She’d lost sight of Noah and to her chagrin, shifted in the car seat to locate him before she could stop herself.
The garage door went up and the driver took the car inside, into the lower level of the townhouse.
It still gave her the creeps to think that someone had been here. She had no idea how they’d got in, but she did know there was an insufficient barrier between the garage and the house proper – a simple door with a single snib lock – easy for anyone of average size and strength to overpower.
The driver opened her door and she stepped out, almost bumping directly into Noah.
“Is there a problem?”
He shook his head once in response. “Just getting the lay of the land.” He reached out and took her handbag. She let him, not sure if it was a security gesture or good old-fashioned chivalry, but too tired suddenly to argue.
She needed a stiff drink and a hot shower.
“Am I allowed to go inside?” She asked at the door, lifting a brow in silent challenge.
“We’ll inspect the house together. Show me your security protocols.”
“Is that something I’m supposed to have?”
She didn’t catch his response but gathered it was neither flattering nor safe for children’s ears.
“What do you usually do when you first get home?”
“Go into the kitchen.”
“Show me.”
She nodded, walking through the mud room, kicking off her shoes, then climbing the staircase into the hallway. There was no door at the top of the stairs, and she spun, moving into the large, airy open-plan kitchen and lounge area. She placed her handbag on an armchair as she went.
The house was immaculate – less attributable to Max’s preference for order than a hardworking housekeeper who made sure the clutter was put away each day. Max rubbed her neck as she walked. She’d much prefer to get into yoga gear and put on a movie, order Uber Eats and relax, but she couldn’t pull out of her plans. It wouldn’t be fair to Bettina, and on top of that, there was someone out there who was trying to terrify her, and she refused to let them think she was cowered.
“There’s no alarm system?”
Her eyes flicked to his.
“There is an alarm system.”
“You don’t set it?”
“There’s a housekeeper here all day,” she defended, aware how naïve that must sound to someone like this.
“Alice Holmes?”
Of course he knew about Alice.
“She’s here on her own throughout the day?”
“No. I have a team. Gardeners, a cook, someone who does my laundry and my driver; there are seasonal changes. In summer, she hires more gardeners, or when I’m travelling she pares back to a skeleton staff. Alice is the only full time staff member though, the others come and go.”
“And each has a key and access to the alarm?”
“It’s not a key, it’s one of those pincode door things. You know, where you press in a number? The number gets changed every few days, and Alice is in charge of that. Many’s the time I haven’t even known how to get into my own damned house,” she said with a soft laugh, pulling open the fridge and removing a bottle of wine. She grabbed two glasses on autopilot, but Noah moved closer, putting a hand over the top of one before she could fill it.
“Right, you’re working.” She grimaced. “I’ll try not to drive you to drink this week then.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Alcoholic?”
“No.”
She frowned, pouring herself a generous measure of pinot gris and lifting it to her lips, inhaling it before taking a hefty gulp. She closed her eyes, letting the flavour seep through her body, into her exhausted cells.
“You do this every night?”
“Usually. Or make a tea,” she felt compelled to defend. “It really depends on the kind of day I’ve had and what I’m doing that night. I always come into the kitchen first.”
“Fine. Then what?”
“I don’t know, Noah. I’m not someone who lives like clockwork. My life is chaotic.”
“No, your life is routine, when you’re here. As I said, you run at the same time, you generally keep to the same rhythms.”
“Fine, but not within the walls of my own home. I just…do whatever I feel like.”
“And after you’ve had a drink, what do you generally feel like?”
“Showering. Speaking of which, I should get ready. I want to leave in half an hour.” She moved around the island bench, glad to create some space between them. “There’s food in the fridge. Alice will have made some meals. Just heat up whatever you want. I can’t vouch for the kind of stuff we’ll be served at the thing tonight – everything’s probably gin soaked.”
“Where is your bathroom?”
“Upstairs. Why?”
“Show me.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t seriously be expecting to watch me shower?”
His eyes flicked with speculation before he could tamp it down; the air between them sparked with electric awareness. “I’ll inspect your home personally tonight. Going forward, I’ll bring in my own team of operatives to watch the premises, and conduct a handover upon our return.”
“A team of…I feel like I’ve landed in the middle of some kind of GI Joe fantasy. This is my home, Noah.”
“And I want you to be safe here. Which way?”
She gave up fighting him. Time was ticking and she was nowhere near ready.
Besides which, his inspection did fill her with a confidence she hadn’t realized was lacking. He was ridiculously thorough, even checking under the bed, so she wanted to make a joke about her inner five year old and the bogey man. But Noah Storm wasn’t a man you made jokes to. He was all serious, all business.
“I’ll wait downstairs.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket, removing a small button, like a remote control for a car. “This is wired to alert my watch. All you have to do is press this button and I’ll know you need me. Keep it near you at all times.”
“Yessir,” she responded, teasing, even when it was something else that gave her a rush of reassurance. His eyes held hers, as though he was tempted to remind her this was no joking matter, but he evidently thought better of it, stepping away and turning, leaving the room.
It was her bedroom, but without Noah it suddenly felt cavernous and…frightening. She shivered, glad he wasn’t here to see the ridiculous emotion, and focused on the night ahead. She pushed all thoughts of a stalker and security from her mind, concentrating instead on cultivating the persona of Max Fortescue, billionaire heiress and ‘it girl’, the woman everyone expected her to be.
She’d chosen her outfit last week – a pair of skin tight leather pants, a lace bra and a blazer that cut in a generous vee towards her belly button, exposing a hint of the lace bra and her rounded breasts. It was couture, classic, and despite the revealing nature of the blazer, somehow elegant. But as she dressed, she could think only of Noah, and his reaction to the outfit, and suddenly she didn’t want to go out dressed like this. She wanted to stay home. Just with him.
The thought send her into a panic and she finished getting ready with more determination, fluffing her hair around her shoulders, slipping on a pair of sky high heels with slender ankle straps, before retrieving a Givenchy clutch from her wardrobe. She double checked her appearance in the floor to ceiling mirror, nodding at her makeup, hair and outfit, before sashaying from the room as though everything in her life were completely normal.
Noah was in the kitchen, and despite the fact she’d expected to find him there, her heart skipped several beats at the sight of him. He’d removed his jacket and pushed his sleeves up his forearms, spread some papers out on the counter, which he was busy reading, and there was a half-eaten apple to his side.
“You should have more than an apple, Noah,” she said, her voice higher in pitch than normal, as she moved towards him.
/> He looked up, and she was gratified by the look in his eyes, by the way he straightened and appraised her slowly, so slowly heat travelled her body as his eyes moved. Every treacherous thought she’d tried to quash came back to her with a vengeance. Stay home. Ask him all those questions. Take off the blazer.
“Who’s Caroline Bingham?”
Max had to rally to get her thoughts in order. “I don’t know.”
“She was employed by you six months ago. She’s not anymore. Why?”
“I’d have to ask Alice,” Max murmured, moving into the kitchen so she could look at the HR files Noah had. It brought their bodies side by side and she was aware of his every movement, so she wanted to lean closer, to brush up against him, she wanted him to grab her wrist again, to touch her. What was happening to her?
“See?” He reached across her, grabbing the papers and positioning them right in front of Max, a gesture that brushed his arm across her body, so she squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in, seeking stability.
She blinked down, into the woman’s face. “Yes, I vaguely remember her. I think she helped Alice out, but I really can’t remember the specifics. Alice will know.”
“I’ll speak to her tomorrow.”
“Great. Then let’s go.”
“You’re not going to have dinner?”
“I’ll grab something at the party. I don’t mind gin-soaked food.”
Chapter 3
IT WASN’T JUST THE food that was gin soaked, but the people as well, every single attendee looked as if they’d had their bodyweight in gin or cocaine by the time they arrived. It reminded Noah of the many reasons he’d given up working with celebrities. Give him a staid politician any day of the week over this vapid, high-octane, self-destructive lifestyle.
There was also the paparazzi and the sheer crush of people; from the moment the car pulled up, Max was surrounded, the frenetic energy of people wanting to see her, to have their photograph taken with her, of women coming up and hugging her, men drawing her close. He had experience with this kind of work but he hated it – there was too much out of his control, too much that could go wrong. Trying to stay close to her required too much concentration and she seemed, at times, to be doing her level best to shrug free of him, so he wanted to grab her hand and remind her that she’d agreed to this, and he could leave again if she didn’t want to play by his rules.
But he already knew he wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
She was in very real danger, and now that he’d met her, and seen her with Gray, he knew he’d do whatever he could to help her.
So he shadowed her, blending in, watching, scanning the crowd for anything that stood out, his expert gaze knowing what to look for when he couldn’t even put it into words. There were a thousand minuscule ways a person could communicate their ill-intent, and Noah had experience identifying all of them.
“Having fun?” Max asked, about an hour after arriving, sidling up way closer to him than he’d expected, her body too damned stunning to ignore completely, the low cut blazer showing just enough of her lace bra to make him want to see more, to see it all. He ground his teeth together, hating the involuntary direction of his thoughts, struggling to corral them back into order.
“A blast. Such an erudite group of friends you have.”
“Intellectual snobbery, Noah?” She asked, as though she couldn’t imagine such a thing from him. She’d only had two drinks since arriving, but coupled with the wine at home and the fact she’d barely eaten all day, and her frame being naturally slender, it had evidently gone halfway to her head already.
“Just an observation.”
“Baaaabe!” A woman with tizzy red hair and a barely-there sheathe dress threw her arms around Max, hugging her tight then kissing her on the lips. “I’ve missed you! Can we do dinner tomorrow?”
“Can’t, I’m in Paris,” Max responded, and even though she smiled at the other woman, Noah had the distinct impression Max was pushing her away a little.
“What for?”
“I’m doing a runway show. It’s a charity thing,” Max immediately added, as though to diminish her inclusion in a couture event.
“Lucky you. Do you get to keep the dress?”
“I don’t know. I think it gets auctioned actually.”
“Well, when you get back. Call me, okay?”
The red head staggered off, a wisp of a woman who should be dispensed in a cab and taken home to sleep it off.
“We should talk about Paris,” Noah said quietly, glad it was just the two of them again, even when surrounded by this throng of revelers. “Your assistant didn’t have an itinerary beyond flights and the fashion show.”
“That’s because I don’t have one. I’m just going to play it by ear.”
“I’d recommend keeping your outings to a minimum.”
“It’s Paris. Do you really think he’s going to follow me there?”
“Have you heard of the Eurostar?”
“Okay, but…”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said, dropping his head and whispering in her ear. He might have done it because they were in the middle of the party and he wanted to respect her privacy, but if he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he simply wanted to be closer to her, to breathe her in, to test himself and his strength of will. “Circulate. Have fun. I’m watching.”
She was an expert at this. He stayed close enough to hear her and watch her, and he was in awe of her deft handling of myriad social faux pas and interrogations, her easy deflection of bitchy comments, her ability to have a conversation without being drawn into gossip or speculation. She had the ability to make everyone think she was their best friend but by the end of the night, Noah knew that wasn’t the case. Max hadn’t shown a single one of these people her true self. She’d been a construct, playing a part, and as soon as they slid into her car, her act fell, her long, blonde hair forming a curtain on either side of her face as she stared at her phone, scrolling through social media, responding to comments, her face pinched in a mask of determination.
He wondered if she was happy with this life? Then he wondered why he cared.
* * *
“Oh, shit,” she muttered, struggling for the third time to undo the strap of her heel. She pressed a hand to the wall, fumbling some more, cranky at how difficult she was finding this. And she blamed Noah. If he wasn’t standing over her, watching, she’d be able to focus, but his eyes were boring into her, his lips quirked in that sardonic, cynical way of his, and her temperature was about to break the thermometer.
“What?” She grumbled, finally succeeding in liberating the buckle of one shoe before turning her attention to the other.
“Did I say anything?” He crossed his arms over his chest and she gave her entire focus to the shoes rather than look at him and his broadly muscled wall of abs.
“I can hear what you’re thinking,” she muttered.
“And what’s that?”
“You’re thinking that I’m drunk and that I’ve come home drunk and if I do this often I probably leave doors unlocked so whoever this creep is has easy access to the house. You’re thinking this is all my fault.”
“No.” He moved towards her suddenly, catching her chin and drawing her face to his, his eyes staring right through her, into her soul. “I’m definitely not thinking that.”
“I don’t do this often. I hate being drunk. I was just nervous tonight, after the last few days, and the gin was yummy.”
“None of this is your fault,” he said firmly, so that even in her present, frazzled state, the words reached into her, soothing her, making her feel whole all over again. “I don’t care what kind of lifestyle you have, no one has a right to hunt you like this. None of this is your fault.”
Tears unexpectedly filled her eyes and she blinked them away quickly, hating to appear weak in front of him. “Thank you.”
“When I ask you questions, I’m not doing it to be critical. Not of you, anyw
ay.”
“Of who, then?”
“Your security arrangements aren’t sufficient. Not given the current threat. I’ll talk to Gray about it.”
“You’ll talk to me about it,” she corrected, hiccoughing as she reached down to her ankle strap. She would have toppled to the side if Noah hadn’t caught her, his hands wrapping around her arms, holding her steady.
“I’ll do it.” His voice was gruff, throaty, so sensual. Was she imagining that? Was it wishful thinking? She wanted to lean forward and kiss him. To hell with that; she wanted to kneel down and taste him.
But it was Noah who leaned down, his fingers deftly unfastening the strap of her shoe, loosening it so she could step out of it.
“I’m hungry.”
“Sit down. I’ll get you something to eat.”
“You don’t have to do that. You must be off the clock or whatever.”
“Your safety is my concern, remember? I can’t have you falling and knocking your head on the kitchen bench on my watch. Sit down.”
A thrill of pleasure fibrillated in her chest. Ordinarily, Max would have said she loathed being told what to do by anyone, but with Noah, there was something so intensely rewarding about just falling in with his wishes. Not for long. Just for tonight.
“Fine. Thank you.” She added, ever so meekly, as she moved as steadily as she could to the bar stools at the kitchen bench.
He removed his jacket, showing the crisp white shirt he wore beneath, pushing the sleeves up, so her mouth filled with saliva at the picture he made. Even the sight of his gun, heaven help her, was sending arrows of desire shooting through her system. A gun? Since when? That was so not like her.
“You’re really hot, you know.”
The only sign he’d heard was that he stood completely still, mid-way through reaching into the fridge. He withdrew a glass bottle of mineral water, filled one glass and passed it to her, a hint of amusement in the lines of his face.
“Drink this.”
“Also ridiculously bossy.”
Never Mine: The Rich List Book 1 Page 3