Winter (Four Seasons #1)

by Frankie Rose

  ******

  The apartment is sweltering when I let us in; Leslie’s left the heater on and I am so grateful I could kiss her. I pace in and huck off my boots. I head straight for my room, waiting for Noah to follow. It’s strange having him here with me, scanning my neat and tidy desk, my meticulously made bed, hospital corners and all. His gaze roves over my bookshelf, searching for… I have no idea what he’s searching for but he doesn’t seem to find it.

  “Your room looks like it belongs in a hotel. Where’s all your stuff?”

  “What do you mean?” I unwind my long scarf and hang it back on a hook in the closet. Noah walks up behind me and peers over my shoulder.

  “You clothes are organized by color.”

  “And season,” I say, slamming the door shut. “I like…I like things to be methodical.” I spin around and walk into Noah’s chest. His hands go to my hips, and he smirks down at me.

  “I am never showing you my room.”

  “Oh?” A hazy feeling swamps me. Those freckles are a whole lot more prominent up this close. “And why’s that?”

  “Because you’d dump me on the spot. I live out of a suitcase for starters. The rest of my clothes usually end up over the back of a chair.”

  “Dump you? We’re not dating, Noah.” I try to sound a little mocking. I totally fail, naturally. Instead, I sounded breathless and flustered.

  “You know you want to go out with me.”

  Do I? I don’t deny it, but how is he so sure when I don’t have a clue what I want? My eyes flicker over his lips and, as if reading my mind, Noah licks them and gives me a lazy smile.

  “Not yet.”

  I shake my head and back out of his arms. “When you’re done messing with me, I should get those books and we should go. You promised me study.”

  “We can go study if you want.” He edges closer again and puts his hands back on my hips. Even through my pea coat it feels like they’re burning against my skin. “Or,” he quirks one of his eyebrows, “we could stay here and find some other way to keep ourselves busy.”

  Goodness knows how he has the ability to make me blush so furiously, but it seems to amuse Noah no end. He reaches up and traces my cheekbone with his finger, watching my eyes go wide. I clear my throat and lift my own hand up to his head. “How about you show me what you look like without that hat glued to your head?” I pull the beanie off in a quick tug and Noah lunges after it, groaning.

  “Lord, woman! What are you doing to me? Give it back. My hair is a disaster!”

  I hold the hat high in the air, laughing, the way the kids at high school used to do to the freshmen. I’m a midget compared to Noah, however, and it only takes him a second to retrieve it.

  “Trouble, woman. Pure, unadulterated trouble.” He’s so much closer now, our bodies pressing together properly for the first time. He slips his arms around my waist, neglecting to return the beanie to his head, and sighs. “Okay. It’s out there now. Take a good look. I’m gonna shave it all off soon.”

  I’m almost embarrassed by the fact that I want to run my hands through his hair; it’s messy, much straighter than I thought it was going to be given the way it’s always curling at the ends. Noah’s eyes don’t leave mine as I tentatively reach up and thread my fingers through the thickness of it.

  “You shouldn’t cut it,” I whisper.

  Noah tips his head back a little when I bury my other hand in his hair, and he closes his eyes. The look on his face makes me want to do something crazy. When my hands reach the back of his neck, he exhales and tightens his arms around me.

  “You’re cruel,” he breathes.

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t have a choice but to kiss you now and I was going to wait at least two more days.”

  I lean into his chest, my chin resting against it, and look up so that his jaw line blocks my vision. Embarrassment takes over and I bury my face into his shirt. He smells of a bright, sharp cologne. I let my hands drop so that they come into contact with his skin at the back of his neck and he tenses. I trace my fingers lightly down to the collar of his shirt, and then back up again, wondering when I became the type of person to make the first move. Noah groans a little and his hands work their way up my body. They stop at my neck, and he cups my face, gently lifting it so I can’t hide anymore. I hold my breath, waiting. My eyes are closed when he tilts my head back and I feel the explosive heat of his lips against my neck, just below my ear. I suck in a deep breath, my eyes snapping open.

  Noah starts walking, guiding me backwards, and I’m too stunned to protest. The edge of my bed presses against the backs of my legs and I get that weightless sensation of panic in my stomach. It always comes with falling, even though I know it’s only a short distance. I topple back and Noah’s hands are on me instantly, stroking his thumbs across my neck and a small part of my exposed collarbone. He fumbles for a second, trying to undo the buttons on my coat, but then he freezes.

  “Is this…is this okay?” he pants. But it’s not his voice I hear; it’s someone else’s entirely. My dream washes over me like a tidal wave and Luke Reid is the one asking questions. Luke Reid’s body pressing down on top of mine. Luke Reid tearing at my clothes.

  I lay on my back, eyes closed, shocked by how badly I want him to take off my coat and everything else I’m wearing. My silent nod is all he needs. He rips at my coat when he can’t get it off and one of the big wooden buttons shoots across the room.

  “Ah shit, sorry!”

  I lace my fingers behind his head and pull him down, not caring about the stupid button or the fact that I’m tearing at his jacket like an animal. He unzips it and shucks it off, throwing it on the floor behind him. When his weight presses down on top of me, I can’t take it anymore and I arch my back, pushing up to kiss him. He meets me halfway and his lips crush against mine, forcing my mouth open. His tongue is hot, sliding over my teeth, exploring my mouth.

  My breathing’s out of control—way too quick, ragged. Luke groans again and presses down, spreading my legs so that he’s suddenly between them. I hitch my knees up, pressing them against his hips and his hand reaches back and lifts under my thigh so that it’s wrapped around him. I follow suit with the other leg and lock them around his back. My head’s spinning. I gasp in a deep lungful of air. God, I really need to breathe. My chest feels ridiculously tight and my heart is pounding. My concentration slips and my heart rate triples.

  Shit! I’m not with Luke. I’m with Noah. Noah. Why is my body, my mind doing this to me? I should be fantasizing about the boy currently pressing up between my thighs, and yet I’m not. Why the hell is he waiting there for me, drawing me away from the heated moment, when I should be present in the here and now with Noah? My whole body goes rigid when he presses forward and I can suddenly feel how badly he wants me, digging into the most sensitive of places.

  I freeze and make a strangled gasp at the back of my throat. The noise doesn’t sound like a moan of pleasure. It sounds like I’m freaking the fuck out. Which I am. Noah hears my panic, has to, because he instantly stops moving, pulling back. He looks momentarily frustrated before he gives me a shaky smile and drops a little to kiss me again, his lips much softer this time.

  “Woman, you near attacked me,” he murmurs into my hair, sending chills through my body. I shudder and wriggle out from underneath him, straightening out my shirt.

  “I did not!”

  “Did so.” That wicked smirk makes an appearance again. “It’s okay. I liked it. Feel free to do it again whenever.”

  My cheeks are red hot and my skin is on fire, especially in the throbbing area between my legs where he was just rubbing up against me. I push down the overwhelming urge to run to the bathroom and wash my hands, my face, the back of my neck. Instead, I lower myself to the ground and scrabble around under the bed to find the button that flew off my coat. Noah’s leaning back against my pillows when I stand up, watching me. He has something in his hand.

  “
I totally didn’t mean to but I just read this by accident. It was on your pillow.” He hands over a sheet of paper covered in Leslie’s loopy handwriting, and a small orange envelope with an underlined A on it. I read Leslie’s note first.