by Joss Wood
“A part of me did, Mason!” Callie cried. “And the part of me that is waking up is still coming to terms with all of this!”
Mason’s eyes flashed with irritation. “I’m not going to beg, Callie. Or run after you. Or wait forever.”
Callie narrowed her eyes, suddenly furious. “That’s such a man thing to say! Because it’s not going your way, you issue a threat? Guess what, Mason? I’m not young enough or stupid enough or insecure enough to fall for that BS!
“This goes at my pace or it doesn’t go at all,” Callie added, furious.
Callie saw the regret in his eyes, the apology hovering on his lips. It had been a spur-of-the-moment statement, something she instinctively knew he regretted, but it gave her a damn good excuse to walk away, to put a whole lot of daylight and space between her and this man who’d dropped into her life and flipped it upside down.
“I’m not going to come back here for a while. I need time to think,” Callie told him.
Mason nodded, clearly still frustrated but back in control. He gestured at the still-open door. “I’ll follow you in shortly. I need some time.”
“For what?” Callie asked the question without thinking and frowned at his raised eyebrows. Then Mason shocked her by grabbing her hand and placing her palm on his very hard penis. Through his shorts she could feel his strength, the sheer masculinity under her palm. She leaned forward, wanting to kiss him but Mason pulled back and dropped her hand.
He turned away, and when he spoke his voice sounded rough. And a little sad. “Go inside, Callie. I’ll see you when and if I see you.”
Walk away, Brogan. It was the right thing to do. She didn’t want to, but Callie forced herself to pull open the door to the coffee shop, to step back into the cool kitchen.
Back to reality, where it was safe. But where it was also so damn lonely.
And brutally unexciting.
Ten
Noah...
Of course you love me, Noah, you always have. Just as I’ve always loved you. You’re just too damn scared to admit it and even more terrified to do something about it.
Jules’s words rolled around Noah’s head as they had every minute for the past three weeks. He wanted to dismiss them, to shrug them off as a figment of her overactive imagination, but they ran across his mind on a never-ending ticker tape.
He wanted her, of course he did, she was everything he wanted, but he was too damn scared, comprehensively terrified of what it meant to go all in with Jules. Noah thought that he had just cause to be. He’d had everything at one point in his life; he’d had the world at his feet. A solid family structure, parents who adored him, pain-in-the-ass brothers who’d charge hell if he needed them to. Friends—good, close friends.
Then, like a cheap car slamming into the back of a heavy rig at high speed, his life had crumpled and crashed around him and his world as he knew it ended. Everything he knew, relied upon, was no longer there. The people he thought he knew morphed into strangers. His dad became his enemy, his girlfriend a means to an end, his friendship with Jules suddenly colored by a shocking dose of lust. Leaving his life behind hadn’t been a choice. But walking away still hurt like the hot, sour bite of hell.
He didn’t think he could cope with loving something—a person, his life, normality—and having it ripped from him again. But nor could he live a life that didn’t have Jules in it. And he didn’t want her as his friend...
Rock and hard place, meet the devil and the deep blue sea.
He loved her, of course he did. He’d loved the ten-year-old Jules who caught frogs and climbed trees, the fourteen-year-old with braces, the young woman he’d watched evolve into an adult woman. Then he kissed her and he saw a thousand galaxies in her eyes, felt the power of the universe in her touch. That hadn’t changed: Jules was still, and always would be, the person who made his world turn.
Tides changed, the moon waxed and waned, and seas dipped and rose but Jules was his sextant, his North Star, his GPS.
Wherever she was, was where he wanted to be. But fear, cold and hard, still gripped his heart. God, he’d much rather be fighting a squall in the Southern Ocean than be caught in this emotional maelstrom.
Noah looked up at the rap on his door frame, happy for any distraction coming his way. Levi stood in the doorway, dressed in board shorts and dock shoes, his red T-shirt faded by sunlight. Noah noticed the six-pack in his hand, the bottles dripping with condensation. Hell, yes, he could do with one or three of those.
Levi walked into his office, tossed him a beer and sat down on his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Noah cracked the top, took a long sip and rested the cold bottle on his aching head. “So, you need to make a formal offer on the Lockwood Trust in two days or the estate will go on the market,” Levi said bluntly.
He was aware. “There’s no chance Paris will sign the final design by then. Ethan won’t let her.”
“Has Jules completed her designs?”
Noah glanced at the folder holding Jules’s sketches, the fabric samples, the wonderful mock-ups of the yacht’s interiors. They’d been communicating via email for weeks but Jules still managed to do a stunning job and Paris, and anyone with taste, would love her designs. “She’s done. So am I. Paris just needs to approve the designs.”
“So when are you meeting her?”
“I haven’t made an appointment to see her yet.” Levi pulled a face and Noah shook his head at his friend’s disapproval. “I know I should but I keep wondering what’s the point? Ethan will shoot down everything I say, he’ll demand a redesign and time will run out. I’ve been working on other projects but my fees won’t earn anywhere near as much as what Paris cane pay me. Basically, I’m screwed.”
Levi frowned before pointing the top of his bottle in Noah’s direction. “Sorry, who are you and what have you done with Noah Lockwood?”
Noah sent him a blank look, wondering if Levi had had a few more beers before ending up in his office.
“Noah, one of the things that set you apart from other sailors was your utter belief in yourself and the course you were on. You backed yourself a hundred percent and you never ever gave up. Where’s that dude?”
Noah opened his mouth to blast Levi, to defend himself, but Levi spoke over him. “You always raced until the bitter end, sometimes you went across the finish line without realizing that you were done, that you had won the race, because you were so damn focused, because you fought, right up until the end. You still have a couple of days. Why the hell aren’t you still fighting?”
“I...uh...” Crap, he didn’t have an answer for that.
“My sister—the miserable one living in my house—and your future are deserving of all your effort, Noah, all your competitive spirit and every last bit of determination,” Levi said, emotion bleeding through his tough words. He leaned forward, his intense gaze nailing Noah to his chair. “It’s the Rolex Sydney Hobart Yacht Race, you and your closest competitor are in the Bass Strait and it’s neck and neck. Are you going to alter course, or are you going to hold your nerve, and your course, and fight for the win?”
Adrenaline pumped through his system. He could taste the drops of seawater on his lips, the wind blowing in his hair. Wind catching his sails, he could hear the whoop of his teammates as his yacht sailed forward.
Keeping his eyes on Levi’s, he drained his beer and reached for his phone. “I’m going to hold my course.”
Levi nodded and the fire of frustration in his eyes died. “Thank God, I wasn’t looking forward to kicking your ass.”
For the first time in days, Noah smiled. “As if you could. Now, get lost. I’ve got a house to buy and a meeting to set up.”
Levi ambled to his feet, snagging the plastic cage holding the beers. “And a girl to win?”
“Yeah. And a girl to win.”
Levi looked concerned. “And
if you lose?”
Noah lifted one shoulder and held his friend’s eye. “I never lose, Levi. But there’s a first time for everything and if that happens, I’ll do what I always do...”
“And that is?”
“Stand in the storm, ride it out and keep adjusting my sails.”
Jules...
I am not going to cry. That will not happen. This is business. Paris is a client and Noah is a colleague. You can do this. You have to do this.
Woman up, Brogan.
Jules placed her hand on the wall next to the elevator in the lobby of Paris’s building and stared at the expensive marble flooring. Dammit, this hurt. Every cell in her body ached, her eyes were red rimmed from crying too many tears and from nights without sleep. She felt sick from the tips of her toes to her ears. God, even her hair hurt. She was fundamentally, utterly miserable.
Her fault, so her fault. She told herself not to fall for Noah again, she knew a broken heart was a possibility. Heartbreak, such small words for such a life-altering condition. Jules wished she could go back to her childhood, when skinned knees and broken arms hurt and were inconvenient but they healed, dammit. This...this gut-ripping, soul-mincing pain was going to be with her for a long, long time. And she knew she’d never be the same person again, she was irrevocably changed. Quieter, harder, a lot more lost and very alone.
This was now her life.
Jules looked down at the screen on her phone and glared at the prosaic, to-the-point message on her screen. Five o’clock meeting with Paris. Be there.
Noah’s terse instructions were followed by Paris’s address.
Jules hadn’t spoken to Noah since leaving him in his childhood bedroom nearly a month ago. He didn’t come back to the house for breakfast, and when he didn’t contact her on Monday, or on any day that following week, she assumed that history was repeating itself and Noah was retreating from her bed and her life. She spent every moment she had working on her designs for the yacht—the sooner she finished with them, the sooner this would all be over—and couriered the finished designs and the sketches to Noah’s office two weeks ago.
She’d yet to hear whether he approved, what he thought. She could be going into a presentation showing Paris sketches and designs Noah hated. Because she still had her pride, and that meant that she had a reputation to maintain, a job to complete and that meant—grrr—obeying his text message order. She’d never bailed on a project and didn’t intend to now. No matter how difficult it would be to see Noah again, knowing he chose his fear over her, she would get into this damn elevator and finish the job.
If she didn’t, she would never be able to look herself in the eye again. Time to be brave, Brogan. An hour, maybe more, and she’d be done. She could go home, pull a blanket over her head and shut out the world. And release all the tears that were gathering in her throat.
Jules left the elevator and walked down the long hallway, telling herself that this was it, this was the last time she would be seeing Noah for God knew how long. Standing outside Paris’s door, she worked her fist into her sternum, mentally tossing water on the fire in her stomach.
An hour, Brogan. You can do this. You have no choice!
Wishing she was anywhere else—she was exhausted and stressed and sad, dammit—Jules knocked on Paris’s door and jumped when the door swung open. Noah stood there, strong and confident in his gray suit, white shirt and scarlet power tie. His hair was brushed off his forehead and he looked like he could stroll into any business meeting anywhere in the world and take control.
Jules met his eyes and frowned at the tenderness she saw within those brown depths, the flicker of amusement. He thought this was funny? His inheritance was on the line and her heart was hemorrhaging, and he was amused? Jules welcomed the surge of anger and clenched her fists, the urge to smack him almost overwhelming.
She hauled in a breath, then another, knowing that her face reflected all her suppressed rage. She was going to kill him, slowly and right there. A sympathetic female judge would understand, she was sure of it.
“You look like you are about to blow a gasket.”
A gasket, an engine, input the codes to set off a nuclear strike. How dare he stand there looking rested and relaxed? Did he have any idea of the strolls she’d taken through hell lately?
“I—You—I’m... God!” Jules rubbed her fingers across her forehead. She couldn’t do this, there was no chance. She was leaving, going home and crawling into bed before she fell apart completely. She wasn’t brave and she definitely wasn’t strong.
“I’ve got to go.” Jules managed to whisper the words and turned to leave. Noah’s hand on her arm pulled her back to face him, and then his hands were on her hips and drawing her slowly and deliberately toward himself. When not even an ant could crawl between them, he brushed his mouth across hers, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips, before lifting his head.
Why was he doing this? Was he trying to torture her?
No more. She was done with this. Jules slid her fingers under his open suit jacket, grabbed the skin at his waist and gave it a hard twist.
Noah’s eyes widened and she heard his pained gasp. “Ow. For what?”
“Do you know how much it hurts to kiss you, knowing that I might never be able to do that again?” Jules hissed, furious at the tears that clouded her vision. “That’s not fair, Noah, and worse than that, it’s cruel.”
Noah rubbed the back of his neck, looking shocked and a little embarrassed. “Jules, babe, just hang on.”
“For what, Noah? No, I’m done! I can’t do this anymore. It hurts too damn much!”
Noah touched her cheek with his knuckle. “I’m asking you, one more time, to trust me. Please, Jules.”
Jules shook her head, willing away the tears in her eyes. “I don’t think I can, Noah. You’ve drained me of the little strength I had left.”
“Dammit, Jules—”
“Julia? Oh, is Julia here?” Paris trilled from somewhere in the cavernous apartment behind them. “Noah! Is that Julia? If it is, tell her to come and have a glass of champagne and to show me her pretty, pretty work.”
Jules closed her eyes, twisted her lips and, refusing to look at the man she wanted the most but couldn’t have, turned on her heel and forced herself to walk into Paris’s luxurious apartment.
Noah...
Noah was regarded as one of the best sailors of his generation, one of the top money earners in the sport. He was a decent businessman, successful and wealthy. A good brother and friend. None of that meant anything, everything was stripped away, and he was now just the man who’d made Jules cry.
Never again. He was done with that. From this moment on, Jules and her happiness were his highest priority, making sure that she’d never have cause to doubt him again, his lifetime goal. And, because he didn’t want her to suffer longer than she had to, Noah injected steel into his spine and followed his woman into the overly decorated lounge of Paris’s apartment.
Ethan was at the meeting, just as he’d expected and banked on him to be. Noah had given their encounter a lot of thought so he had a plan. Taking control of the presentation—knowing that Jules needed something to anchor her—he suggested a virtual tour of the yacht. He quickly connected his laptop to Paris’s big-screen TV and, thanks to some very high-tech computer software, showed Paris what he and Jules envisaged for the yacht, inside and out. Pity their client couldn’t feel the waves rolling under the hull, taste the salt on her lips, but that being said, it was still kick-ass tech.
As he’d requested, Paris and Ethan kept their comments until the end, allowing him and Jules to complete their presentation before they were bombarded with questions.
“It’s beautiful.” Paris sighed and clasped her hands. “Utterly marvelous. What shall I call her?”
“Whatever you like.” Noah smiled but it faded when he darted a glance at Jules
and saw her blank face.
“Before your rhapsodizing gets out of control, my dear, I should like to point out that there are some very crucial design flaws in what Noah has presented,” Ethan said, his voice pitched low. No, there weren’t. How could Paris not hear the malice in his voice, see the spite in his eyes?
And so it started.
Placing his ankle on his knee, Noah cocked his head. Ethan met his eyes, not for one minute believing that Noah would rake up the past. It was a fair conclusion for him to reach; generally, Noah would rather bleed to death before asking for a bandage, help or even a plaster. Well, not this time. There was too much at stake.
“There are no flaws in the design,” Noah said, his voice calm. “Ethan is just saying that to irritate me.”
Paris frowned. “Nonsense! He’s your stepfather. He raised you. And he’s just trying to make your design better and to look after my interests.”
Noah shook his head, conscious of Jules’s eyes on his face. “Ethan never looks after anyone’s interests but his own, Paris. He doesn’t want you to sign off on the design, because if you do that, then he has to sell Lockwood Estate to me, at twenty percent below the market price. He’d lose twenty million if that happens.”
“That’s not true,” Ethan bit out, turning an alarming shade of red.
Noah dropped his leg, leaned forward and opened a folder, pulling out a copy of the judgment. He pushed it across the table in Paris’s direction. “Proof.” Noah reached across the table and took Paris’s hand in his. Damn, he didn’t want to hurt her but when it came to choosing between her happiness and Jules’s, between saving his inheritance and kicking Ethan out of his life forever, he would. Besides, she and Ethan had only been together a few weeks; she was as much a victim of his machinations as he was.
“Paris, I like you. You’re a pain in the ass to work for, but you have a warm heart, a romantic heart. I think you are wonderfully charming and witty but you are a woman of a certain age.”