by S. Ann Cole
He doesn’t respond, doesn’t break his stride, walking until he disappears around the corner to the foyer. Seconds later, I hear the closing ding of the elevator.
Vibrating with indignation, I stand there glaring into the path where he walked. I’m so angry with him I could scream. He’s unreasonable. He’s incorrigible. He wants me to bow yet he won’t bend.
Sure, he’s offered me the world. But maybe I’m not ready for the world. Maybe all I need at this point in my life is someone with a little bit of patience and understanding, someone who isn’t just thinking about their own heart, but mine, too. He’s more worried about how I might hurt him, but isn’t taking into consideration that he might be the one who hurts me.
‘He already is,’ Rational Lotty points out.
Pacing the length of the kitchen, I contemplate his offer. No, not the first one, the one that includes a serious future with him, but the second one, the one that doesn’t include him at all.
Normally, I’d cling to my pride and insist I work for it, but I have to admit it’s a good offer. An apartment and a plane ride free of cost. This will speed up the process of my grand escape plans. Best of all, I won’t have to keep watching over my shoulder for Andrew.
Picking up my cell, I tap out a quick message and hit send.
Me: Offer accepted. The 2nd one.
His reply buzzes in almost immediately.
Noah: Arrangements went in motion two minutes ago.
TWENTY-TWO
KIERA: Last night: Best evarrr. M is rough & bossy & wild & I lav it!
Me: I guessed that. Look at him. U couldn’t have expected anything less than rough & bossy & wild.
Kiera: Maybe caz I’ve been burned b4? Meet a dude, he looks like he’s gonna be good, only 2 end up being a total waste of a lay.
Me: Well, I totally nailed it with Muscles, but completely underestimated Noah.
Kiera: Whoa! U stubborn fools finally did it? What was he like?!
Me: I think I’m still in shock. Best. Sex. Ever.
Kiera: Better than A?
Me: WAY better than Andrew. Noah’s expertise caught me off guard. Was expecting average, but gurrrrrrl he OWNED my body last night.
Kiera: Damn. Am getting a clit hard-on just imagining him in action.
Me: I think I’m love with him.
Kiera: Whoa! WHOA. What? U said u were *falling*. One night with the billionaire & suddenly u r *in* luv?????
Me: Shut up. His sexual prowess last night just sealed it.
Kiera: U told him?
Me: Of course not! R u crazy? And I won’t. Ever. He’s a jerkfaceasshat. We fought this morning. He offered 2 help me get setup in Brazil. I accepted.
Kiera: So that’s it then? U r really moving there?
Me: Yeah.
Kiera: Kool. Good luck. Gotta go. Packing. Spending da rest of da week at M’s.
Me: R u mad at me?
No response.
I tuck my phone into my sports-bag and glance over at Muscles. “I think your girlfriend is mad at me.”
Eyes on the road, hands on the steering wheel, he grumbles, “Not my girlfriend. We’re just hanging out.”
“She’s spending the rest of the week at your place,” I point out.
“Yeah. Hanging out.”
Stubborn stupidhead. “She says you’re wicked in bed.”
“Your loss.”
I scowl at the side of his face. “I should kiss you right now, you bullheaded arrogant, sexy piece of macho-man ass.”
This time his lips twitch. “Oh, I dare you to.”
I glare at him, contemplate doing it, but I don’t. Before, I would do it to piss him off, nothing serious. But now that I’m aware of how he feels—or felt?—I’m afraid kissing him would do more harm than good. And I don’t want to lead him on, confuse him. Not while I’m fairly certain I’m in love with Noah Van Der Wells. So, I dismiss the dare, cut the crap, and zip my lips for the rest of the drive to VDW.
Mike isn’t waiting for me outside the building as he should be, so Muscles escorts me up to Noah’s floor, leaving me once I’m out the elevator. Has Noah called off my protection? Is he that vexed with me?
The lanky, bespectacled assistant stands and grins his geeky grin. “Nice to see you again, Miss Cooley. Mr. Van Der Wells is in a meeting at the moment. You may have a seat over there unt—”
“A meeting?” I glare at the kid and his eyes widen, no doubt wondering what he said wrong. “It’s one o’clock. My hour. One o’clock is my hour. He’s not supposed to be in a meeting.”
“I, uh—I don’t—I,” Lanky Geek stutters.
But I’m already stomping off in the direction of Noah’s office. His glass walls are one-way, so I know he sees me coming. And he better not lock it with his fancy remote control.
Slapping my palm against the smooth glass, I shove the door open. Noah’s eyes are on mine long before mine are on his, proving he’s been watching me since I got off the elevator.
Perched at the edge of his massive desk, feet crossed at the ankles, hands pressed down on the desk, one eyebrow acutely arched. He looks so damn edible right now, I could eat him from his toes upward, the sexy bastard.
He stares. I stare.
He waits. I wait.
Is he thinking what I’m thinking? About last night? Is he feeling what I’m feeling? Pure, adulterated love/lust/arousal?
A movement, a flash of blonde, tugs at my attention, forcing my I-want-to-do-you-so-bad-right-now stare away from Noah and down to…Sienna?
So swept up in Noah’s green lust, I didn’t even notice the beautiful bitch seated in one of the two chairs in front of his desk.
An icy blue glare pierces me over a bare, tan shoulder. “My God, Noah,” she sneers, whipping her head back around to him. “You’re still encouraging this little girl?”
Noah doesn’t answer. Just continues to stare at me, deliberately impassive.
Moving further into the commodious office, I stop at Sienna’s chair and rest my hand on the back of it. My thumb brushes her shoulder and she recoils as if I have Ebola. Exactly the reaction I expected. Her glare intensifies, but I remain unintimidated as I ask her, “What’s your hour?”
She blinks. “I’m sorry?”
“What’s your hour?” I ask again, cool and easy. “See, my hour is one o’clock, which is right now. Along with the bonus of all the hours he’s at home. Watching television with me, eating with me, pounding me into various positions for a full sixty minutes straight. So, what’s yours?”
Eyes narrowing into the tiny slits, she looks as though she wants to launch at me like a wild cat and claw my eyes out. Her blonde head jerks as she transfers this glower to Noah. “Is she serious?”
But Noah’s eyes have yet to leave me. He says to me, “I didn’t think training was still on today.”
Tilting my head to one side, I jut my hip out and plant a hand to it. “You say I’m the young, naive one, yet you’re the one who perpetually acts out like a petulant brat. We had a little tiff this morning, so you went ahead and assume training is off and the world is over and zombies will take over the earth by midnight and Jon Snow will reincarnate as a werewolf. You see? Age doesn’t necessarily mean maturity.”
“Training? What kind of training?” asks Sienna.
My gaze dips to her again. “Listen, right now I couldn’t care less if you’re his frickin’ gynecologist. This hour belongs to me, so I suggest you reschedule whatever this is. A blowjob under the table as a prescribed cure for his syphilis? Reschedule around my hour, please. And thanks.”
“My God, Noah,” Sienna sneers yet again, getting to her feet, her height only slightly intimidating. “This…thing is so beneath you and so illiterate she doesn’t even know what a gynecologist is.” She eyes me up and down with contempt. “Men don’t have gynecologists, you dumb little twat.”
Shifting my gaze to Noah, I smile something saccharine. “Oh, I know that.”
Noah finally breaks his impass
ive stare, sends his eyes to the ceiling, and shakes his head. “She meant it as an insult to me, Sienna. You have to appreciate her…humor. And she’s right, it’s her hour. We were through anyway, so you can go. I’ll discuss your suggestions with Q.”
Sienna steps up to him, her eyes going all soft and sultry, her hand touching his bicep, sliding down to his elbow. “You know we were nowhere near through. We had things to discuss, and now we have things to do.” As if I’m not there, she softens her voice and tells him, “Get rid of her.”
A snort leaves me as I move in front of the chair she’d been sitting in and plop down in it. “Even the birds can tell you in a chirpy little song that that’s not gonna happen.”
Sienna steps back, glancing between Noah and me, assessing.
I’m idly adjusting my tank—which doesn’t really need adjusting—over my perfect girls, and this act predictably draws Noah’s gaze to them.
“What is this?” Sienna finally asks. “Are you telling me this nonsense between you and her is serious?”
Noah opens his mouth to respond, but I beat him to it. “Seriously. I take my training hour seriously. There’s nothing complicated about that. You’re more obtuse than I thought you were, Sienna Sullivan. Bombshell of New York? Hmm. Nothing but a cliché of a woman, as far as I can see.”
She spins on Noah and glares. “You’re just going to stand there and let her talk to me like that? She’s a…nothing! A nobody. So the help gets a chance to suck a billionaire’s cock and suddenly she thinks she’s royalty? She is—”
“That’s enough, Sienna!” Noah snaps, straightening to his full height, towering over the both of us. “I said you can leave. Our meeting is over.”
With a huff, Sienna snatches up her handbag. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’ve obviously lost your mind with this…plebeian trash. Expect me over tonight. We’ll be talking.” And then she storms out of the office, a cloud of animosity in her wake.
Noah stares down at me in irritation, and I idly—consciously—tap two fingers on my inner thigh, staring up at him.
“Your mouth will—” He breaks off, shakes his head, as if thinking better of what he’d been about to say, and then strides off to the mini-room section of his office to change. “Meet you in the gym.”
This time I don’t stay to watch and salivate and be tempted.
I leave.
“Concentrate, Lotty!” my trainer barks at me. “I did not teach you that. You can’t reach for the throat of an attacker this much taller than you. You’ll get blocked, backhanded to the side, and possibly beaten to shit for even trying.”
I know this. It’s common sense. But it’s his throat I want to grab and strangle until he dies, as impossible as that sounds. I’m just so mad at him. I might have put on a nonchalant show in his office earlier, but it was to hide my true emotion of finding Sienna there. I really, really hate that woman.
Even though he just cautioned me, I charge, lips curled in a snarl, vision blurred by a thin, red sheet of anger as I aim for his throat again.
The shake of his head is almost imperceptible as I do this, but he stands steady, times me, and just when I think I’m in reach of him, he effortlessly blocks me, shifts, and watch me crash to the floor.
Wasting no time, he strides to me, reach down, and grabs my unraveling ponytail. I do nothing to stop this, and that makes him livid.
“Why did you let this happen?” he barks at me.
When I attempt to reply, he loops my ponytail around his wrist and yanks my head back. Hard. A cry of pain rips from me. “You see that,” he continues to bark, “I own you now. You’ve officially lost the fight.” He tugs my head back painfully hard again, so our gazes are connected, eliciting another cry of pain from me. “Lotty, you never, ever, let your opponent get a hold of your hair. Your hair is your strength and your biggest weakness. There’s very little you can do once your opponent gets you by the hair. You’re a woman, it’s the first thing they’ll go for. You do not let that happen. You prevent it. You understand?”
I attempt to nod, but his grip on my hair hinders me.
Releasing his grip, he moves back, and as I start to get up, he rushes me again, grabs my hair, and yanks my head back. “Christ, Lotty. Focus. Think back on all I’ve taught you. What can you do to prevent this from happening?” Before I can answer, he releases his grip again, moves back. “Stay down. FOCUS. And try to stop me from getting a hold of your hair.”
Except I can’t remember anything he’s taught me right now. All I can think about is him and Sienna. How he had her in his office less than a day after we’ve— “Aargghhhh!”
Uh-huh, he’s got me again. My scalp splitting from the pain.
I’m not focused. I can’t focus. And he’s not letting this go.
Three times over he repeats this, and three times over I do nothing but scream. But after the fourth time, when my head starts to feel as if I’ve been dunked upside-down in a pot of burning coals, I’ve no choice but to focus, thinking back on all the moves he’s taught me.
For the next nine times, with every blocking move I employ, I fail, beginning to feel as frustrated as he looks. He wants to bark some more at me, I can see it, but he’s obviously clinging to his patience.
He releases his grip and moves back for the umpteenth time, but this time he’s not quick to rush me, and instead cranes his head back, exposing his throat. At once, I’m reminded of that night he dove into the back of my cab, how magnificent his throat had looked in the rearview mirror, how turned on I—wait, this is a hint. He’s giving me a hint of what to do, how to stop him. He’s cheating himself?
Cricking his neck from side to side, he refocuses his attention on me, and in a quarter of a second, he rushes me again. But I’m prepared now, got his hint. When he reaches me and attempts to grab my hair, I make my move, swift, focused. The side of my palms whip out like a knife, straight for his throat.
He’s expecting it—obviously because he gave me the hint—and dodges his upper body to the side. My palm narrowly misses his throat and slashes the air instead.
At this miss, I howl in frustration.
But Noah quickly ameliorates, “Cool it, Lotty. That was perfect. That’s the move. I just couldn’t let it connect or I wouldn’t be able to speak for at least an hour. That’s a lethal hit.”
“Precisely why I wanted it to connect,” I grumble to myself as I get up from the floor.
Ignoring this bit, Noah says, “Now, let’s go back to what we were working on before. Do not try to grab my throat. I’m taller than you by four inches. This move is thoughtless, ridiculous, and will be ineffective.”
Regardless of his warning, I do exactly the exact same thing when we start up again. And this frustrates him times ten. Yes, yes, I’m doing it on purpose. If I can’t hurt him physically, I might as rattle him some other way.
On my fourth attempt, I rush at him like a bull in a pen. I see the near imperceptible shake of his, and hear the exasperated sigh just before he squats, timing me. When I am almost there, he moves toward me, shifts a little to the left, grabs me around my middle, twists with me, and then body slams me down on the rubber flooring, his forearm pressed on my chest, pinning me down.
“What is wrong with you?” he growls in a deathly quiet voice. “You show up here for training, and then you refuse to use anything I’ve taught you over the weeks. You’re thinking before you move—or not thinking at all. You have zero focus, even though I’ve told you repeatedly that focus is key if you want to master this. You just keep attacking me for the sake of attacking me. If you knew your head wasn’t in it today, why did you come?”
“Why—” I try to catch my breath. He eases the pressure of his forearm a bit, but keeps me pinned still. “Why is she still in your life?”
He doesn’t falter, not thrown or surprised at the question, bastard that he is. “Did we not discuss this before?”
“So, you’re telling me,” I breathe out, chest rising and f
alling, “that if I had said yes to your offer, nothing would’ve changed?”
He brings his face ever closer to mine, noses brushing, his breath hot, minty on my lips. “Here’s the thing, Lotty: you didn’t say yes. Therefore, we have nothing to discuss. And seeing as you’ve done nothing but waste forty-five minutes of my day, I think its best you go now.”
He eases up off me, removes his forearm from my chest, and sits back on his heels.
Keeping my anger in check, I brace up on my elbows. “If I hadn’t walked in earlier, would you have had sex with her?”
“What does it matter to you?” is his non-answer. “You proposed ‘just-sex.’ We had ‘just-sex.’ Whatever else I do or don’t do is none of your concern.”
His words roll around my chest like a tangled ball of sharp razors, slicing, blistering, obliterating. Pushing up to my knees, I sit back on my heels, mimicking his position. Rage representing the hurt I feel. “I’m glad I didn’t say yes. I’m glad I didn’t fall for your bullshit. I’m glad I’m leaving.”
He’s unrepentant. “I’m glad you’re leaving, too. Overjoyed.”
“I hate you. So much.”
Lips crooking in a lopsided smile, he replies, “I hate you just as much.”
Chest heaving, I glare at him. He glares right back.
Something forceful and intense and all-consuming passes between us, and just as I’m about to surge at him, he preemptively shoots forward and tackles me to the floor again.
I part my legs.
He settles between them.
Our lips meet, our tongues collide, our anger melds and creates something beautifully wild, immense, and sublime.