by M. Leighton
I stalk back to the bed, vaguely aware of the ache in my balls from coming so close to getting off and then losing it at the last second.
I jab my finger at Simone, ready to breathe fire at her. She only smiles, that satisfied smile that says she got what she wanted.
Or pretty damn close to it.
I want to tell her to piss off. I want to call her every bad name I can think of. I want to pick her up and shake the shit out of her and ask her what the hell she thinks she’s doing.
But I don’t.
Anger won’t do me any favors with this woman. She’s close to Poppy. Important to her. For that reason alone, I need to keep peace as long as I can.
I bite my tongue until it nearly bleeds before I speak. “You’re a beautiful woman and I’m sure you’re a lovely person, but don’t do this again. Just…don’t. She’s your best friend .”
I swipe my shirt, discarded sometime in the night, from the floor and walk into the living room to shove my feet into my shoes.
I leave the apartment without a word.
And I don’t look back.
* * *
I go straight back to my place. I start stripping my clothes the instant I shut the door behind me and I don’t stop until I’m naked, standing beneath the hot spray of the shower.
I let the water run over me, cleanse my body and scrub my mind, for nearly an hour. My skin is red and tender when I get out, but it’s worth it. I feel clean.
Finally.
I don’t know what the hell to do about Simone. She could be a big problem. It would be too easy for her to drive a wedge between Poppy and me, one I’d never be able to repair. I’ve come so far, and these last few days with Poppy have been my happiest in a long time. I can’t let Simone ruin it.
I just can’t.
I think about calling Dr. Cane. The FBI required a psych evaluation before they’d clear me for field duty again after what happened to Carly, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that talking to someone actually helped. So when I left to come to Chicago, I asked to be referred to someone local who could really understand my situation. That’s how I found Dr. Cane. He’s been a huge benefit to me. He’s one of the sharpest guys I’ve met, and that’s saying a lot since I work for the FBI.
I decide against making the call and I shelve thoughts of Simone for the time being. Instead, I apply myself toward plans. For tonight. With Poppy. She’ll be exhausted after working a double. She’d undoubtedly appreciate being pampered. And I’m just the man to do that for her.
I make a quick list of things on my phone and then dress in jeans and a white linen shirt, rolling the sleeves up to my elbows. As I’m heading for the door, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. Aside from the shaggier-than-usual hair and the day’s worth of scruff darkening my jaw, my reflection looks more like the man I used to know.
I guess that’s something.
My first stop is the diner. I check the sign suction-cupped to the glass door on my way in, noting the hours. Hopefully Poppy was right and she’ll get off a little early tonight.
The little bell overhead chimes as I duck inside. I scan the area looking for Poppy’s wavy brown head and notice that several people, staff and customers alike, are staring at me.
I feel a scowl build on my face and I start across the floor toward my booth. But before I can make it halfway there, I hear one sharp clap. Followed by another. And another. And another.
I hear a voice from the vicinity of the kitchen and I see the cook from last night smiling through the window that divides his world from the front. “This is the guy, folks. This is the guy who saved Bud’s and the lives of everyone in here last night. His name is Noah. Give him a hand.”
The clapping spreads like the flu, people standing to their feet all over the diner. I nod, as uncomfortable with their praise as I am with all the eyes on me.
Eyes on me risks recognition.
Recognition would mean disaster.
I don’t need Carter Finch making his way to me before I can find him. The last time he found me and my family first, it ended in one horrific disaster that cost me everything. If he were to get a hold of Poppy…
My guts twist and I push the thought away.
I nod my thanks, a tight smile in place, my eyes again searching the area for Poppy. I see her the instant she bursts through the double stainless doors, a wide, happy smile in place. She sets the tray she was holding aside and begins to clap herself. I narrow my eyes at her with pseudo menace. She grins and shrugs, but keeps clapping.
I give the place another quick scan before I start to back toward the door. Poppy follows me, still looking like mischief in an angel suit.
Once we’re outside, I shove my hands into my pockets and give her a wry grin. “I guess I’ll have to wait for a while before I resume trips to my favorite haunt.”
“No, you don’t,” she says, slapping my forearm playfully. “You should be proud. What you did was amazing! You deserve the applause. And more. ”
Her golden eyes are gleaming up into mine like twin canary diamonds. The early morning sun is glistening in her hair, turning it to liquid chocolate. Her lips are still curved with the residue of her smile. Her cheeks are flushed, her scent is in the air, and I wonder how I’m going to be able to keep my hands off her.
“What constitutes ‘more’?” I ask, my voice a low rumble even to my own ears.
I see her reaction. It’s instantaneous. Pupils dilate, her breath becomes shallow puffs that breeze past those full lips, and she leans slightly toward me.
“Oh, I think I could think of a thing or two.”
I reach forward with one arm, cupping the curve of her waist. A small movement, but I have to touch her.
I have to.
I shouldn’t, but I’m helpless to stop myself.
“Care to fill me in on them tonight? I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Childlike delight brightens her face. “You do?”
I nod. “I do. I know it’s socially unacceptable to invite yourself to someone’s house, but…can I come over? Pick you up from work?”
Gilded eyes flicker down toward the ground and then quickly back up to mine again, a show of shyness that I’m coming to adore. “I’d love that.”
“Great. What time? Still think you’ll get off early?”
“Pick me up at six. No one will say a word, not when I’m leaving with the hero.”
I ignore the last part, saying, “Six it is. I guess I’ll leave you alone until then.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I’m gratified that she looks disappointed. I feel disappointed at not being able to see her all day, but I have to keep things moving slowly. I have to. For both our sakes.
“We’ll make up for it tonight,” I pledge, bending to brush my lips across hers before I can think better of it.
Such an innocent gesture. Just a light kiss. No big deal.
But it feels big.
Intimate.
Natural.
Damn it.
A fraction of a second before I was reminding myself to go slow. I wonder for the thousandth time what the hell I’m doing. And for the thousandth time, I have no answer so I put the question away.
But some day soon, I’ll be forced to respond.
When I lean away, she’s practically glowing, so I rapidly put us back on less disconcerting ground.
“Hey, one more thing before you go. I know I’m a little late asking, but can I get your cell number? In case something happens?”
“Of course,” she says, rattling off the numbers, still looking a bit disoriented.
I smother my grin. I love that I do that to her.
“Okay. I’ll text you so you can have mine and I’ll see you tonight. Six o’clock.”
She nods once, smiling as she backs toward the glass door that will take her back to work. “Six sharp. I’ll be waiting.”
She doesn’t turn until the glass has shut between us, prolonging the moment as much
as she can.
I know how she feels.
11
Poppy
I can’t remember being happier. Feeling more optimistic. Not during childhood, not during high school, not since moving to Chicago. Not ever.
Until now.
Until Noah.
I practically float through the day. Yes, it’s like the longest day ever, but knowing what waits for me at the end of it…knowing who waits for me at the end of it makes it bearable. Keeps my smile and my patience firmly in place, regardless of how tired I am from all the excitement yesterday and a fitful night’s sleep.
The afternoon picks up quite nicely, both in regards to customers and to coworkers. Patrons keep pouring steadily through the doors and at a few minutes after three, Tilly arrives.
“Holy effing shit,” she hisses, glancing left and right to see if anyone heard her as she takes my arm and drags me to the back. “Tell me everything.”
“It was crazy, Tilly. I can’t…I can’t even. It all happened so fast…and it was so nuts…just like the movies. I don’t think I could even describe it all.”
“So Naughty Noah kicked ass, huh?”
I cast a dubious eye up at her. “’Naughty Noah’?”
She shrugs. “In my mind he is. At least let me have that.”
I roll my eyes, but grin. “Fine. He can be naughty.”
Even though we’re just discussing her silly nickname for him, a blush warms my cheeks. And leave it to Tilly not to miss it.
“Oh! Oh oh oh!” She chirps, clamping one hand over her mouth and shaking the other one at me, her eyebrows raised in excitement.
“What? What what what?”
“He is naughty! I saw that blush! You dirty little secret keeper! Spill! And I mean right. Damn. Now.”
I laugh, half out of embarrassment and half out of pleasure at the memories of my delicious suitor. “Tilly, we’re working—”
“So?” she interrupts.
“—and it’s private,” I continue as though she didn’t.
“We made a pact.”
I remind her, “We didn’t make a pact. You made demands.”
“And they were perfectly reasonable. I’ll even let the charcoal rendering slide, but girl! I. Need. Details.”
I shake my head, both bemused and amused. “I’ve got tables. We’ll talk later.”
I hurry away as quickly as I can, a laugh bubbling in my throat. I feel giddy. He makes me feel giddy.
“Don’t think I’ll forget about this,” Tilly calls out, pretty loudly, from the kitchen.
I smile apologetically as I walk between the tables, but my heart has never been lighter.
At ten minutes to six, I give Tilly my tables, four of which are checking out and two of which already have their food. It’s been a busy day and my pocket is stuffed with tips. As I transfer the stack to my purse, even money feels like icing on the cake, rather than the actual cake. With Noah, everything just seems…better.
I’m light as air when I walk back through the diner and make my way outside. There, on the sidewalk waiting for me, stands Noah. His eyes light up when he sees me. My whole world lights up when I see him.
Without considering anything more than the way I’m feeling, I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and giving him a loud smacking kiss to his perfectly sculpted lips.
I lean back to look at him, squeaking, “Hi.”
When he neither speaks nor moves a muscle, not even those muscles in his face, my heart drops into my shoes. Too much, too soon , I want to scream at myself as regret and embarrassment flood me. But then, like the sun breaking through the uncertain coverage of clouds, his smile appears.
And my heart melts.
“Hi yourself.”
We stare at each other for a few seconds, me just enjoying how amazingly gorgeous he is, him probably thinking I’m a nutcase, until I finally notice that he’s holding me to him with only one arm. My first thought is one of alarm.
“Oh, God! You’re not hurt, are you? Did you get hurt last night?”
Did one of the robbers hurt him? Did he pull something while he was darting around the place like Jack Bauer?
I scan back through our meeting earlier and I can’t remember him favoring any limbs, but as I look at him now, he’s not using his right arm at all. It’s tucked securely behind his back.
I push my wide eyes back up to his and I see only mischief. Then, in the right hand that he swings out between us, he produces a huge, beautiful bouquet of daffodils.
I gasp. “Daffodils! Oh my God, they’re gorgeous! They’re my favorite, too! How did you know?”
He shrugs, his eyes twinkling. “Men have their ways.”
Tilly , I think to myself. Or Simone.
They’re the only ones who know.
“Well, I love your ways. And I love these ! Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he says quietly, as though he’s uncomfortable with my enthusiasm. “Ready?”
“Very. It’s been a lonnng day.”
We both turn up the street and set off toward my apartment. Noah says nothing else. Neither do I, but I can’t stop smiling. I can’t remember the last time someone bought me flowers.
I stuff my nose in them. They don’t have a scent really; they just smell like cut flowers, like whatever bit of fluid oozes out when their stems are severed. But I don’t care. To me, they smell like heaven. Like the thoughtfulness of the man at my side. Like hope.
Maybe a little like love.
We’ll see.
We’re walking close enough that my shoulder bumps his arm every so often. I don’t know who is keeping close, but we’re close for sure.
I want to reach for his hand, but I don’t dare. I don’t want to risk setting us back. Since the night in the stairwell, Noah has opened up. I’m not stupid enough to think it’s a permanent fix, though. Not yet at least. I know one wrong move on my part could send him speeding away from me, and that would break my heart.
At the front door to my building, I insert the key and let us in. We walk, side by side, up the stairs, too, our steps in perfect rhythm.
I smile over that as well.
Everything makes me want to smile tonight.
I’m not too surprised to find the door unlocked again, but this time I don’t give it a second thought. I’m too happy and I feel completely safe with Noah at my side. He’s obviously more than capable of taking care of me should I be attacked.
A heady little shiver runs through me at the memory of his heroic actions. Stuff like that only happens in the movies, not in real life. Certainly not to women like me.
And yet it did.
I have so many questions I want to ask him, but I know I’ll have to dole them out carefully, at just the right time. Otherwise he’ll clam up. This I know. I hate the thought of that veil falling back down behind his clear blue eyes. At this point, after everything that’s happened, it would feel like being shut out of heaven and I’d do just about anything not to see that happen again.
Once we’re inside, I head straight for the kitchen to get a vase. As I’m arranging them, the doorbell rings.
“I’ll get that,” Noah offers.
He’s only gone for a couple of minutes before he returns carrying two bags of food. I can tell by the red lettering on the white bags what’s inside.
“Is that China House food?”
I already know it is. I’d recognize that mouthwatering aroma anywhere.
He nods, setting the bags on the counter. I watch as he reaches into the first bag and produces a movie. He lays it out beside the food and then proceeds to unpack the white boxes.
“They deliver movies now, too?” I know very well that they do not. I order from there more often than I care to admit.
“If you pay them enough, they do. They’ll even drop you a bottle of wine at the door if you ask nicely.”
Noah reaches around the corner, just out of sight, to the floor. When he straightens, he’s hol
ding a paper bag shaped like a wine bottle. Sure enough, he pulls from it a sweet red.
“Am I a decent date so far?” His bright eyes tell me he knows damn well that he is.
“I guess you’ll do.”
Marry me , I add silently.
I open the drawer beneath me to get the corkscrew and lay it up on the counter. That’s when I notice the familiar backside of the movie lying there.
My mouth drops open. It’s Casablanca .
“All right. Who have you been talking to?” I try to sound serious, even put one hand on my hip, but I can’t contain my pleasure.
Noah’s brow crinkles, his expression the picture of innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Daffodils. China House. Casablanca . All my favorite things. You have to have talked to either Tilly or Simone.”
I’m betting Tilly. She’d be totally on board with a plan like this if she thought it would get me laid and back to her with details sooner rather than later.
“Maybe I can read minds.”
“God, I hope not!” I try to laugh it off, but my cheeks heat at even the idea that, maybe in some parallel universe, he could read my thoughts. Most of them have been about him lately, and all of them have been rated R.
At least the clean ones have.
The other have been… Yeah, like that.
Tilly would be proud.
He grins. “Then maybe you talk in your sleep.”
“I do not,” I defend, although I can’t be sure I don’t. But that’s not the case here. This has Tilly written all over it.
Regardless, however he came by the information, the fact that he’d go to this much trouble for me makes my lips feel like they’re stuck in a perma-grin. I won’t even mention the way my chest, along with everything below the waist, feels.
He’s silent as I set the vase of daffodils out and arrange the takeout on a tray so we can eat in front of the television. He doesn’t complain or even seem to think it odd when I pull out huge cushions for us to sit on, oriental style.
I slide the movie into the DVD player and turn to him as it boots up. “I’m going to go change. I’ll be right back.”