Never Mine: The Rich List Book 1

by Connelly, Clare

  “Like your gin maker?”

  “Well, yeah,” she sighed heavily. “I’m not saying that’s necessarily the case, but having that suspicion in the back of my mind makes it kind of hard to let go and trust. I –,”

  But she cut herself off in time, before revealing something she never really shared with another soul. Only Noah had been so open with her, telling her about his sister and father, that she relented a little.

  “My mother had a string of bad relationships, a couple of disastrous marriages. Both of which were hugely financially costly. I saw what people will do for money; I guess it’s impossible not to have that in the back of my mind as I go through life. I prefer to keep things light, as much as possible.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “But you’re not like that,” she said quietly. “I don’t know why, but I just know you’d never take advantage of me. You’d never use me.”

  He stiffened, his body taut, so she reached across and put her hand on his.

  “You don’t think I used you last night? You don’t think sleeping with a vulnerable woman, a woman who’s in fear for her life, is a little unethical?”

  “I’m not vulnerable”

  “Not as a woman, but the circumstances you’re in.”

  “I can handle my circumstances.”

  He ground his teeth together so a muscle jerked in his jaw.

  “Listen to me,” she said firmly. “Don’t you dare disempower me by telling me what I can and can’t have, or by implying that I didn’t know what I was doing, or that fear made me do it. I have wanted you since you swaggered into my office and started barking commands at me. It’s nothing to do with my stalker and everything to do with you and me, and the spark between us. Got it?”

  Despite the tension in his frame, amusement glinted in his eyes.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She pouted. “Anyway, I was asking about you. Are these delicious pancakes something you make for all your conquests?”

  “Conquests?” He repeated incredulously. “What exactly do you imagine my life is like?”

  “Come on, Noah. You’re like some Calvin Klein underwear model with the face of a Hollywood actor.” She rolled her eyes for effect. “Don’t act as though women don’t fall at your feet.”

  To his credit, he didn’t deny it. “I don’t have a lot of free time.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I work.”

  “Non-stop?”

  “Basically.”

  “Why?” She spooned some more of the pancakes into her mouth.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your company’s really successful. You could take a break now, right?”

  “You were literally born a billionaire. Why do you work so hard?”

  “Fair point.” She smiled at him. “It’s addictive.”

  “Success?”

  She nodded. “I like taking a company with potential, putting some real money behind it and watching it soar. It’s not just about my success. I like seeing other people thrive, people who have ideas and determination, but can’t get the funding together to get the project off the ground.”

  “That’s why you run the hedge fund?”

  “Gray consults, particularly on tech investments, but yes. I tend to run things.”

  “And you’re obviously great at it.”

  She smiled again. “So you’re addicted to work?”

  His lips twisted and she understood. He wasn’t addicted to work. He had a God complex. He couldn’t stop until he’d saved every single person in the world. He couldn’t sleep until he knew he’d single-handedly saved the planet. Unfortunately for Noah, that was an impossible goal; he was never going to relax.

  “Speaking of which,” she cut another piece out of a pancake, lifting it towards her lips. “I have to get to the office after this.”

  “And you have a gallery opening tonight?” He prompted, taking her by surprise until she remembered her schedule was looped into his emails now.

  “Yes. In Soho. It’s nothing much – champagne, mingling. Invitation only.”

  His eyes skimmed her face, he nodded once, then reached for his coffee. “Sounds fun.”

  Not as much fun as how they could be spending their time, she thought wistfully, as she polished off the pancakes.

  Noah had been to dozens of events like this, and never developed a penchant for them. In fact, he despised the glitterati lifestyle. There was something so inherently frantic and false about it all. But there was no getting away from the fact Max handled herself like a pro. Nor that she outshone anyone here by about a thousand watts. Her long blonde hair was styled in a big, soft bun high on the top of her head, making her look like an off-duty ballerina. Her slender frame was sheathed in a silken dress, silver in colour with spaghetti straps that hung loose over her tanned shoulders, dropping to a vee to reveal a swell of cleavage. The dress was cut on an angle so it clung to her slim waist, curves of her hips, her ass, so he wanted, more than anything, to stride through the crowd, throw her over his shoulder, caveman style, and take her home. He wanted to strip that dress from her body, unpin her hair until it ran down her sides like a golden curtain, he wanted to kiss her until she cried his name at the top of her lungs, just like she had the night before.

  He wanted – more than he should. He kept his hands firmly at his sides as his eyes scanned the room, forcing himself to pay attention to the crowd, the exits, to remember he was here to protect her, not to ogle. She was speaking to a group of two women and three men. They looked comfortable together, like old friends, but the way she’d spoken at breakfast had made him wonder if Max had any true friends. People she could trust unequivocally, people she knew wanted her for her personality, rather than her money. That she might not made his gut do a strange lurching thing; he tried not to think about how lonely she must be.

  Her eyes lifted and landed right on him, and he was surprised the spark didn’t send a shockwave through the whole damn room. His pulse ratcheted up and he couldn’t look away. She leaned closer to her friends, put her hand on the forearm of one, then turned away, sashaying towards him with a look that sent his blood pressure through the roof.

  “You know, you can walk around with me, if you want. In fact, as my bodyguard, I’m pretty sure that’s in your job description.”

  “Actually, I can get a better view from here.” He cleared his throat. “Of the room, I mean.”

  Her brows lifted, her lips quirking with obvious amusement. “And how does the ‘room’ look to you, Noah?”

  “Like a million bucks, actually.”

  Her cheeks flushed pink. “I’m glad you think so.”

  He couldn’t look away as she walked off.

  * * *

  An hour later, he was opening the door to her car, guiding her into the front passenger seat, before coming around to his own, his eyes scanning the street. People were spilling out of the gallery, and there was the general post-theatre crowd making the area far too densely populated for his liking. He started the engine quickly, flicking the button that locked the doors on autopilot before turning them towards Chelsea.

  “Did you buy anything?”

  She pressed her head back against the headrest. “Yes. Three pieces.”

  “You liked the stuff?”

  “Yes, didn’t you?”

  He pulled a face. “I barely noticed the art, sorry.” His grimace turned into a self-deprecating grin and he saw the way her eyes danced with pleasure and amusement. It warmed him right through his chest.

  “That’s okay; you’re forgiven.” She pulled something out of her handbag, a piece of paper with a painting on the front. “The artist is a Syrian refugee. I think she’s tremendously talented.”

  “And the fact Maxine Fortescue invested in three of her pieces is bound to get her name buzzing in the art community?”

  “As it should,” she said with an appreciative nod.

  He had no doubt the artist was every
bit as talented as Max said, but he knew there was also an element of philanthropy in her purchases.

  “I was thinking –,” she cut herself off as the sound of her phone vibrating punctuated the silence of the car. “Sorry, one sec.” She reached into her bag, pulling it out and answering it one moment.

  And then all the colour drained from her face.

  * * *

  “Hello?” She pressed her hand against the dashboard, a bead of perspiration on her forehead.

  The breathing was heavy. Or maybe it was the rushing of blood between her ears that made everything sound heavy and menacing. Maybe this was just a wrong number?

  “Hello?”

  Noah turned down a narrow alley and cut the engine, his eyes roving Max’s face with urgency. She toyed with her necklace but for once, it didn’t offer any consolation.

  “Speaker,” he mouthed, gesturing the phone. She nodded, but her fingers didn’t work properly – they were too unsteady – so it was Noah who eventually took the phone from her and pressed the button, leaning closer to her so he could hear whatever was said. But it was just more breathing.

  He nodded, encouraging Max to say something else. “Who is this?”

  Despite the fear that was plaguing her, it was a steady voice that emerged.

  “Ma-ax.” The sing-song voice sent her nerves haywire. It was so unhinged sounding, so taunting, but there was also something electronic about it, as though a vocal synthesizer had been used. “Someone’s been a bad girl, Ma-ax.”

  She dug her fingernails into her palms, huge eyes firing to Noah’s face.

  “Who are you?”

  “I like that dress on you, Ma-ax. Silver’s your colour.”

  She stiffened, staring at Noah then whipping her head around, looking through all of the windows. A gruff laugh emerged.

  “But I don’t like seeing you with him. He’s not right for you, Ma-ax.” More heavy breathing. Her eyes filled with tears.

  “Go to hell,” she muttered, anger surging through her. But Noah shook his head, indicating with his finger that she should keep the conversation going.

  She bit down on her lip, trying to steady her nerves.

  “How do you know what I’m wearing?”

  “How do you think? I was there.”

  “I don’t believe you.” But she was afraid that he was telling the truth, that she’d just been in the room with the man who was stalking her. She inched closer to Noah instinctively.

  “I like it when you wear your hair in a bun, like last Tuesday. It looks pretty.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, a wave of nausea rolling through her.

  “When did you see me last Tuesday?”

  “At work, Ma-ax.”

  Goosebumps covered her arms. “Were you in my office?”

  The laugh was psychotic. She was shaking all over.

  “I’ll tell you soon. Sleep tight.”

  The line went dead.

  “OhmyGod.” She stared at Noah, her body quivering. “He sounds –,”

  “Nothing like that,” Noah said firmly, reaching out and taking the phone from Max’s shaking fingers. He loaded up an app on her phone, so she frowned.

  “What is that?”

  “A tracker. I embedded it on the first day we met. Just in case.”

  “A tracker? On my phone?” Even with chattering teeth she was able to recognize how smart that had been.

  “Stalkers often escalate their behaviour. A call or picture text seemed likely. I wanted to be able to trace any contact.”

  “So? Where is he?”

  “My office will need to look into that. Let’s get out of here.”

  A few more keystrokes then he handed the phone back, his lips a grim line. “We’re going to get him, Max. I promise you.”

  She nodded, but her heart was sinking. She sat back and stared out of the window without really seeing, certainly without watching. Her mind was completely blank, short-circuited by trauma.

  Sometime later, the engine cut and Max blinked, looking around at a thoroughly unfamiliar scene.

  She felt not a hint of fear – until that moment, she hadn’t realized how completely she trusted Noah.

  “Where are we?”

  “A helicopter hangar.” He stepped out, then came around to her door, opening it and extending his hand to her at the same time. She put hers in his and something in the region of her heart jolted into place. She felt safe.

  “Come on.”

  There was minimal lighting at the hangar, and as they drew close, she saw a few men wearing all-in-one jumpsuits maneuvering a helicopter out of the building, on a platform that seemed to roll along the ground. “Are you going on a helicopter?” To find her stalker? Panic replaced all other emotions. Fear, too, at the idea of Noah fighting this person.

  “We both are.”

  “Oh.” She stared at the craft with renewed interest. “This is yours?”

  “It’s the company’s.”

  “I see.”

  He spent a few minutes doing pre-flight checks with the other men, then pulled open the rear door.

  “Hop in.”

  Any helicopter Max had flown in had been more of a luxury experience. This was utilitarian and reassuring, almost militaristic. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t do up her seatbelt, but Noah realized and leaned forward, clasping her in before taking the seat beside her and donning a headset.

  It was only as the helicopter lifted up that Max realized she was crying. She angled her face away so Noah wouldn’t see, hiding the emotion from him, hating to admit, even to herself, how unnerved she’d been by the events of that evening.

  Chapter 9

  HE WAS APOPLECTIC. Beneath the veneer he kept in place for Max’s benefit was a wild beast so angry he could throttle someone, so angry he wanted to kick himself. He’d dropped the ball. Just like he’d feared, he’d become so captivated by Max he’d been more obsessed with watching her than watching what was going on around her and somehow he’d missed something or someone: a clue, a sign.

  He flew by memory, the path to Bordeaux well-worn in his mind, bringing the helicopter down close to midnight. Max hadn’t spoken the entire way, but at least she was no longer crying.

  “Where are we?”

  “France.”

  “France?” She turned back to him, obviously surprised. “Why?”

  “Because I need you to be safe,” he responded through clenched teeth. “And there’s only one way I can guarantee that right now.”

  A gleaming back motorbike was waiting. “Yours?”

  “Surprised?”

  “Actually, not at all.” A half-smile fluttered on her face and relief flooded him. She would smile again. She would remember what it was like to be herself, to know true freedom.

  “Here.” He brought a helmet to her, but before he could fasten it he had to undo her bun. “Hold this.”

  She took it without question, her eyes locked to his as he concentrated on dismantling the epic construction, pin by pin, until her hair uncoiled over one shoulder.

  “You’re good at that.”

  His smile was cynical. “It wasn’t rocket science.”

  “Easier to take out than put in,” she responded with a hint of pique.

  “I don’t doubt it.” He pressed the helmet into place on her head then slid on his own. “We’re not going far.”

  A minute later, he wished that weren’t true. She felt impossibly good wrapped around his back, her arms holding him tight as he drove through the balmy summer’s evening towards the yacht club. The lights danced in the distance; he sped towards them, cutting the engine only once he reached the Yacht Club carpark.

  “You’re…hiding me at a yacht club?”

  “No.” He nodded towards the marina. “I’m hiding you out at sea.”

  Her lips parted. “You’re serious?”

  He nodded once. A rush of excitement ran the length of her spine. It was wrong but she felt as though she were standi
ng on the brink of adventure and suddenly all she wanted was to step onto the ledge and experience all it had to offer.

  “And you’re coming too?”

  “Did you think I’d strand you on your own in the middle of the Bay of Biscay?”

  She lifted a single shoulder. “I’m learning to expect surprises.”

  “No more surprises tonight.” He reached for her hand. “I promise.”

  She believed him. They walked in silence along the marina, past boat after boat after boat, until he stopped at a catamaran that was both beautiful and somehow dependable.

  “This one?”

  He nodded once, gesturing to the stairs at the back. They were pressed neatly against the marina decking.

  She slid off her high heels, holding them in one hand and placing her other on the railing, moving up with a speed born of curiosity. She couldn’t say why, but her heart was racing, and she suspected it had a lot to do with the fact she was seeing a part of Noah Storm’s world that he didn’t routinely share.

  He followed behind her, immediately turning on a light on the deck, offering her a distracted smile before he began to busy himself with the boat, hauling ropes, flicking switches. She stood by, wishing she could offer help, but with a very limited experience of sailing, figured she’d be more of a hindrance than anything else.

  “Feel free to head downstairs and freshen up. Grab yourself a drink, something to eat. I’ll let you know when I’ve dropped anchor.”

  She nodded, but didn’t move, couldn’t look away, as he took up position on the windward side, right behind the wheel, and began to expertly navigate the catamaran out of the marina, cruising past the other boats with obvious skill, showing that he did this often.

  “This is yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sail?”

  “When I can.”

  “Not such a workaholic after all.”

  He lifted one brow as he turned to face her and Max’s heart skipped a beat. “I can work from the boat. It has state of the art satellite communications. I’m just as effective from the middle of the ocean as I am in any office in the world.”