by Grimm, Sarah
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Thomas’s jaw bunched.
“I think this is something you should hear from Isabeau.”
Thomas turned away—but not before Noah caught the flash of emotion in the man’s eyes. “Are there any more, or is that the only mark on her? You can tell me that much, can’t you?”
“That’s it, that’s the only one.”
“Good.” Expelling a slow breath, he turned back to Noah. The rush of angry emotion had disappeared from his face. In its place was quiet assessment. “So where’s this tattoo I’m to look at?”
Noah pushed his sleeve up to reveal his right upper arm. He waited as the man looked closely at the tattoo.
“How long ago did you get this?”
“A long time ago.” Noah’s thoughts drifted to the day he and Danny visited the shady little tattoo parlor. Two scrawny boys on the verge of becoming men—believing a tattoo would get them there quicker. “I was a teenager.”
He noted the clean, sterile conditions of this shop, and was grateful shoddy body art had been all he’d taken home with him that day.
Thomas considered him before asking, “This the only ink you have?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a bit crude, but not bad for its age.” He crossed to the glass display case and began to sketch. “My daughter, she can be a bit headstrong at times.”
Noah blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “So I’ve noticed.”
“More than once, she’s had me beating my head against the wall.”
“I know the feeling.”
A deep chuckle rumbled from Thomas. “So tell me, do you want something done with this, or are you humoring Izzy?”
“I haven’t given it much thought,” Noah replied. Curious, he walked to the counter to see what Thomas drew. “She didn’t tell me your profession, only that we would meet you for lunch.”
“She’s never brought anyone to lunch before,” Thomas said as Noah stepped to his side.
“No?”
“No. She’s never mentioned you, either.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.”
“No?” Thomas gave him a hard, long stare. “But it bothers you.”
It did. More than he wanted to admit. Isabeau was a bit too unaffected by him, when he couldn’t seem to get through more than a few hours without thinking of her.
Never before had he been so aware of a woman from the moment he saw her—those incredible eyes, that compact body. After holding her in his arms last night—discovering her skin was warmer than he’d ever imagined, her hair softer—he knew it was going to be damn near impossible to keep thoughts of her at bay.
“You live around here?” Thomas asked absently.
“No. I’m here to record.”
“With Pete?”
“Yeah.”
“Pete’s a good guy.”
“He seems to be.”
Thomas made one last mark on the sketchbook, placed the pencil down and pushed the book in front of Noah. “You’re a musician then?”
“I’m a singer.” Noah studied the sketch before him and smiled. Thomas had started with the crude, rudimentary skull tattoo from Noah’s arm, then added and tweaked the design until it resembled something totally different. Something far more unique and artistic. If the man could do something like that in a matter of minutes, Isabeau’s praise had not been exaggerated.
“Where do you call home?”
“California,” Noah replied and Thomas’s brow knitted. “This is brilliant. You’re very talented.”
“Thank you. If you weren’t interested in any changes, you could have it re-worked, brought back to its original brilliance.”
Noah raised a shoulder. “I’ll let you know.”
He shifted his gaze as Isabeau stepped into the room, sending a flash fire through his bloodstream. His gut tightened as he studied the intriguing lines of her profile while she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. After a moment her eyes slid back open and she turned, locking her gaze with his.
Noah knitted his brow. She was pale. Her eyes full of something he couldn’t name. She pushed her hair away from her face, the impression of fragility fading as she continued to watch him, her mouth curving into a smile.
“Are you two ready?” she asked.
He let his gaze travel slowly over her, taking in her glossy ebony hair, the band insignia that decorated the front of her vintage tee, and the body-hugging jeans that rode so low on her hips that he was amazed they didn’t slide right off. He frowned as he zeroed in on her strappy, open-toed stilettos and for one blinding moment imagined her without the clothes—only smooth golden skin and those sexy damn shoes.
“You’ll have to go without me today,” Thomas stated, pushing away from the counter and crossing to Isabeau.
Noah blinked away the libidinous image.
“What? Why?” Her eyes took on a sudden awareness. “What are you up to?”
Noah wondered the same thing. Then he watched, intrigued as Thomas raised his hand to touch the bruise on Isabeau’s arm, only to lower it without making contact.
“Your friend assures me that this is not his handiwork.”
She straightened her shoulders and glanced in his direction. “Noah had nothing to do with it.”
“Who did this to you?”
Isabeau paused, letting the question hang in the air.
“Tell me who did this to you,” Thomas persisted.
She gazed up at her father, her concern evident. Her hand settled on his arm, where his muscles tightened and flexed. “He didn’t mean…” Taking a deep breath, she continued. “He was drunk.”
“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Thomas rasped, anger seething in his voice. His hands curled against his sides. “Tell me the bastard’s name.”
Her eyes slid closed. A tightness settled in Noah’s chest as, even from his distance, he noticed the fine tremor that wracked her body. Because he wanted to go to her, to touch her, soothe her, he pushed his hands into his pockets.
“Tommy,” she said quietly. “Tommy did this to me.”
One by one, Thomas’s muscles tensed. Pain flashed in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Isabeau whispered.
“You’re sorry? What do you have to be sorry about?” A look of confusion crossed Thomas’s face before his expression tightened. “What did you do, refuse him a drink?”
Slowly, Isabeau’s eyes opened and locked with her father’s.
“Sonofabitch!” he exclaimed and took a step back, away from her.
“Dad, don’t.”
Thomas continued to curse under his breath, his voice pitched so that Noah only caught every other word. Hands tightly fisted, the man’s anger was palpable. It pulsed off of him in waves.
“Dad—”
“You need to leave now, Izzy. Take your friend to lunch.”
“Dad—”
“Noah. Get her out of here.”
Noah crossed to her, settling his hand at the small of her back. “Come on, Isabeau. Your father needs some time to absorb.”
Temper flashed in her eyes before she stepped out of his reach. “Don’t coddle me,” she warned. “Either of you.”
Without another word, she turned and walked out the door.
Isabeau was three storefronts down before Noah caught up with her. He walked with her in silence for another block and a half before he spoke. “I didn’t tell him, you know.”
“I know.” Her voice was tight with emotion.
“You could have postponed your lunch plans, given yourself a day or two to heal, allowed the bruises to fade.”
“No, he needed to hear it from me.”
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have come along.”
Easing out an audible sigh, Isabeau stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She tipped her head up and met his gaze from beneath dark lashes. “I knew all along that he would notice the mark on my arm. I…The sunbathing I did this morning
was as much about preparing myself for his disappointment as about disguising the severity of the bruise. Unfortunately I wasn’t any more successful at preparing myself than in keeping the truth from him.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them. “Your presence doesn’t change the facts—that his son got angry when I cut him off last night and decided to tell me what he thought of me in a display that left me bruised and sore.”
“Is that what he did, told you what he thought of you?”
“What he said isn’t important.”
“No?”
“No.”
She was lying.
He fisted his hands against his thighs. “What exactly did Tommy say to you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does,” he said, his voice quiet and level. “I think it matters a great deal. Otherwise you wouldn’t have just gone white as a sheet.”
“I don’t think that’s possible with my coloring,” she replied dryly.
He narrowed his eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“Another lie,” he muttered. He shot his hand out and took hold of her elbow when her color worsened. “Hey.”
She stared up at him from eyes that had gone as pale as her face. Her voice wasn’t quite steady as she asked, “What do you mean another lie?”
“There’s no point in denying it, Isabeau. All I have to do is look at you to know that you’re not fine. You’re upset.”
She stepped back slightly, pulling free from his grasp. A gentle reminder—no touching. “Of course I’m upset. I caused my father pain.”
“No, that would be Tommy. He hurt your father, just as he hurt you. Tell me what he said to you.”
Her eyes flicked to his face, then away. “I already told you, it—”
“Doesn’t matter. Yeah, I got that.”
“Good.”
Noah clenched his jaw. He scrubbed a weary hand over his face, resisting the urge to reach out and snag her wrist when she started down the sidewalk away from him. What good would spinning her around and hauling her back to him do except give her yet another reason to be wary of him. Isabeau didn’t like to be touched. For weeks now, he’d assumed her aversion was only to his touch. If he hadn’t witnessed today’s interaction with her father, he might have gone on believing that. Now he wondered.
They walked in silence. To the casual observer she looked like every other pedestrian enjoying a walk through the city, her dark hair rustling in the breeze. But he noted the way she held herself erect and alert. How her eyes never strayed from the people closest to her as she countered any move in her direction with a subtle shift that kept her out of reach.
He frowned, recalling her words from the night previous. That she’d had worse bruises than the ones left by Tommy. Every muscle in his back tightened. When questioned, she’d refused to talk about it. She was good at that he thought, at refusing to share anything too personal.
Very good.
“Is this something you do often?”
“Have lunch with my father? I try to make it once a week, but sometimes it’s every two weeks.”
“Do you always walk to the restaurant?”
“Sure. I spend most of my time indoors so whenever I come into the city, I walk.”
“Odd.”
“Why is that odd?”
“You don’t let people close to you,” he said with quiet deliberation. “You don’t like people to touch you. I thought it was me, but even Thomas is hesitant to do so.”
She came to an abrupt halt and turned sharply. “What?”
His fingers curled around her elbows as someone bumped into her. He shifted her out of the flow of foot traffic and closer to the building they stood before. She took a step back, pulling free from his grasp.
What else did he expect? He dropped his hands. “If not for what you told me last night, I may have believed your father hesitated because of what Tommy did to you. It’s more than that, isn’t it?”
She lifted her chin a fraction, straightened her shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do.”
“What does this have to do with walking?”
“The amount of people. This many and someone is bound to touch you.” He considered her for a moment. “Was it Thomas? Was he the one who hurt you?”
“How dare you! Thomas would never hurt me.”
“But someone did.”
She turned away from him and stared at the window display, which frustrated the hell out of him. “I refuse to talk about this with you.”
Noah shoved his hand through his hair. He’d had such hopes when she invited him to lunch. That she was willing to give him a chance. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the wall she used to keep him at bay was still firmly in place. Bloody hell, he hated that wall. He wanted past it. Over it, under it, around it, he didn’t care.
“Do you let anyone close?”
“Why?”
“Why do I ask, or why would you allow anyone close to you?”
“Why…” Shaking her head, she took a deep breath, then another. “I touch people,” she argued.
He moved closer, invading her space. “Do you let them touch you?”
Her body tensed, telling him she wanted to step away. She didn’t. “Why are you doing this?”
“No? That must make it difficult to have a relationship.”
“Noah, please.”
“You do have relationships, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Physical relationships?”
That finally got her attention away from the window display and back on him. Her brows shot up so far on her forehead they disappeared in her hair. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“No? Then you haven’t been paying attention.”
She blinked. Her chin rose. “I have physical relationships.”
He couldn’t imagine a relationship without touch. Didn’t even want to consider what exactly she was qualifying as a relationship. Cold, clinical, get-your-rocks-off sex?
“No one’s ever complained,” she argued.
“And you?”
“What about me?”
He sighed. “Isabeau,” he said softly, leaning in so that every breath he took drew the scent of her into his lungs. A warm, soft scent with a hint of tanning oil. “What kind of lovers are you taking?”
“I—”
He brushed the back of his hand down her arm from shoulder to elbow. That electric current hummed between them. “It’s not supposed to be just about the finale. It’s about the journey. It’s all about touch, Isabeau. Soft caresses. Slow, deep, wet kisses. Why would you settle for anything else?”
Her tongue darted out and wet her lips. He wondered what she’d do if he leaned in right now and showed her what he meant.
“Maybe you haven’t taken a good look at me?”
“I’m looking at you now.” He cupped her face with one hand, traced his thumb along the curve of her jaw. Her skin was warm and soft as silk beneath his.
“Noah.” His name crossed her lips, a husky rasp barely heard over the street noise. She reached up and wrapped her hand around his.
She had a mouth that begged to be kissed. A mouth meant for pleasure. How was it she didn’t realize her own appeal? He traced his thumb over the palm of her hand. Satisfaction welled inside him when she trembled. “You don’t have to settle, Isabeau.”
“I...don’t?”
“No.” Noah raised her hand and pressed his lips against the center of her palm. The eyes that stared up into his changed color, from gray to blue. Her lips parted, then snapped shut as someone spoke her name.
“Izzy?”
Isabeau dragged in a shallow, ragged breath. Her pulse throbbed, her legs felt like jelly. The press of Noah’s mouth against her flesh made her throat ache and her body yearn. She wasn’t used to feeling those things, and the fact that she felt them about this man, this one man
, scared the hell out of her.
Desperate to regain control, she curled her fingers over her sensitized palm and turned in the direction of the voice.
“Isabeau Montgomery, it is you.”
Years of practice kept her grimace from showing as her gaze landed on Gregory Howard. As long as she’d known the pianist, which had to be nearly her entire life, she was uncomfortable around the man. She’d never been able to figure out exactly what it was about him that disturbed her, just that she preferred not to be in his company.
“Gregory,” she acknowledged.
“My God, how long’s it been?” he asked, his gaze traveling down the length of her. He turned to Noah, apparently not looking for an answer. “Who’s your friend?”
Waiting for her nerves to settle, Isabeau slowly turned her gaze. Noah watched the pianist, his expression cool and focused, his eyes impassive. “Noah Clark, this is Gregory Howard.”
“Good to meet you,” Noah said, shaking the hand Gregory extended.
“Likewise,” Gregory replied before turning back to her. “How have you been, Izzy? Jeeze, it’s been years since I’ve seen you. You look good.”
“I’ve been fine.”
“Good, good, so what have you been up to?”
“I have my own business in Long Island City.”
“Really? How interesting.” His tone was flat in the way that let her know he didn’t find her answer interesting at all. She stiffened her spine as his eyes moved over her again. It wasn’t a suggestive look, but it made her uncomfortable. “Do you still play?”
What was he up to? If anyone knew she didn’t play any more, it was Gregory Howard. After all, he was the one to step forward and take her place after her accident. A move that propelled his career to new heights.
“No. No, I don’t.”
His gaze shifted to her hands. His thin lips turned down. “I don’t know how you do it. I think I’d go out of my head if I lost the ability to play the piano.”
She’d found it best not to respond to statements like Gregory’s. If she did, it opened the door for the person making them to continue.
Gregory continued anyway.
“Seriously, I think I’d rather die. I can’t imagine. You were once something spectacular and now—”
“We were on our way to lunch,” Noah interrupted, his palm settling against her lower back. Unlike most times he reached for her, the desire to shift away never surfaced. Instead, she found an odd sense of comfort in his touch. “If you’ll excuse us, I’d like to be on our way.”