Something sparked in the depths of his eyes. “You’re playing with fire and it’s going to burn us both.”
Even that – a warning – was only capable of inflaming her desire. “Do you really care right now?”
“Less than I should.”
“Me too.”
“I’m not here to do this.”
“Why can’t you be both? You’ve already said how good you are at taking pleasure from your work…”
Despite the tension, he laughed, a low, throbbing sound of appreciation. She caught his chin, running her fingertips over his cheek, so his laugh cut short and his eyes sought hers, as though he were lost and she were, somehow, a lifeline.
“You’re my best friend’s sister.” He said the words like an invocation, as though to remind himself as well as Max.
“I’m also a grown woman. Gray has no say in the men I sleep with.”
His eyes flared – the direct statement taking away any innuendo and inference, stripping it all so there was just the bald fact of what they were discussing.
“That doesn’t mean we should screw around behind his back.”
He was going to step away from her. She could feel it. Impatience lashed her spine, and she lifted up onto the tips of her toes. “Let’s make a deal.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I’m going to kiss you.” Her eyes fell to his lips and she licked her own, desire ravaging her nervous system. “If you want me to stop, then so be it. But I don’t think one kiss will be enough, Noah.” She paused, waiting for him to say something.
He didn’t.
“Shall we see if I’m right?”
He swore softly under his breath, and then it was Noah who was kissing Max, his head dropping to close the distance between them almost as if dragged against his will, his lips pressing to hers in what he’d possibly expected to be a chaste brush. But the second their lips were in contact it was like they were welded together, sparks flying as his hands caught her face, holding her right where she was, his fingers splayed wide at her cheeks so his mouth could move over hers, his tongue dueling with hers, his body tight and aching to lose himself in Max.
She groaned, lifting one leg, pressing it behind his, so her sex was close to his arousal, rolling her hips in a silent, desperate invitation for so much more than just this one kiss. But Noah was an expert of control and even when Max was spiraling well beyond the world they inhabited, well beyond knowing where and who she was, Noah was still Noah.
He dropped his hands to her hips, lifting her with ease and carrying her to the kitchen without breaking their kiss, sitting her on the edge of the bench, his hands resting on her thighs as he overpowered every single one of her meager defenses, showing the ravages of his own, his hands finding the bare flesh beneath her blouse, his fingertips brushing her there until goosebumps exploded over her skin. He pushed her shirt up, finding the lace of her bra and unceremoniously thrusting it aside so her breasts spilled out of the delicate fabric, her nipples taut and desperate for attention. He plucked them, cupping her breasts, whispering into her mouth as he kissed her, then moved his attention to her jaw, his stubble marking her skin pink as he brushed his mouth over her there, taking an earlobe into his mouth and wobbling it so she cried out at the unexpected explosion of need.
Her breath was frantic, like she’d run a thousand marathons, and her forehead was beaded in perspiration. She tore away from him purely so she could rip her blouse from her head, needing to be naked with him, needing him to take her to bed and make love to her until she couldn’t think about anything but the perfection of this.
“I need this tonight,” she groaned, tilting her head back, staring at the ceiling as his mouth sought one of her nipples, flicking it so she moaned, her fingers curling into his shirt. It was all too much – and over all too-quick. He pulled up, his skin ashen, his eyes filled with self-condemnation, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just been doing.
“Jesus.” He stepped back from her like she’d sprayed him with acid. “Fucking Christ.”
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, even when the entire mood had shifted and it was abundantly clear that whatever had tipped him over the line into kissing her had completely disappeared. At least for Noah.
“That should not have happened.”
“Why not?” She demanded, without moving.
He reached for her shirt, straightening it out so the arms were the right way, then holding it over her head. It had been about twenty three years since anyone had helped dress her but Max didn’t fight his intervention – she punched her arms through the sleeves, her gaze on his face the whole time.
“What’s happened? Why did you stop?”
His lips formed a tight line. “The only reason I’m here is to keep you safe. I appreciate that you’re probably bored. I appreciate that men generally throw themselves at your feet and beg to make love to you, but I’m not like normal men, and I swear to you, Max, that’s never going to happen between us.”
Hurt washed over her but she fought it, clinging to anger instead. “Says who?” She sneered, amazed at how quickly she could turn from desire to derision. “You obviously wanted me.”
“Yes, I did.” She was gratified that he didn’t attempt to deny it. “But that doesn’t mean I want anything to happen between us.”
“Let me guess. You’re too virtuous to have sex with a woman you barely know?”
His eyes narrowed. “Actually, that’s my preferred modus operandi,” he contradicted with a flatness to his voice that was completely at odds with her lightning bolt of jealousy.
“So what’s the problem?”
“We’ve dealt with that. I’m here in a professional capacity. That’s something I take seriously. I appreciate someone like you is used to getting what she wants, but I suggest you listen to what I’m saying: it’s never going to happen.”
Hurt was a blade at her side. She glared at him, valiantly hiding any such emotion, even as it ran rampant through her. How dare he?
She dug her fingernails into her palm, hating the implication that she was spoiled, that she always got her way, hating that he was the one to say it, even when she’d heard it a thousand times before. It minimized her every struggle, every obstacle, it revealed that he saw her like the rest of the world did – some entitled heiress who’d been handed everything on a silver platter, when she suddenly wanted, quite desperately, for Noah to see her as she really was.
“Oh, go to hell,” she snapped, pulling away from him and sliding off the bench, stalking through the palatial apartment with no idea that from Noah’s perspective, he was already there.
Chapter 5
“I’M GOING OUT.” She fixed him with a cold stare, totally at odds with the lava-like heat of her arteries. “I presume you’ll need to come with me?”
She’d chosen the dress on purpose, but even then, Max hadn’t been prepared for what it would feel like for Noah to see her in the dress. A red column that barely covered her ass, that had no sleeves and sat tight on her breasts, and in fact hugged her body like a second skin, she’d bought it at the fashion shows in February and had been waiting for an excuse to wear it. Getting under the skin of Noah Storm seemed like as good a reason as any. The dress on its own should have come with a health warning, but coupled with the silver Louboutins that drew attention to her long, slender legs, she looked sensual and traffic-stopping. She left her hair wild and loose over one shoulder and her make up, from the fashion show, just required a little touching up. The diamond pendant fell close enough to the valley of her cleavage, impossible to miss.
To Noah’s credit, after his initial double take, he was all bloody professionalism again, standing and reaching for his jacket in one movement. “Where to?”
Her heart sank. Great. He’d called her on her bluff and now she had to go through with it. She angled her face away, chin jutting at a defiant angle. “The after party. Elvira begged. I don’t want to let her down.”
&
nbsp; “Sure.” A single word – an agreement, for god’s sake – yet she felt exposed, as though he saw right through her and was even laughing at her. Something like acid stung her throat.
She refused to show it.
* * *
Goddamnit. He stared at her from the biggest distance he allowed – about six feet – kicking himself for the fact this was how he was spending his night. Watching her socialize, flirt, be flirted with, drooled over, adored, all from where he stood, hands in his pockets, wishing they were roaming her insanely delectable body, wishing he’d ignored common sense and decency and made her his, just like she’d begged him to.
I need this tonight.
That one little throwaway comment could just as well have been a grenade though. Max Fortescue might act like she had the world eating out of the palm of her hand but he knew better. He saw beneath the act to her vulnerability and he understood that right now, when she was literally afraid for her life, those vulnerabilities would be a huge tangle inside of her. The last thing she needed was to be taken advantage of by the guy she was relying on to protect her.
It was completely out of the question.
But damn it, he’d wanted to ignore his black and white morals, just this once. Then, instead of being in a packed, exclusive, Parisian nightspot right now he’d be investigating all the places on Max’s body that made her whimper.
He swore inwardly, his eyes narrowing as she took another drink from yet another man, the woman from the fashion show clearly desperate to show off Max’s presence. She made sure they were photographed often, she circulated Max to a large group of people, including journalists, and Noah followed dutifully behind, his expression impassive, even as she began to speak to one man in particular for longer than the others, even as she leaned closer, her hand on his chest, an invitation unmistakable in his eyes.
So help him, God, if she brought this guy home with her, it would test every ounce of his professionalism. Not quitting would be the hardest thing he’d ever done.
It was clear that the man in question was keen. He laced their fingers together, spoke low, leaned close. Noah wanted to strangle something. For a moment he looked away, because the sight of them was burned into his retina, before he remembered that his job was to watch, no matter how hard he found it.
She laughed at something the man said, then looked towards the doors. This was really going to happen. He braced himself for the inevitable, tried to preempt how he’d react, how he’d keep his face from giving him away when she told him she was bringing some other guy home, spending the night with him.
She finished the drink and put it on the table. The man nodded to the bar; Max shook her head.
Suit guy leaned closer, his hand came around to the top of Max’s butt. Noah was surprised the steam coming from his ears didn’t set off the smoke alarm. Max laughed; Noah clenched, then she was pulling back, turning around, her eyes fixing to his so he could see everything, her haunted expression, the realization that she didn’t know what the hell she was doing, that she had started this to make him jealous and was now regretting it.
He swooped in, putting an arm beneath her elbow. “What do you want?”
She didn’t even look at suit guy. Her lips chattered together. “To go home.” Her eyes didn’t meet his.
He ignored the burst of relief, and didn’t hesitate. He propelled her out of the club, onto the sidewalk where a smattering of paparazzi remained, their lenses trained on whomever stumbled out. Thanks to Noah’s support, that wasn’t Max, but she shrunk into his side anyway, burying her face in his shirt, so he instinctively put an arm around her and kept her close as he pushed through the crowds and into the waiting car. Double parked on a yellow line he noted the ticket with a sardonic grimace, opening the door for Max. She ignored it, rounding to the front passenger door, which she opened herself and stepped into. He compressed his lips, not arguing, just glad he was able to take her home. And without the suit guy.
A glance at the dash when he started the engine showed it was past two. She’d been there for hours. Had she enjoyed herself? Was this how she spent her spare time?
“You must be starving.” Her words sounded so small, so concern had him whipping around to look at her, before quickly returning his gaze to the road.
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.” He stopped at traffic lights and looked at her properly now, seeing the way her throat moved as she swallowed, the look of being lost clear in her eyes. She bit down on her lip and he had the most unsettling realization that she was staving off tears.
“I can go twelve hours without eating,” he promised. “I’m not going to die.”
She smiled, a half-smile, turning away from him, her hands running over the elasticized hem of her dress.
He took the most direct route back to the apartment, fighting an urge to put his arm around her as he led her into the building. There were no camera lenses here, no paparazzi, just two more doormen who greeted her with the same deference as the earlier two.
In her apartment, Max slipped out of her heels and padded into the kitchen. He stayed where he was, watching, before rousing himself. Distance.
He bolted the door, inspected the windows, checking each meticulously, then the double doors that led to the rooftop terrace. He went through the entire apartment, the mechanical act of carrying out his job vital for reminding him what he was doing there.
Fifteen minutes later, when he returned to the lounge room, it was to find a very different Max. She’d showered, washing off the full face of cosmetics and brushing out her long hair so it was silky and soft, pulled back into a low ponytail. She wore a pair of silk pants and a loose fitting top – it was obvious there was no bra beneath, the roundness of her breasts so perfect that he ached to simply stare. But he didn’t.
“Your apartment’s secure.”
“Thank you.” She waved a hand towards the kitchen. “Help yourself to anything. Or call for delivery. I’m going to bed.”
“You haven’t eaten either.”
“I had some hors d’oeuvre at the club. I’m fine.”
Except she wasn’t fine. He could see the lines of strain around her eyes, the sense of powerlessness, and he understood. Having someone stalk you, the persistent, niggling fear, the sensation of needing to be ever-ready, always vigilant, was exhausting. But that was why he was here. So she didn’t need to be so vigilant. Why she didn’t need to worry so much.
It was also why he had to make sure he did his damned job properly, not get distracted by their chemistry.
“You’ll feel better if you eat.”
“You seem to forget I’m twenty six years old. I’ve lived perfectly well up until this point without your tips. I think I’ll manage another few days.”
He thought about fighting back, about insisting, but at the end of the day, she was right. He would never get involved in the dietary habits of any other client. It wasn’t his place. So why did he care so much about Max, wanting to stop her from feeling crap in the morning?
“Suit yourself. Goodnight.”
After he’d polished off a whole pizza, Noah checked on her. Not Max so much as her room, to be sure everything was as it ought to be. He simply pushed the door inwards, flicked his gaze around the room – window closed, nothing disturbed – then stepped back out of it again. It was only as he got ready for bed he realized the same little nightlight that she had in London had been glowing with warmth, casting a gentle light over her room as she slept. Why?
Please, please, please let it have been a dream.
Max squinted into the room, hoping her mind was playing tricks on her, that she hadn’t begged her bodyguard to make love to her then dragged him out to a club where she flirted with any guy she came close to, just to piss him off.
But the claggy feeling in her mouth and fogginess of her head told her that it had happened, just as she remembered.
“Oh, hell.”
She showered and changed into a pair of je
ans and a singlet top, put on some lipgloss and mascara and fluffed her hair a bit. She looked like herself, but she sure as hell didn’t feel like it.
Maybe if she pretended it had meant nothing to her? That she’d hit on him because she was bored, just like he said? That it was simply a matter of her wanting to get laid and him being conveniently close at hand? But even imagining having that conversation made her feel icky. It wasn’t true. She was nothing like the press liked to paint her. She didn’t hook up with random guys every night of the week, she actually liked to get to know the men she slept with. She even held out hope that one day she’d fall in love – a crazy notion given the way she was raised. But lying to Noah was preferable to letting him know the mortifying truth – that she had wanted to sleep with him. Just him. Not out of boredom, not out of habit, just out of…necessity.
Ughhhh.
Coffee. She needed coffee.
“Oh.” He was, of course, awake when she stepped out into the lounge area, and he was, to add insult to injury, shirtless.
Their eyes met and he dipped his head in greeting before crossing the room, grabbing a shirt off the back of a chair and pulling it over his head. “I was working out,” he said, by way of explanation.
Great. Yet another visual she didn’t need.
“It’s fine.” She moved to the coffee machine, careful to give him a wide berth.
“Is your itinerary still accurate?”
She blinked, trying to remember what flight time she’d nominated. “I guess so. I’ll have to double check.”
“Just let me know any changes.”
“Okay.”
The silence throbbed with a mix of awkwardness and awareness. She watched coffee spool into a mug, moved it aside, then forced herself to look directly at Noah. “Would you like a coffee?”
“Sure.”
She reached for another cup. “How do you have it?”
“Black.”
Just like her.
Never Mine: The Rich List Book 1 Page 6