by D. K. Combs
Plus, she wouldn’t have to worry about showering in the morning. She would be able to get home, get changed, and then head off to the hospital.
“Where are the towels?”
“I’ll grab you one.” He left her to walk to a door across the hall from this one.
She stepped into the bathroom. It was spotless in here, too. Did he never come home, or was he just a neat freak by nature? This place was as clean as hers, and that was only because she was never home except at night.
She tinkered with the faucet until the water was running warm and turned around just as he came up to the threshold, handing her a neatly folded towel, basketball shorts, and a plain black shirt.
“Thank you,” she said, ducking her head when the blush started to creep up her face. No one had ever put this much effort into caring for her without wanting something in return, and she knew just by looking at him, just by the way he didn’t take a step into the open doorway of the bathroom, that he wasn’t expecting anything except for her to take care of herself.
“No problem. Don’t take long—the nachos shouldn’t be more than ten minutes or so,” he said, then closed the door behind him.
She waited until she heard his heavy steps go down the stairs, then locked the door and got undressed. She took her phone and two cards out of her back pocket, stuffing them into the pockets of the shorts to keep them all together.
The worst thing about all of it was pulling the clothes over her head. The sauces stuck to her hair, more errant pieces of the burger she’d ordered falling onto her head…
She took a step into the tub, the hot water hitting her leg until her body was fully inside. The more she thought about it, the more she really didn’t mind this. She was getting to know him, the side that didn’t scream “hump me, I’m hot”. He hadn’t flirted with the waitress, he had actually helped her get cleaned up, and he’d even had the decency to speak up on the girl’s behalf.
Even if she was upset, it was still...nice. Nice to see that side of Noah, nice to know it existed. And walking through his house had shown her that not only did it exist, but that was who he was—even if he tried to hide it under the guise of being a standoffish asshole.
He’d been such a gentleman that he hadn’t even crossed the threshold. And had told her about the lock.
He’d respected her privacy, for Christ’s sake. How many men did you meet in a day that would be so chivalrous without any prompting?
The thought made her warm inside. Warm and almost...giddy.
She finished up her shower, rinsing the food out of her hair and then reaching for his shampoo. She poured it into her hand, hoping that when he noticed the scent—because he would, it was clearly a manly scent—he wouldn’t mind. She didn’t want to smell like ketchup all night.
“All night.”
Implying she expected to stay the night here.
The thought was laughable. She had never stayed the night at another person's house before, and she had no plans to start now. No matter how much she was warming up to him, no matter how much she wanted to see what else was beneath his stony exterior, she didn’t want to cross that boundary.
Once she crossed that boundary, she was in a territory she’d never stepped foot in before.
And that was terrifying.
She shut off the water and quickly dried off, slipping on his clothes.
The shirt was several sizes too big, and the shorts were as well, but it was better than wearing her crusty clothes, so she went with it. Thankfully, she had come a little prepared. She stood in front of the mirror and pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, using the headband she kept on her at all times.
Once that was done, she stared at herself.
Yeah, she looked a tad ridiculous.
But there was nothing she could do about it, so she hung up the towel, balled her clothes up under her arm, and went down the stairs.
“Did you grab your clothes?” he called out from the kitchen. “The washer is empty and I set a pod in there if you want to toss them in. Just take that first left at the end of the stairs.”
She did as he said. Once she was in there, she looked at her clothing. Her panties were still good, but her bra...Not so much. The food had soaked through the sweater and had gotten through her tank top and her bra— which meant she couldn’t wear it. No way was she walking around with tomato tits. Nu-uh.
She sighed, then threw the clothing in, selecting the quick wash feature. Once the cycle had started, she went in search of Noah, taking the time to look at the pictures one-by-one until she found him in the kitchen, just as he was leaning down to take the nachos out of the oven.
“You weren’t joking when you said they would be quick,” she commented, leaning against the door jam. Even with her hair pulled back, it was so long that when she tilted her head to the side, it rested against her shoulder. The wet tips let water seep into the black shirt.
She crossed her arms over her chest, only belatedly realizing she had no bra on, and any nipping she did, he could easily see.
“I browned the meat this morning before I went out for your coffee run. You can go sit on the couch while I grab sour cream and salsa,” he said, setting the trays down on the stove top before turning to her.
He had looked so natural before he had looked at her. No tension, no awkwardness. This was his home, and she knew just by watching him, he was happy here.
You never would have known that by the look that came over his face when he saw her, though. She tightened her arms over her chest, drawing them up so they were covering her nipples, but there was nothing to do about the dampness already pooling between her legs.
In the light of the kitchen, that look was damning. Damning because if he touched her right then, she would have given herself to him. No questions, no words. Just need, all-consuming and dangerous.
“I can—” She paused, clearing her throat. “I can take in some stuff for you, if you want.”
He was silent for a moment, then he turned away from her, shaking his head.
“I got it. Go sit down, Bristol.” He stayed facing away from her, his head bowed, shoulders tense.
She hesitated but ultimately listened to him. She didn’t have a choice—not when he said her name like that, at least.
She hadn’t gotten too great of a look at the living room, but now that she was in it, she was faced with the full glory of what she knew as a “man cave.”
Surround sound. Every gaming console she could think of. Seventy-inch 4K HDTV. A plush sectional and a reclining leather seat. A gaming chair in the corner. A contemporary coffee table.
It was nothing like her living room. All she had was a fifty-inch TV and a two-piece couch. They were nice pieces and matched her theme, but she had not put near as much time into her living room as Noah obviously had.
She cautiously sat down, flattening her hands on the sectional and running her fingers back and forth.
“My only request is that you don’t spill anything,” he said when he came into the living room, back to his old self—well, the self she had known since she’d walked into his house. The kind part of him, the casual part of him.
He set everything on the coffee table, then dragged it to the sectional. Once he’d sat beside her, he reached down. As he drew it up, the top part of the coffee table raised so that their food was right in front of them, almost like a table.
“That’s pretty handy,” she said, looking below it.
“‘Handy’,” he repeated, chuckling. “So, what do you want to watch tonight?”
“Uh—I’m not sure. I didn’t know I would have to think of a movie,” she said honestly, taking in all the food before her. There were two large plates of nachos—tortilla chips layered with meat, cheese, olives, and jalapenos. He’d brought out two separate bowls, one with sour cream, and the other with salsa.
“Well, you think on that, because I forgot to grab drinks,” he said, sliding out from behind the coffee table and stan
ding. “I have Bud, lemonade, water, milk. What do you want?”
“Water,” she said quickly, unable to stop the grateful smile. She didn’t smile. She didn’t like to smile. But with the way he was being such a good host… She couldn’t stop herself.
He didn’t look directly at her, just nodded and went back into the kitchen.
A moment later, he came back with a beer and a glass of water, turning off lights as he went. The main living room light shut off, but shortly after, a lamp turned on just on the outside of the living room. It gave her just enough light to see the food, but not much else.
“I was thinking. Have you ever seen The Imitation Game?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, “but I’ve wanted to. Just never have the time. It’s the one with that British actor—Benjamin Cucumber? Or whatever his name is. I can never get it right.”
“Benedict Cumberbatch,” he corrected gently. “And yeah, it’s that one.”
“Then sure,” she said, reaching for a chip. “Let’s watch that one.”
“You got it,” he said, picking up a thin black remote from the coffee table. She watched and munched on her nachos as he pulled up the movie. Maybe one day, if she had the courage, she would ask how he had done all of that without actually getting a disk. It was incredible to watch him pull up everything on the same screen, not having to get up, using the same remote.
Heck, she was still using two remotes for her own TV. One for the DVR box and one for the TV itself. Sometimes, it was such a pain to keep track of them.
She watched from the corner of her eye as he picked up a few chips and ate.
How was it that everything he did was so...masculine? From walking to eating, it didn’t matter what it was. If he was doing it, she liked it. He sat beside her on the couch, seeming completely unaware that she was sitting next to him, eyes focused on the screen.
A thought came to her—a thought she couldn’t tell whether to be bothered or excited about.
The last time they’d watched a movie near each other, it had ended with his hand down her pants. Would it end that way again? Would it end with even more than that?
She wasn’t going to fight it anymore, she decided. If Noah wanted her, he could have her. For a night, for two nights. Whatever she could get. Even if she didn’t deserve the time of his day, even if she was such a shitty person with such a screwed up past, with a screwed up barrier she didn’t let anyone through, she would take whatever he had to offer her.
But right now, he wasn’t paying attention to her. Even after ten minutes of waiting, ten minutes of repeatedly looking at him, and ten minutes of sitting there, uncomfortable with need, and he hadn’t looked at her once.
Not only that, but he hadn’t even reached over to her. Not even to slip an arm around her back.
She leaned into the couch, nachos gone, and crossed her arms over her chest, keeping her huff to herself.
Apparently, he had nothing to offer her.
Chapter Seventeen
He could feel her looking at him.
Feel her eyes practically burning into him, begging him to turn and return the gaze.
Shit, he wanted to. He wanted to so badly—but if he did, nothing good would come from it. He’d lose the bet, the Ducati, the money. He’d lose it all if he didn’t get over himself and just kiss Madeline.
But then...he was damned if he did, and damned if he didn’t.
If he won the bet, he would never get Bristol. No woman in their right mind would sleep with a guy once they caught said guy kissing another girl. Winning the bet meant losing out on a chance to sleep with Bristol.
It shouldn’t be a big deal.
There were plenty of other women out there who’d be willing to sleep with him. It wasn’t like he planned on taking anything further than a night or two of sex. It wasn’t like a relationship would be ruined by winning the bet.
Bristol and him...they weren’t serious, and they weren’t meant to be serious.
They were too different. Too fire and ice.
Plus, who had said anything about a relationship? Not him. Nope. He was done. After Alex going batshit on him—and that was before he got their names switched-up—he was done with women and their bullshit. Outside of a relationship, they were great. But once you got into one with them...it all went downhill.
And it stayed going downhill right until it dropped into hell, and that’s when it was all over.
This was nothing but a bet, he told himself.
Liar. The bet didn’t say anything about bringing her coffee or inviting her into your home.
Nothing. But. A. Bet.
The bet didn’t make you pop a boner the second you saw her in your clothes.
He was going to smack himself.
It was a bet. A very good bet. A very easy bet. One he was going to win.
In the next two months, after Chase got his quarterly bonus, he was going to be riding his Superleggera with not a care in the world. The Ducati was the only thing he needed—not a snobby, condescending, emotional wreck of a woman—and that’s exactly what Bristol was.
Or normally was.
Right now, she was abnormally quiet.
He steeled himself against what he was about to do. He had to actually prepare himself to look at her, because if he didn’t, he was going to jump her. She wanted him to. He wanted to. It would be so easy.
And yet...he couldn’t. Wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to lose the bet.
Nope.
Not for anything.
Nuh-uh. Nada. Zilch.
He told himself that repeatedly when he turned his head to her. So far, so good. She was just sitting there, leaning back with her arms crossed. Why she was so defensive, he didn’t know. But still—
Noah turned to look at her completely, and that’s when it all went downhill.
She wasn’t looking at the TV as he’d originally assumed.
Not even close.
She was staring right at him.
She’d drawn her legs up so that her feet were drawn up right to her ass cheeks, and her arms were tucked against her chest. She was a defensive little ball of fiery red, and god damn, when she was in his clothes…
His jaw clenched.
“This movie,” she said, her voice almost too casual, “is pretty great.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. What the hell else did he say to that? Take off those shorts and sit on my face? It sounded reasonable, he thought, unable to take his eyes away from her. Even though she was curled into a ball, she still played with the ends of her hair, looking unlike anything he’d ever seen before.
She wasn’t professional, wasn’t stressed. Wasn’t necessarily defensive even if she looked like it from the way she sat, and she wasn’t judging anything.
Bristol actually looked...normal. And damn him if that wasn’t a turn on.
“What?” she asked, bringing him back to reality.
He cleared his throat again, then turned away, facing the TV.
A sign of weakness, he thought, not surprised when he felt the cushion beside him move as she unfolded those god damn long legs of hers. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, unable to trust himself to look at her fully.
“Bristol, I—”
She shoved his shoulder, and he went back without a fight.
Some part of his brain told him he had to stop this. He had to get away from her before he gave in. Chase was coming by the shop tomorrow, and he had an uncanny way of knowing when Noah screwed up. That, and Noah would never lie about a bet. Not ever. If he lost, he owned up to it, no matter what.
Which was why he couldn’t lose, not this time. The horse race, fine. But not this. There was so much on the line, so much he had planned—
His neck hit the back of the sectional, and with a quick, elegant, sexy move—those legs would be the death of him, he swore—she swung her body over his, spreading her legs on either side of him.
Noah looked down, breathing labored. Wait—
where had her shorts gone—
Dainty fingers thread into his hair, drawing his head upward so that his gaze could meet hers.
His thoughts went on the back burner. Just like that, with one look into her enchanting green eyes, all of his mental protests fell away. How could they not, when there was a red haired goddess sitting above him?
“Bristol,” he murmured, his one last chance.
Her head shook, and then she reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it up and over her head.
For the first time in his adult life, he actually worried he might have prematurely ejaculated.
Noah has seen a lot of breasts, both on video and in person, but nothing compared to the willowy, elegantly flaming woman sitting on top of him. Her breasts were not large, but they weren’t small. They were enough to fill his hands, and that was just fine with him. Perky even without her bra, her nipples were the softest shade of pink he’d ever seen.
He reached for her, but she reared back, waving her finger in the air.
“No,” she said, her smile mysterious, coy. God, that look on her face, with her hair sliding past her shoulder, the loose strands around her face just a prelude to the bedhead she was going to have... It was almost too much—but it wasn’t, and he thanked God for that.
The only source of light in the room was the lamp and the TV, and the scenes playing right now were dark. Orange light caressed her smooth skin, and when she leaned down to him, her face was in the shadows.
That didn’t stop him from knowing where her lips were, though.
Screw the bet. Right now, he didn’t give a shit.
He had a gorgeous woman on top of him, a boner that refused to go away whenever he saw her, and lips begging to be kissed.
So that’s what he did.
Noah dragged her face down to his, using her hair to tilt her head to the side. It didn’t start off sweet and PG, no, it was nothing like last time. This time, he could touch. He could feel. He could do things to her that he hadn’t been able to before, and he was damn glad of it.
He spread her mouth with his own, and their tongues instantly clashed, dancing together. Heat and desire surrounded them, grew inside of them. It was everywhere—just like his hands.