Harlequin Romantic Suspense January 2021

by Marie Ferrarella, Regan Black, Karen Whiddon

  Then Noah came to life. His hands slid up her thighs to her hips, where they landed and stayed with a familiarity that belied the newness of their meeting. He pushed forward, bringing his body flush against Elle’s in a way that made her light up from the inside out. And for several seconds, his mouth roved over hers, alternating between demanding and yielding, giving and receiving. But just as Elle really started to lose herself in the kiss, Noah pulled back, his eyes slightly glassy, his breathing more than a little ragged.

  “Just tell me one thing…” he said. “This isn’t because you suddenly realized I’m sugar daddy material, is it?”

  His teasing tone was undercut by the rawness of his voice, and Elle vehemently shook her head.

  “I don’t care about money,” she told him. “I had access to plenty of wealth for the worst period of time in my life.”

  He let out a little groan. “You know that’s a statement that begs for follow-up questions.”

  In response, Elle grabbed him again and brushed her mouth over his, then gave his lower lip a tiny tug between her teeth. “You want to waste time talking?”

  “Hell, no.” He said it with so much force that Elle laughed.

  “Questions and conversation aside…” she replied, “I’d just like to point out that this is what our first kiss should’ve been like.”

  One of his eyebrows went up, and his mouth quirked a little, too. “Is that where this came from? You’re punishing me for kissing you at the wrong moment?”

  Her face heated, but she couldn’t quite deny it. “Possibly.”

  His fingers left her hip, and they came up to trace the line of her blush. “You’re not very good at punishment.”

  She knew he was teasing her, but the moment the words were out of his mouth, Elle’s heart immediately dropped. Her mind went to Katie, recalling a recent time the little girl had come home and asked what “grounded” meant. Elle had laughed about it, saying that Katie would probably rather not know. But in her usual, adamant six-year-old way, the little girl had insisted on having it explained. When Elle had gone over the finer details, Katie had first wondered why she had never been grounded, then came to the same conclusion made by Noah right then. Elle wasn’t very good at doling out punishment. The memory didn’t seem quite so endearing now. Instead, it brought back the ache in her chest with a vengeance. It seared away the pleasant heat brought on by kissing Noah, and she didn’t even realize that she’d dropped her gaze until his hand—still on her cheek—slid down a little and tipped her face back up.

  “We will find her,” he said. “I promise you, Elle.”

  She let herself sink into his hazel eyes, and—even though she knew it could be perceived as weakness—she let herself believe him, too. Spud would be successful in his tracking of the IP address. She and Noah would confront Trey, and they’d win. And maybe somewhere at the end of that would be some kind of happily-ever-after.

  “Kiss me again,” she whispered. “Please.”

  And he did more than that.

  He unbuckled her seatbelt and swept her into his arms.

  He hip-checked the door shut, and he carried her across the parking lot and into the hotel foyer.

  He waved a dismissive hand at the concierge—who acted like she knew Noah but called him by some other name.

  He muttered something at a bellboy—who jumped to attention and practically ran toward the elevator—then he carried Elle through the brass door and pushed her to the wall with no regard for their company or the public space.

  And finally, he laid her down gently on the oversized bed and helped her temporarily forget that it was actually the worst day of her life.

  * * *

  Noah knew he should be worried about the time. He should be leaning over to check his phone to see how much longer Spud was going to be with the promised street address. Or maybe he should be asking Elle if she thought they should get dressed so they could be ready to go at a moment’s notice. Instead, he was busy living in the moment. Running his hand up and down her back. Relishing in the silky softness of her skin. Loving the way her head rested on his chest and feeling overly pleased that their bodies fit so well together.

  The space around them was chaotic. The blankets were askew, the pillows tossed to the floor. The nightstand was a mess, too. The shade over the lamp had been knocked into a laughably crooked state, the phone was off the hook and the hastily procured, rapidly torn-into condom package sat in pieces. But Noah couldn’t recall the last time he felt so settled.

  He trailed his fingers over Elle’s back once more, then smoothed back her hair. “Can I ask you something?”

  She let out a little sigh—content sounding rather than annoyed—and spoke into his chest. “Weren’t you the one who warned me to be wary of that question?”

  He chuckled and kissed her forehead again. “Technically, it’s my mother’s warning. But yeah. You’re right. Forget it.”

  She wiggled a little, shifting so that she could look at him. “No way. Now you have to ask.”

  “Mmm-mmm. I don’t want to disappoint my mother.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  He kissed her again—this time along the bridge of her nose. “I never said I played fair.”

  She pushed all the way up and sent a mocking glare down at him. But if she thought that was going to work, she was dead wrong. Her sudden motion made the sheet drop down, and the newly tantalizing view sent coherent thought from Noah’s head. He kissed her a third time. Then a fourth. Then a fifth and sixth, too. Nose. Mouth. Throat. Mouth again. Then neck.

  “That’s really not fair,” Elle said, but her voice had a catch in it that gave away her true feelings on the matter.

  “I could stop,” Noah offered.

  “Not. Fair.” She leaned down a little more as she said it, and he took advantage of the renewed contact and closed his mouth over hers in yet another kiss, this one lingering.

  “You really aren’t going to ask me whatever it was, are you?” she breathed as he pulled back.

  He chuckled again. “I honestly can’t remember what it was.”

  She wrinkled her nose, then settled against his chest and tightened her arms around him, too. “You’re such a liar.”

  “If you’re going to resort to name calling…”

  “Maybe I’ll just ask you a question.”

  “Go for it. Ask anything you like.”

  She went silent for a good minute after he said it, and Noah could tell that the light mood was about to change. He considered using the break in conversation to shift to something else. Either another quick, distracting joke, or back to the search for Elle’s daughter. Instead, he let her query come, even though he was sure he wouldn’t feel comfortable answering.

  “You said you had money.” Elle’s voice was soft.

  “Yes.”

  “But you live well below your means.”

  “I do.”

  “And you’d rather walk around in ripped jeans and an old T-shirt than anything else.”

  “Yes,” he said again.

  She paused for another second, her fingers twirling a maddeningly sexy circle along his ribcage. “I think you don’t want anyone to know that you have money.”

  “I haven’t heard a question in any of that, sweetheart.”

  Elle snorted. “Don’t be impatient, sweetheart.”

  Noah fought another laugh. “Not a fan of endearments in general, or just that one in particular?”

  “Oh no you don’t. You gave up your chance to ask questions.”

  “Sorry. My bad. Ask away.”

  Her tone immediately turned serious again. “The concierge knew you.”

  “She did,” he replied.

  “But she didn’t call you Mr. Loblaw.”

  “She didn’t.”

  “You come to th
is hotel…regularly? Sometimes?”

  “Somewhere in between the two,” he told her.

  “But not for work.”

  “No. Definitely not for work.”

  “How many cases do you take on every year?”

  Noah didn’t bother asking where she was leading, or why she hadn’t queried about a shorter timeframe. He could tell that she was working through it all aloud, and for some reason, it mattered to him that she get there on her own rather than him just handfeeding her the truth about his life.

  “Not many cases,” he said. “I average about three.”

  “And you charge ten-thousand dollars per case,” she mused. “Which is nowhere near enough to afford a car like the one you have out there, and nowhere near enough to afford a place like this. Not even for one night.”

  “Probably not,” he agreed.

  “I’d say that means you have family money, except…”

  “Except what?”

  “Who’s Norah?”

  “She’s my sister. Twin, actually. Forgive my parents for the indulgent names. Noah Liam Loblaw and Norah Lisa Loblaw.” He smiled, absently twirling a strand of Elle’s hair through his fingers. “She’s three minutes older, which makes her the smart, responsible, level-headed one, of course.”

  “Of course.” Elle paused, then added, “It sounds like you and your sister get along?”

  “Mostly. She’s not crazy about my chosen profession. But then again, hers isn’t my favorite, either.” After he made the statement, he expected her to press for more information about the subject, but surprisingly, she didn’t.

  “So I don’t think it’s quite a family money issue,” she said instead. “But I do think you don’t want anyone to know about it.”

  Noah’s heart tapped an unwelcome nervous beat. “Thinking about becoming a detective?”

  “Does that mean I’m getting close?”

  “Guess you’ll have to keep up the interrogation to find out.”

  She tipped up her head. “If you feel like you’re being interrogated, I can stop.”

  He stared down at her, his mouth trying to turn up in a smile. He had a feeling that she would stop, if he asked her to, and he liked that.

  “Nah,” he said. “I need you to keep going so I can hear your conspiracy theory conclusion.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Funny.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “It’s more of a bigger question than a conclusion. But here it is… Why keep doing the work if you don’t have to? And if you do it just because you want to, then why not use the money you have? Why hide it?”

  “That’s a little more than ‘a’ question,” he teased.

  She gave his chest a gentle tap. “You’re avoiding giving me an answer. What happened that made you think you need to pretend to be something you’re not?”

  Internally, he tensed. He waited for the wall to come up, slam in place, then lock itself shut and prevent him from saying anything else. There was already a denial on his lips. A deflection. A hastily crafted plan to deliver each, then make her forget about it all with a kiss. When he took a breath, though, it was easy. No anxious pain in his chest, no stab of worry or regret. And the words flowed like they hadn’t in years. Like an uncorked bottle.

  CHAPTER 12

  “Norah and I were almost twelve, when our baby sister, Greta, was born,” said Noah, and he was genuinely surprised that saying his little sister’s name aloud didn’t send a searing pain through his chest. So he said it again. “Greta. She was tiny and perfect. But I mostly kept my opinion about that to myself.”

  He went on, explaining how he let Norah take the lead in the older sibling role. How his twin sister’s natural affinity for bottle feeding and getting the baby to sleep—and even diaper changing—earned her the nickname of Little Mama. He told Elle about his parents, who were both dedicated to their high-powered, time-consuming careers, and who’d been totally surprised by the late pregnancy. How, once their mother finished her maternity leave, the whole family began to rely on Norah to help out. They hired a nanny, but when Norah was home, Greta was in her arms or at her feet. Even as they got a little older, the two were inseparable. Matching blond curls, matching love of purple, and quick giggles. They liked to dance and sing, and Norah had endless patience for Greta.

  “I used to say that they were more like twins,” Noah said, hearing the roughness in his voice, and he cleared his throat before adding, “At least twice a week, I teased Norah that somehow, Greta and I had managed to switch places right before I was born. Like a freak science fiction–style accident. It made her mad every single time.”

  “It sounds like you were pretty good at playing the little brother role,” Ellie replied.

  “Oh, I was. For sure. Probably still would be, if Norah would tolerate it.” He smiled, but the happy memory was quickly superseded by what came next. “When Greta was three, my parents took a mini vacation, just the two of them. On the fourth day after they were gone, the nanny came down with a stomach bug. So Norah volunteered to take our sister to the park. And she roped me into it, too.”

  Noah closed his eyes as he recalled the day. Sunny and bright, but crisp. Just before autumn got into full swing, and just a week before he and Norah would turn fourteen. He pictured Greta’s little face. Her hazel eyes, the very same shade as his own. The pert nose and the rosy cheeks and her tiny, perfect teeth. In his head, he could still see the fluffy, lilac-colored coat she’d been wearing. She’d had on stretchy dark purple pants, too, and brown boots that were a touch too big. It’d been gorgeous out, and Noah would rather have been anywhere but surrounded by snot-nosed kids and their parents.

  He opened his eyes and swallowed, cleared his throat yet again, then said, “I let Greta go up to the top of this big curvy slide. Norah thought it was too high, but I told her there were even littler kids going up and down just fine. We argued about it. Norah said I was making a scene and embarrassing her. I reminded her loudly that she wasn’t Greta’s mother. The fight lasted maybe a minute. And then Greta didn’t come down.”

  His eyes sank shut again, and he shivered in spite of the heat between his and Elle’s bodies. It’d been such an awful, heart-sinking moment. The worst, though, was yet to come.

  “She never came down,” he stated. “Or maybe she never actually made it up. I don’t know. Either way, she was gone.”

  “Oh, Noah.” Elle’s voice was infused with understanding, and he latched onto that and made himself continue.

  “Norah was hysterical. I was so furious with myself that I could barely move. She had to punch me to get me going. And we searched that playground from end to end. We asked every parent in sight if they’d seen her. Norah kept screaming Greta’s name.” Noah drew in a breath, then blew it out. “Someone must’ve called the cops, because suddenly they were all over the place. Asking us questions. Sweeping the place with dogs. A lot of the rest is a blur.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Elle said, and this time, her tone told him she knew already what the outcome had been.

  He made himself say it aloud anyway. “They didn’t find her. Not alive. The ransom demand came to my parents at home, but they were on their way back from Cabo. The kidnapper…” He trailed off, choking on his words.

  Elle’s hand slid down to clasp his. “You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I do.” He squeezed her fingers. “I want to.”

  It was strange to realize that it was true—he did want to tell. For the first time since he sat down with a counselor a decade and a half earlier, where he resentfully spewed out his anger and sadness and guilt all at once, he wanted to talk about Greta and the aftermath of losing her. So he did. Glossing over the truly horrific details a little, he told Elle about the police suggestion not to pay the ransom. He explained how that, plus the delay, meant it was too late to save Greta. He described the w
edge it drove between his parents, the way it made him and Norah closer—at least for a time—then how the divorce divided their loyalties. There were the countless days that became months that became years. Noah dedicated far too much of his time to researching kidnappings and the abysmal statistics that bogged him down. There was a short while that he thought of getting into law enforcement. There was the bitterness that stopped him from following through. Moments of weakness that paralyzed him. His father’s suicide, and the subsequent lawsuit his mother initiated against a well-known news outlet for the horrific deluge of slander and disgusting and false allegations of abuse. The settlement. The investment. The wealth that followed—a richness that could never aid in the healing. Noah laid it all out, holding back none of the emotional devastation that it wreaked on his life and on the lives of the people he loved.

  “I had to do something productive,” he said after what felt like the longest speech of his life. “I needed to use my brain but not get bogged down by all the feelings.”

  “And that’s why you made your rules,” Elle filled in.

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  Silence filled the room, then, but it wasn’t awkward. It was strange, though. After revealing so much, Noah thought he should feel vulnerable. Exposed. Instead, calmness reined. The hurt was still there. It always would be. But for the first time since that horrible moment when he first noticed that Greta hadn’t come down the slide, Noah glimpsed a future with hope. And with that came a sense of wonder.

  Marveling over it all—and hesitantly embracing it, too—he trailed a finger up Elle’s spine. He paused at the back of her neck to gently knead the skin there. When she let out a small murmur of pleasure, warmth surged up and made Noah’s chest expand. He dragged his hand to Elle’s jawline and tipped her face up. For a long moment, he just stared into her blue eyes, drinking in the matching heat there, and hoping to God she was experiencing the same rush of emotion.

  “You make me feel…” He trailed off and gave his head a shake.