by Alice Ward
“Noah!” I called again.
Eventually, I found him. Covered in sweat and moaning in his sleep, he lay on a leather couch. Heavy curtains were tightly shut, denying light into the room, which had no television or technology of any sort that I could see, only a fireplace and photos of his family.
“Noah,” I whispered, kneeling beside him. Despite the fact that he was dressed in slacks and a black dress shirt, he looked ill. Checking for a fever, I placed the back of my hand on his forehead, which woke him.
“Imogen. You shouldn’t be here,” he said. It sounded like it was a struggle for him to speak. “Go home.”
I didn’t budge. “Have you been to the doctor?”
“He visits daily. I’ll be fine. It’s just the flu.”
“A bad flu from the looks of it. Is this why you’ve been out sick?”
He lifted a hand to his head pressing his fingertips into his forehead. “I haven’t been out sick. I’ve been home, but I’ve been working.”
“Yeah, I got your messages. You should have told someone. Believe it or not, the company can run a few days without you.”
He winced, covering his eyes. “I don’t want it to.”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. When’s the last time you’ve eaten?”
“I don’t remember.”
A gust of wind whipped against the building, making the photos on the wall shake. It looked like it pained him to do so, but Noah sat up. “How bad is it out there?”
“Pretty bad. I’m glad your building has underground parking. Otherwise, the daisy stickers on my hatchback would be blown to Australia.”
He fell back down. “I was going to order you to go home, but you can’t go out there. It’s not safe. You’ll have to stay here until the storm passes.”
“That’s what I planned on doing anyway. Even big bad billionaires need taking care of when they’re sick.”
“Wear a mask,” he grunted. “They’re in the bathroom. I make housekeeping wear them when they clean. There should be plenty there. I don’t want you getting sick.”
“If I get sick, I can be your first human trial for the nanotechnology,” I joked and adjusted the pillow under his head. “Unless you have an injection of it here. I saw the miracle rat. That tumor was gone within a matter of days. I bet the robots would fix you right up.”
“If I’d known this would happen, I would have sped up the research.”
I felt his forehead again. He was burning up. “Don’t act so surprised. Everyone gets sick. Even kings. No one is invincible.”
“Mask,” he reminded me.
Black shadowed the bathroom, from the tub made of obsidian marble to his standalone shower, which looked like the steam room of a luxury spa. From a shelf, I pulled down a mask and put it on. As I left, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and imagined the mask was a gag. I was bound, chained to a bed, my body pouring heat, full of desire and longing. Noah circled me, teasing me. I wanted the gag. I wanted the chains. I wanted him.
“Maybe I have a fever too,” I said, checking my own forehead.
On my way back to Noah, I detoured to the kitchen and prepared a bowl of soup, which I brought to him.
“You don’t have a lot of food in your pantry. Should we—”
I fell silent. Noah was sound asleep. Throwing the mask aside, I sat in the chair across from him and took a few sips of the soup, watching him dream. He looked different when he slept. Troubled and unhinged, like he was fighting unknown demons.
Before he woke and tried to tell me what I could or could not do, I set the soup on the fireplace mantel and went outside into the storm. It was midday, but the streets were dark, the clouds above wrathful. I didn’t go far, spotting a deli nearby.
An old Turkish man cleaned the counters as I walked in. “We’re closing, so make it quick,” he warned. “Gotta get out of this madness.”
Ignoring the menu board, I inspected the pots of soup, meats, and breads that were on display. “Will these last the next few days?” I asked.
“If you refrigerate them.”
“Then I’ll take it all. Whatever you have in stock, wrap it up.”
The man seemed happy with my request. “I’ll give you a discount. It was going to go to waste anyway.”
Fighting the wind, I returned to Noah’s apartment and put the food away in the kitchen before going to check on him.
“You are here,” he murmured, his eyes half-closed. “I thought I’d dreamt you. It was a happy dream, until I saw you stole my soup.”
“Noah Stafford, you just cracked a joke,” I piped out, taking the bowl from the mantle. “Do you want me to heat up what’s left?”
“No. I’m not hungry. And the proper way to address me is ‘sir.’”
“You should have put it in the contract.”
“I did.”
I rolled my eyes, but I humored him. “Well, sir, I got you more soup. And sandwiches. They’re in the fridge. We’re all set for the storm.”
Closing his eyes, he smiled. “I like the sound of that. Say it again.”
“Sandwiches?”
“Sir.”
“Not a chance.”
“I don’t like this,” he uttered, half-asleep. “I should be taking care of you. You shouldn’t be taking care of me.”
“If it makes you feel better, I’m being selfish. If you die from the flu, I’ll have no job. Dead men have no need for personal assistants.”
“If you weren’t my personal assistant, would you take me up on my offer? Exclusive friends with exclusive benefits.”
Something twisted low in my belly, but I ignored it. Tried to at least.
“I like the friend part, but the rest isn’t meant to be. I’m not interested in an agreement. I want the real thing. Can you offer me that?”
Those beautiful green eyes met mine, and I thought I saw pain within them. “As beautiful and intoxicating as you are, Imogen, I don’t think I can.”
“Goodnight, Noah,” I said, ending the discussion. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
“Goodnight,” he echoed. “And Imogen?”
“Yeah?”
“Put your mask back on, or I’ll do it for you.”
Go ahead. I may like it.
***
I didn’t join Noah in sleep. As he tossed and turned, he grew pale. Worried, I deemed myself his keeper, staying awake to make sure he got through the night as comfortably as possible. When a new day came, though it was hard to tell with the overcast skies, the torrential winds, and the pounding rain, Noah was still lost to his illness. He remained unconscious, his breathing rasped.
In the afternoon, when there was no improvement, I called his doctor, but because of the storm, he couldn’t come to check on Noah. He connected me to the hospital, but they were unwilling to send out a paramedic unless it was a life-threatening emergency, claiming their resources were limited with everyone taking shelter from the disaster that was happening outside. Trying to be helpful, the nurse asked me to take his temperature.
Running into the bathroom, I searched around until I found what I believed was a thermometer. Stafford Scientific had developed it; the company’s name was engraved on the side of the plastic. Guessing how to use it, I rubbed it across Noah’s forehead, and his temperature was digitally displayed.
“102.7”
“That’s high,” the nurse said after I read it to her, “but still not high enough to send an ambulance. I recommend you put him in icy water. If that doesn’t help or if his fever gets worse, call us again.”
Grabbing ice from the kitchen, I filled the tub with it and ran the cold water. That part was easy. Getting Noah into the bath was a lot harder. Whispering in his ear that there was an emergency at the company, I managed to wake him long enough to walk him down to the bathroom.
“Do you have anything of value in your pockets?” I asked him, surrounded by the black marble.
“No,” he replied, teetering, struggli
ng to stay awake.
“Do you trust me?”
“With my life.”
“Get into the tub. It will be painful, it’s pretty cold, but it’s what has to be done. I’ll be in the tub with you.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” he slurred, drunk from his illness.
Careful that neither of us slipped, I helped Noah slide into the tub first. He barely acknowledged the cold. It was probably soothing against his fever. Or he was numb to it. When I got in, the cold bit at me like a million rats nibbling at my skin. Shivering in my white dress, I made sure Noah stayed awake, telling him stories of stealing bingo cards for my grandma at the senior center, upon her insistence.
An hour later, Noah was back on the couch, dressed in black boxers and a T-shirt, which he had managed to put on himself. Sitting next to him, I wore one of his dress shirts, which given his height and broad chest, covered me like a gown. We played chess, his fever way down.
“Please don’t scare me like that ever again,” I said to him as I captured one of his pawns.
“I don’t intend to,” he replied. Regaining his strength, he brushed a piece of my hair away from my face. “Thank you for being here. I don’t know how I can repay you.”
Beneath his touch, I shivered again, but it had nothing to do with the cold from the bath. I was warm. And content. “Like I said, I was being selfish. I need the job.”
“Anything you want,” he said.
“So you’ll promote me sooner than later?” I chanced.
He grinned. “Only if you manage to take my king,” he gambled.
“You’re on,” I said, determined, looking down at the chessboard, only to realize he had me in checkmate.
“Best two out of three?” I suggested.
“I’m afraid not,” he said, relaxing back on the couch. “I don’t want to lose you just yet.”
***
The ambrosia that was coffee woke me. Forgetting where I was, I stretched out in my chair, allowing the waft of freshly brewed grounds to linger in my nose. “That smells delicious.”
“Of course it does. I only buy the best,” Noah boasted.
Instantly awake, I sat up straight. “You should be resting. Let me be on breakfast duty.”
“It’s already done. I’m better now. I just needed to sleep. And so did you. We slept through half the day. It’s well past noon.”
The color back in his face and his bright green eyes aglow once more, he did seem to have his resilience back, but this time he wore it without his trademark austerity. If I hadn’t been here the last few days, I never would have suspected he had been sick. He seemed to be in prime health.
With care, he set my coffee in front of me. The mug was wider than both my hands put together. “Does this mean no more mask?” I asked, though I hadn’t worn it since my first day in the apartment. “I don’t think you’re contagious.”
“If I had any fear you could catch the flu, I wouldn’t have made you the coffee.”
Picking up my mug, I went to the window to assess the weather outside. The rain continued to slash down, and the winds were as ferocious as ever. I hoped it was the peak of the storm. I couldn’t imagine it getting worse than it already was.
“There’s no fear of the skyscraper tumbling down, is there?” I asked, only half-joking.
“This is the safest building in Chicago. It might be the safest building in the whole damn world. Nothing can destroy it.”
“That’s what they said about the Titanic,” I argued, but it did ease me. “We’re probably the only people left in the city.”
“Wouldn’t that be ideal,” he said sincerely.
Overwhelmed, I sealed my eyes with his, the hazel of mine melding with the green in his. I wanted this man. Together, we could create new worlds. It was natural for us to be together, as innate as the stars above, clouded by the storm.
“Tell me more about your childhood,” I asked, quieting my desires, knowing it was not the time to act out on my painful, glorious fantasies.
“No,” he said firmly. “I won’t answer any more questions about my brother.”
“Actually, I wasn’t even thinking about your brother. I want to know what your childhood was like.”
It didn’t make him like the conversation any better. “It was fantastic,” he said with a subtle sarcasm. “I had lots of money. I had lots of toys.”
Maybe too many toys, I thought. “What made you found Stafford Scientific? I know you want to help people, but why a technological company?”
“There was a need,” he said but refused to elaborate. “I’m done talking about me. What about you? Have you ever thought of finding your mother?”
“That would be impossible.”
“Julia found you with a name and hometown.”
I tensed, anxious about the subject of my mother and her abandonment. “Trust me, my mother has gone off the grid. She doesn’t want to be found.”
He pressed. “But don’t you want to know more about your family?”
Nervously, I fumbled with the drapes next to the window. “I know enough from my grandma. If my mother wants me in her life, she can find me.”
What I didn’t tell him was that I was afraid. What if I looked, and there was nothing there? Or worse, what if I found her and she rejected me? Again.
***
Searing hot water trickled down my back as I took a shower. With the black stone of the bathroom surrounding me, it was as if I was immersed far below the surface of the earth. With everything that had happened over the last few weeks, I indulged in the gloriously hot steam, filling my lungs with it as water from the shower streamed down my back, trailing from my spine to my toes, carving its way through my crevasses. Tilting my head back, I massaged my hair beneath the water with an exotic smelling shampoo I’d found in the guestroom, enjoying the way it made my scalp tingle.
I was naked, and Noah was only a few rooms down, repairing a broken floorboard, his energy mostly restored. With the storm holding us prisoner inside his penthouse, he was agitated, ready to work, so he burnt off his frustrations with home improvements. Being the control freak he was, if he could do everything himself, he would. As the scorching water continued to drench me, I pictured Noah holding a hammer with his big, brawny arms, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled back. He pounded down on a nail, developing a rhythm that made the floorboards shake.
I was torn.
Torn between my memories of Corey and the reality of Noah, my mind had no idea which brother to choose, so I let my body do the talking. With a wetness between my legs that had nothing to do with the shower, but rather the man I shared my confinement with, my body made its decision.
Stepping out of the shower, I covered myself in Noah’s dress shirt once more, bare underneath. I didn’t expect the shirt to stay on long. Quivering with anticipation, my knees grew weak, fully aware that the game was about to change, but I pushed on, leaving the bathroom to join Noah down the hall.
“Imogen, you’re not playing fair,” he rumbled when he saw me, his unassailable eyes scanning my body with a virile appetite that made my stomach and heart flutter in unison. “It’s bad enough that you walk around in my shirt. To do it while you’re soaking wet is beautifully wicked,” he claimed, standing, his need for me showing in the hard bulge in his slacks. “Why don’t you put the dress you wore here back on? Or I can loan you more sweats.”
“That poses a dilemma,” I said, pouting from the doorway and looked up at him through my lashes. “In order to put my dress on, I have to take your shirt off.”
Reading my body language, Noah lunged towards me like a cheetah and locked his arms around my waist, spinning me out into the hall. “That is a problem,” he breathed, his voice husky with arousal as he pinned me to the wall. “What are we going to do about it?”
I was lava in his hands, molten against the fury of his passion. With my back pressed into the wall, I slowly undid the top button of the shirt, exposing a section of my blazin
g flesh. “I guess we have to take it off.”
“The things I’m going to do to you,” Noah murmured as he twisted a clump of my damp hair between his fingers. “You’re so stunning, Imogen, even more so when you’re like this — completely natural.”
As he spoke, his cock grew even more, pressing against my stomach. I could hardly breathe, completely and utterly wrecked by the man who held me. My body quivered again, the spasms of my need sending blood rocketing down to my core, releasing its sticky wetness, ready for Noah to plunge into me.
Ravenous, he kissed me, his mouth conquering mine before dominating my tongue with a blissful force. As he seized me, his lips bruised mine, but in the most magical of ways. His kiss was a torture I could endure for eternity, tasting of mint and triumph. Weeks of his seduction had led to this. Noah was finally getting what he wanted, and so was I, no longer fighting my attraction. My temptation. My need.
Breaking away from the kiss, Noah brushed his thumb across my lips, which were swollen. “There will be pain, but there will mostly be pleasure,” he said, a warning and a promise that equally made me faint from the thrill. I wanted it all.
Fueled by my desperate, achy need to be with him, I unbuckled his belt and threw it to the floor, one step closer to liberating his cock. With my arms wrapped around his neck, I locked my eyes with his, falling into their bright green spell. “Do what you want, sir. I’m loyal only to you.”
Releasing a deep throaty growl, he snatched me around the waist and picked me up until I straddled him. Gripping the cheeks of my ass, he kissed me again as he ground his hips, thrusting upwards so that the pole in his slacks rubbed against the back of my thigh. With his cock so close to my pussy, my skin lit up like fireworks, and my thighs became slick with my wetness, saturating his slacks.
“Not here.”
With incredible strength, he carried me to his bedroom and lowered me until I stood in front of his triple king-sized mattress, which was covered with a surprisingly plain white duvet, a complement to the warm walnut of his headboard.