no trouble obeying. She heard him turn on the water and then he walked back into the room. “Let’s get you naked while the bath’s filling.”

 “You know,” she said, teeth sinking into her lower lip and her mind blaring a warning she ignored, “we spend a lot of our time together naked.”

Fox’s expression was pure sin as he tugged off her sneakers and socks. “Are you complaining?”

“I’m not insane.” Being naked with Fox was the experience of a lifetime, but part of her wished they could do things like the market more often, like any ordinary couple. Her chest ached at the idea of it.

She knew it was her fault that they couldn’t. Fox hadn’t ever wanted to treat her like a dirty little secret. She was the one who’d made that choice, decided to hide what was becoming a relationship she knew she’d never forget, even if she lived to be a hundred years old.

One month. Don’t let the pain to come steal your one glorious month with him.

Swallowing her tears, she held out her hand to the rock star who kept slicing away pieces of her heart.

Fox slid into the bath behind Molly, luxuriating in having her here. He knew it was a big step for the woman whose smile had captivated him and whose heart, intelligence, and honest, generous sensuality now held him prisoner. He intended to do everything in his power to make her see his life through a less aggressive and less terrifying lens. Being a roadie wasn’t the same as being his, but it provided a gentle, easy introduction to his world—because he wanted, needed her with him, and he’d do whatever it took to convince her to take a chance on him.