by Regina Kyle
“And Jim Abbott and Pete Gray—whoever they are—can help him?”
“Maybe.”
She stared at Jace. The tattoos. The five-o’clock shadow. The cocky attitude.
She jabbed a finger at his chest. “And to think you had me fooled.”
He quirked a brow at her. “How so?”
“Under that tough-guy exterior, you’re just a big, old marshmallow with a heart of gold, aren’t you?”
“Because I’m having breakfast with a fan?”
“Because you reached out to a scared kid facing an uncertain future.”
Like we are.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Whatever you say, Duchess. I’m a regular Mother Teresa. Just don’t tell the tabloids. I have a reputation to uphold.”
So much for Mr. Nice Guy. “I thought you agreed to stop calling me that.”
Noelle pushed off the wall and headed for her room.
“Only if you stop stalking me,” Jace said, following her. “And I haven’t seen any evidence of that yet.”
“I am not stalking you.” In fact, at the moment it seemed an awful lot like he was stalking her. But she didn’t think it was wise to bring that up since she was guilty of the whole Peeping Tom thing.
“What else do you call breaking into my room and...”
“Stop.” The word came out on a shriek so loud a geriatric patient going past them almost lost his grip on his walker. Noelle mumbled an apology and rounded the corner at the end of the hall, picking up the pace as best as she could with her bum knee. When she spoke again, it was practically a hiss. “I did not break into your room. And I did not spy on you. I returned your phone. I left.”
Eventually.
“Eventually,” he quipped, echoing her thoughts. What was he, a mind reader?
Thankfully, they’d reached her door. The peace and quiet of her Jace-free room was mere inches away. All she had to do was get the dang thing open and get rid of him and his bedroom eyes and his sexy smile and his hotter-than-hot body. She fumbled for her key, finally pulling it out of her pocket and slipping it into the lock.
“Well, this has been fun.” Not. “But it’s time for this girl to soak her tired muscles in a warm bath.”
Those damn bedroom eyes gleamed, and she cursed herself for giving him an opening as wide as the stage at the Palais Garnier. “Sure you don’t want company? I could watch. Maybe even scrub your back if you ask nicely. After all, turnabout is fair play.”
She pushed the door open, not bothering to deny—yet again—that she’d seen him. “Thanks, but no.”
Once inside, she spun around to close the door. Instead, she found him looming over her, one hand hanging on the top of the door frame. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
His low, sexy drawl vibrated through her, making her wish that was an option. “Don’t hold your breath.”
“I won’t.” With his free hand, he brushed a stray lock of hair off her cheek, and the faint tremors his voice had started increased to near earthquake level. “Lock your door if you want any privacy. I hear this place has a problem with folks waltzing in to people’s rooms at the most inopportune moments.”
With a wink, he left.
6
DOOR FIRMLY LATCHED, Noelle eased herself down onto her bed, still trembling. Jace was like some sort of sexual Svengali, able to bring out all kinds of indecent, primal urges she’d suppressed since her breakup with Yannick. Like the urge to climb all over him as if he was her own personal jungle gym. She needed a few minutes for her traitorous body to recover.
She’d closed her eyes for maybe thirty seconds when her cell went off on the bedside table. Her screen told her it was Ivy, wanting to FaceTime. She sat up and ran a hand through her hair before answering.
“Well, if it isn’t the elusive, world-famous fashion photographer. Back from—where was it this time?”
“Bondi Beach.” Ivy unwrapped a Milky Way bar and bit into it. “And I’m not a fashion photographer anymore. I’m a simple, hometown shutterbug, taking pics of family and friends for fun and profit. This was a one-time favor.”
Noelle’s stomach grumbled. She hadn’t had chocolate in, like, forever. The macaroons had been an aberration, her lone indulgence in as far back as she could remember. And she’d wound up leaving them on that bench, too shaken by a simple kiss to think of food.
Simple kiss, my ass.
“Andre still pestering you to come back?” she asked, trying to get her mind back on task.
“No. He knows I’m happy doing what I’m doing. But he was double-booked and Cade had a few days off coming to him, so...”
A wistful look drifted across her sister’s face on the tiny screen, and Noelle could imagine how Ivy and her new hunk—who also happened to be their brother’s best friend—had used their unexpected vacation time. Not that she particularly wanted to. First Holly, now Ivy. One sexually satisfied sister was bad enough. Two was almost unbearable. And that wasn’t even counting her disgustingly happy third sibling and his fiancée. Love was spreading like wildfire in the Nelson family. Unless your name was Noelle.
She shook off the sudden feeling of melancholy.
“So it’s true.” Phone in hand, she walked to the mini-fridge in the cabinet under the television and pulled out a bottle of water. Staying hydrated was an important part of injury prevention and rehabilitation. And maybe filling up on H2O would kill her craving for chocolate. And sexy shortstops. “You really are giving it all up to stay in Stockton.”
“I’m not giving. I’m gaining.” Ivy took another, even bigger, bite of her candy bar. “Something you might consider someday—when the right guy comes along.”
She sounded strangely like...
“Have you been talking to Holly?” Noelle sank into the stuffed chair by the window, stretching her leg out in front of her.
Ivy licked a spot of chocolate off her upper lip. “She is my sister.”
“So am I.”
“I know. That’s why I’m worried about you.”
“My knee’s going to be fine. I’ll be dancing again in no time.”
“It’s not your knee I’m worried about. Or your career.”
“Then what?” Noelle cracked open the water bottle and took a long, satisfying slug. “And please don’t say my heart.”
That ship had sailed with Yannick. She’d given herself up to him, trusted him with not just her heart but her career. She’d even brought him home and introduced him to her family, something she almost never did with her “city boys,” as her father dubbed them.
And how had the lowlife repaid her? By using her, building her up as his inspiration, choreographing ballets around her, only to replace her in his bed with a younger, fresher prospect in the corps with perkier tits, a tighter ass and fewer functioning brain cells. And to make bad matters even worse, he’d turned the whole thing into a public spectacle, ditching her on stage, in front of the entire company.
Later, one of the soloists had discretely pulled her aside and advised her to get tested. Seemed their esteemed choreographer had been dallying with his new muse for months. But somehow what was common knowledge among the company had escaped Noelle’s not-so-keen observation.
She was negative, thank God. But it would be a long time—maybe even forever—before she let herself be that vulnerable again.
Ivy’s voice brought Noelle back to the present. “Holly told me about your baseball player.”
Figures.
“He is not my baseball player.”
“She says he’s a walking wet dream.”
“Holly so did not say that.”
“Okay, maybe the words were mine. But the sentiment was hers.”
Now that Noelle believed. “What other sentiments did she share with you?”
“Just that you had some sort of misunderstanding and owed him an apology.” Ivy popped the last of the candy in her mouth, balled up the wrapper and tossed it off screen. “How did it go?
Did you kiss and make up?”
Yes and no.
Ivy’s eyes widened. “So, yes to the kiss and no to the making up?”
Damn. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Noelle considered backpedaling, but she’d never been very good at lying, as Holly had so aptly pointed out the last time they’d talked. So this time she opted for a partial dose of honesty. “Okay, so we kissed. It was no big deal.”
“No big deal?” Ivy squealed. “He’s the first guy you’ve given the time of day since that douchebag Yakov.”
“Yannick.”
“Whatever.” Ivy’s face disappeared from the screen for a split second. When she returned, her image was blurry. “The important part is you kissed him. That’s a huge step.”
“He kissed me. And you’re holding the phone too close. You look like a giant, fuzzy redheaded caterpillar.”
“Gee, thanks.” Ivy’s face came back into focus. “Better?”
“Much.”
“Now back to that kiss...”
Noelle sighed and took another drink, stalling for time. “Can’t we talk about something else? Like your love life? Or global thermonuclear war?”
Hell, even the state of the world economy would be a better, or at least easier, topic for discussion than her relationship—for lack of a better word—with Jace.
“Negative.” Ivy shook her head, sending her auburn curls into a riot. “I’m under strict instructions not to hang up until I get the whole scoop on you and Mr. MVP.”
“Let me guess.” Not that it required much deduction. The nickname was a dead giveaway. “Our beloved big sister give you marching orders?”
“Yep. I can’t wait to tell her you actually tongue-wrestled the guy. Does he kiss as good as he looks?”
Tongue-wrestled? Ivy had been hanging out with Cade and his firefighter buddies too long.
“Who said anything about tongues? And how do you even know what he looks like?”
Ivy touched a finger to her cheek and rolled her eyes upward. “Google is a beautiful thing. And so is Jace Monroe. Any man who looks like that definitely knows how to use his tongue.”
Noelle didn’t even try to argue. “He caught me in a moment of weakness. But it’s not going to happen again.”
“Why in the name of all that’s holy not?” Ivy shrieked.
In the background Noelle heard a plaintive meow. Her sister bent, moving out of frame. When she reappeared, she held a grumpy-looking tabby cat. “Sorry, Piper. Didn’t mean to disturb your nap.”
“Look, just because you and Holly are blissfully mated doesn’t mean I’m going there.”
“Blissfully mated?” Ivy scoffed, kissing the cat on the nose and setting him down.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” Ivy said, her voice taking on a dream-like quality. “I do. But no one said anything about you falling in love. It’s been six months since He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named showed his true colors. You’re way overdue for a rebound guy.”
“I’m not sure I can do the rebound thing.” Noelle finished off her water and set the empty bottle down on the floor next to her chair. “How do you get involved without, you know, getting involved?”
“Beats me.” Ivy laughed. “I thought Cade and I were just a fling. And look how that turned out. Not that I’m complaining.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Noelle muttered. Not softly enough, apparently.
“There’s your problem right there.” Ivy pointed her finger at the screen. “Fear.”
“You’re telling me you weren’t scared when you started your—what did you call it?—fling with Cade?”
“You bet your ass I was.” Ivy laughed again, prompting another meow from the once again invisible Piper. “But I didn’t let it stop me. And neither should you. At a minimum, you’ll get good and laid. Let off some sexual tension so you can focus on your rehab.”
Her sister had a point there. Even Sara had noticed. It had been impossible for Noelle to concentrate on anything but Jace and his lethal weapon lips since that damn kiss. Some hot and heavy action between the sheets—or against the wall or on the bathroom counter—might be just the ticket to get him out of her system, lips and all. Then her rehab would be front and center again, no distractions.
“Aha!” Ivy aimed another accusing finger at her. “I’m right, and you know I am. Stop thinking about it and just do it already.”
“Maybe I will, and maybe I won’t.” Noelle tried to sound nonchalant, but her heart rate climbed to near NASCAR speed at the thought of full-body contact with Jace. “Right now I’ve got more pressing matters to attend to. Like showering. And sleeping.”
Ivy stuck her tongue out and blew out a raspberry. “How is that more pressing than sex?”
“It is when one, you stink so bad no man would get within ten feet of you, and two, even if by some miracle one did you’d be too exhausted to do anything about it.”
“Okay, you win that round.” Ivy wrinkled her nose. “Come to think of it, Cade’s shift ends in half an hour and I’m pretty rank. Photographing a five-year-old’s birthday party outdoors at high noon in the first full week of summer will do that to you.”
“Looks like I’m not the only one headed for the shower.” Noelle smiled.
Ivy eyes took on a mischievous glint and she licked her lips. “Then again, some of our best sex has been when we’re both sweaty, hot and bothered. I think it turns him on. One time...”
“Stop, I beg of you. Stop.” Noelle’s smile turned to a grimace. “What is it with you and Holly and the incessant TMI?”
Ivy lifted one shoulder, and her voice got all dreamy again. “I guess when you’re happy, you want to share that happiness with the people you love. Someday you’ll understand. Maybe sooner than you think.”
Before Noelle could get the “don’t bet on it” that was bouncing around her head to come out of her mouth, her sister was signing off. “Gotta run. Don’t wait too long to start Operation Boink The Ballplayer. And let me know how it goes.”
There is no Operation Boink The Ballplayer, Noelle thought as she ended the call and clumped into the bathroom. She turned on the water, adjusted the temperature as high as it would go and sat on the toilet to watch the tub fill. She’d told Jace she was going to soak in a long, hot bath, and that’s what she aimed to do. Hopefully, it would be more relaxing than a quick shower.
And less likely to remind her of a certain shortstop and his seven plus inches of hardwood.
* * *
HE ALMOST MISSED the soft knock at the door.
Jace was in bed, eyes closed, in that misty, magical place between awake and asleep. The place where Noelle Nelson danced through his half dreams. But this ballerina was no sugarplum fairy, she was a fair-haired femme fatale, tempting him with her sultry eyes and her bee-stung lips and her long dancer’s legs.
Then the knock had brought him fully awake and he’d swung his door open to find the temptress standing right in front of him.
He rubbed his tired eyes to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.
Nope. She was there, eyes, lips, legs and all.
“Another late-night visit?” He yawned and scratched his bare chest, getting a perverse sense of satisfaction when her gaze followed his hand over his pecs down the trail of hair that bisected his abs and disappeared under the waistband of his sweats. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“So it’s a pleasure. That’s a start.” She glanced up and down the hall, her ash-blond hair, still mussed, he presumed, from sleep, swinging gently. “Can I come in?”
“Sure, since you asked so nicely.” He stepped back to let her pass. “This time.”
She spun around, her eyes shooting poisoned darts at him. “What happened this afternoon was...”
“Stop.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I don’t want to fight.”
She loosened her clenched fists and let out a long, slow sigh, like his words had deflated her anger. “Neither do I. But
that’s what we seem to do.”
“Any idea how we can change that?” Because he had a few. Most of which involved him and her and a conspicuous absence of clothing. In his experience, it was hard to fight when you were skin to skin.
“That’s sort of why I’m here.” She twisted the hem of her shirt. “Mind if I sit?”
“Yes, I do.” He advanced on her, backing her up against the bed. “I don’t think you came to sit. Or to talk.”
“No?” Her voice was breathy and she stared down at her hands, which had wrung her shirt into a knot.
“No.” He slid a finger under her chin, tipping it up and forcing her eyes to meet his. Desire and doubt swirled in their indigo depths. The first he approved wholeheartedly, but the second had to go. “I think you came to finish what we started on that bench. In private. Without the cookies, unfortunately.”
“What makes you think that?”
He knew what she was getting at but decided to play dumb and go for the laugh, hoping it would loosen her up. “Well, for one thing, your hands are empty, unless you count that shirt you’re destroying. And I doubt you’re hiding a tin of cookies in your bra.”
It worked. Her shoulders relaxed and she let the hem of her shirt fall. “Not the cookies. The finishing what we started.”
“I told you, your body doesn’t lie.” He wedged a leg between hers, pressing against her core. “And neither does mine.”
“Wow. That’s a pretty impressive, um, truth, you’ve got there.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Duchess.” But she would, if he had anything to say about it. And soon.
He laughed softly, brushing his mouth across her temple, and she shivered. “I thought I told you not to call me that.”
“You did.” He brought his arms around her waist, pulling her even tighter to him. “But I know down deep you like it.”
“Maybe way down deep.” Her hands crept up between them, coming to rest on his chest, her palms cold on his superheated skin. “So we’re really going to do this?”
He sucked in a breath as her fingers tangled in his chest hair. “Is that a statement or a question?”