After Midnight

by Grimm, Sarah

  “Yeah,” Gregory replied, his frown deepening. “Sure.”

  “Great.” Applying the slightest bit of pressure against her back, Noah steered her around Gregory and down the street.

  She waited until they were out of earshot to tell him, “We’re going in the wrong direction.”

  “I’ve lost my appetite.”

  She wished she could say the same. Beneath the warm press of his hand, her muscles quivered. As they walked in silence, she studied him out of the corner of her eye. He was tall and lean, and had an air of confidence that drew the eye. She couldn’t help but notice the female attention that tracked him—the furtive glances and blatant stares of the women they passed. It caused her to wonder if they felt what she felt when they looked at him—the sharp bite of desire.

  The spark that sent her senses humming.

  It would be so easy to give in to her attraction. With any other man, she wouldn’t hesitate. A relationship with no strings, no commitments was what she needed right now. But she knew Noah wouldn’t allow her to maintain her usual distance. He would keep pushing and pushing until she gave more than usual, felt more than usual. And then where would she be?

  If she pursued a relationship with him, she would only end up hurt. He wasn’t even going to remain in town long enough to record an album, just a demo. Soon enough he’d be leaving, back to his home, his life.

  And she’d be left with her feet knocked out from under her.

  Her shoulders stiffened. Sliding sideways, she increased the distance between them, breathing easier as his hand dropped away from her back.

  “How do you know that guy?”

  His voice was easy, yet she had the sense of coiled frustration beneath the surface. Easing out a sigh, she admitted that she was most likely the cause. “Gregory? He’s a well-known pianist.”

  “He’s an ass.”

  “He’s that, too.”

  They stopped in front of the parking garage where she’d left her Navigator. His stark, green eyes locked with hers. “How old is he?”

  What did the man’s age have to do with anything? “I don’t know. Thirty-seven?”

  “That’s what I thought—old enough to accept the truth and move on.”

  “What truth?”

  “That you’re a much better pianist than he is.”

  As perverse as it was, a thrill went through her at his words. “You’ve heard him play?”

  “I don’t need to. I could tell by the way he looks at you.”

  She frowned. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Gregory always made her uncomfortable. She wondered if Noah had picked up on that. Or if he’d seen what she never had. “How does he look at me?”

  “Like you’re the better pianist.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  A breeze stirred, picking up the ends of her hair and blowing them across her mouth. Her knees went weak as he reached out and brushed his fingers over her cheek, scooping up the strands.

  “It makes perfect sense. There are people in this world that hold talent against a person, especially if they can’t match that talent. Gregory is one of those people. It was obvious by the way he looks at you.”

  Isabeau struggled for balance, but knew she wouldn’t find it. Not with him standing this close to her. Her gaze took in his black T-shirt, stretched appealingly across his broad chest, the play of muscle in his arm as he toyed with the ends of her hair. He didn’t appear to have shaved that morning. Dark stubble covered his jaw, lending him a look more dangerous than normal. It looked good on him, damn good. Her throat tightened and her mouth went dry.

  She knew she should step back, away from his heat, away from his touch. Instead, she stood there, staring into his green eyes as she fought the urge to reach for him. Her palms began to itch with the need to test the feel of his stubble, the warmth of his flesh. Deep inside of her, desire pooled.

  He shifted, her hair sliding through his fingers as he dropped his hand to his side. She closed her eyes and breathed a sigh.

  “Are you ready to head back?”

  “I promised you lunch.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Has your appetite returned?”

  His mouth curved in a wide, reckless grin. “You could say that.”

  “I know this quaint little place in Astoria.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He gestured toward the parking garage at her back. “Lead the way.”

  He fell into step beside her as they made their way into the parking structure and toward her black SUV, its vanity plate, sporting the name of her bar, visible ahead. Out of the direct sunlight, the temperature dropped about ten degrees. Her heels echoed off the concrete floor.

  Circling around the back of the vehicle, she pulled her keys out of her pocket and stopped. Irritation crept up her back. She narrowed her eyes and stared at the long, ugly scratch that ran the length of the driver’s side of the vehicle.

  “Isabeau.”

  Her stomach churned. An icy cold rage washed over her. She stepped forward, and ran the tips of her fingers over the scratch, measuring its depth. Her anger increased as she realized the scratch was deep enough she would have to call a body shop and schedule a repair. Her SUV was nine months old and someone had deliberately damaged it.

  “Isa,” Noah said again, and this time his tone penetrated.

  “What is it?” she asked, circling to the passenger side. “Another scratch?”

  A scowl on his face, he turned to her as she stepped to his side. “Someone scratched your vehicle?”

  “Yes.” She fisted her hand around her keys. “Damn it, it’s a bad one, too.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  “Maybe now would be a good time to tell me what Tommy said to you last night.”

  His abrupt change of subject made her extremely uncomfortable. “Why?”

  Her gaze followed his as it shifted to the front of her SUV. Her eyes narrowed. Then everything inside of her froze as she focused on the knife handle sticking out the side of her very flat tire.

  “Someone did more than scratch it, Isa.”

  ****

  “So you have no idea who would do this to your vehicle?”

  One of New York’s finest stood before Isabeau, looking pressed, polished, and in control while her nerves continued to two-step up and down her spine. Behind her, the man from her roadside assistance plan changed her tire, while Noah stood off to her left, engaged in conversation with this officer’s partner. “None.”

  “But you believe this is personal.”

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose it could be a random act, maybe bored kids.” She glanced up at the tall, slim officer with short-cropped brown hair and dark brown eyes. The name tag over the left pocket of his spotless uniform shirt read Grant. “Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact that I need a police report in order to get my insurance company to cover the repairs, I probably wouldn’t have reported this.”

  Officer Grant flashed her a smile. It was a nice smile. Even if it didn’t have the desired affect on her.

  “You did the right thing,” he said, his gaze moving over her face. “Not that I can’t imagine kids slashing tires for fun, but the knife being left like that feels a bit menacing.”

  She rubbed at the sudden chill in her arms.

  The officer’s smile melted into a frown as he focused on her left upper arm. “How long have you known him?”

  “Who?”

  He tipped his head in the direction of Noah, standing off to the side.

  “A few weeks.”

  Officer Grant kept his gaze on her face, frank and assessing, as he propped his hand on his utility belt. “He responsible for that bruise you’re sporting?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe he’s got a temper? Objected with a bit more force than necessary over something he perceived you did wrong?”

  She shook her head. “You’re right about the temper, but you’ve go
t the wrong man. Noah didn’t do this.”

  “Noah?”

  “Noah Clark.”

  He shifted his gaze. “As in Noah Clark, from Black Phoenix? I thought I recognized you.”

  You? She closed her eyes. She didn’t need to glance over her shoulder to know Noah had moved. Even knowing, she startled as his hand settled on her lower back.

  Nerves and desire mixed, sent her pulse skittering. She could have sworn the temperature in the parking structure shot up ten degrees.

  Officer Grant offered his hand. “I’ve been a fan of yours for years.”

  “Thank you,” Noah replied.

  “Are you planning anything new?”

  “There’s a new album in the works.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Keeping his hand firmly against her back, Noah leaned in. “Did you tell him about Tommy?”

  She opened her mouth, closed it. She couldn’t concentrate. Not when Noah touched her. She needed to step back, get away from this man who made her head spin. But every minute she spent in his company seemed to move them closer. A few hours ago he never would have reached for her as if he had every right to touch her. More importantly, she never would have let him.

  She forced herself to meet his unnerving green eyes. She shifted, but Noah didn’t remove his hand from her. Instead, her change in position shifted his hand higher on her spine. His fingers slid beneath her shirt and brushed across her bare skin.

  Longings sprang through her. She swallowed hard, shook her head and tried to stay on topic. “No.”

  He gave her a knowing look. “But you were planning to, right?”

  “I don’t know that he had anything to do with this.”

  “You don’t know that he didn’t.”

  Easing out a breath, she rubbed at the bruises on her arm. Despite the damage to her car, she wasn’t ready to give voice to the happenings of last night. Or to lay blame for the damage to her SUV at Tommy’s feet. “I won’t accuse him of anything.”

  “Then don’t make any accusations. Give the officer the information and let him take it from there.”

  Officer Grant looked from her to Noah, then back at her. “Who’s Tommy?”

  “Tommy Cahill,” Noah supplied.

  “Junior,” she quickly corrected. The last thing she needed was the police knocking on her father’s door instead of Tommy’s. “Tommy Cahill, Junior.”

  “Junior, got it. What did Junior do that I need to know about?”

  “He roughed her up last night,” Noah supplied when she didn’t respond quickly enough.

  Isabeau frowned at him.

  “He had a few words with her, too. She won’t share with me what he said, but I get the feeling it’s something you should hear.”

  “Ma’am?”

  She looked away. She hugged her arms around herself and shivered. Because suddenly, she was very, very cold.

  She’d looked Noah in the eye and denied Tommy’s words held any importance, because they’d been so painful she didn’t want to repeat them. Didn’t want him to know what Tommy said to her hurt more than his hand vised around her arm. That as an only child who’d lost her mother at twelve, she’d always hoped to form a bond with the son of the man she thought of as her father. Or that during those few minutes he’d had her pinned against the wall, Tommy shattered that optimism with more than cruel words.

  Tears welled up and she blinked them furiously away. His words didn’t matter. None of it did. From now on, she’d be more careful whenever Tommy was around—careful not to find herself in a position where he could get his hands on her.

  Or any other part of his anatomy.

  A wave of dizziness washed over her.

  “Whoa.” Noah shifted his hand from her back to snag her elbow. “That’s the second time today all the color has drained from your face at the mention of Tommy’s comments to you.”

  “It’s just…”

  “Ma’am, I think you should tell me what he said.”

  Her stomach cramped abruptly, bile climbed up the back of her throat. In her mind she replayed not just the hate-filled words, but the press of his erection against her abdomen as he snarled them.

  Shifting sideways, she made sure Noah no longer touched her as she repeated Tommy’s words verbatim. “ ‘You think you’re something special, don’t you, half-breed? You think you’re better than me? Because you’ve got my father’s affection? Let me tell you, you’re nothin’. Just the daughter of his dead whore girlfriend. A little half-breed nothin’.’ ”

  Noah’s body went tight as a bowstring. “Bastard.”

  “No, technically, that would be me.”

  “Isabeau,” he warned.

  “My parents weren’t married,” she explained, her focus now on Officer Grant. “I was a toddler when my mother moved in with Tommy’s father.”

  “Who is also your father?” the officer questioned.

  “Biologically, no. My father and Tommy’s are two different men, hence Tommy’s referring to my mother as a…It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters,” Noah argued.

  “No.” She closed her eyes, opened them. “They’re just angry words, spoken by a man who’d had too much to drink.”

  Noah reached out, tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Which is why you shouldn’t take them to heart.”

  “What he said is—”

  “Not true. Nothing he said is true, Isabeau.”

  “But it does tell me that Tommy Cahill, Junior, is someone I need to speak with,” Officer Grant stated. “A man with that kind of anger toward you wouldn’t hesitate to vandalize your vehicle.” He tipped his head toward his partner, who stood next to their cruiser. “My partner and I will check it out. When we find out anything, we’ll be in touch. In the meantime, a copy of the report will be available to you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” Her gaze tracked Officer Grant until he slid behind the wheel of his police cruiser and maneuvered out of the parking garage. She looked back at Noah.

  He’d narrowed the distance between them and now stood dangerously close to her. The fact that every nerve in her body scrambled had her desperate to step away. Then her lungs drew in the inviting scent of him, and she couldn’t bring herself to move.

  “He’s wrong,” he said, drawing the back of his fingers down her cheek.

  How did he do that? Take her from cold to hot with one touch? “Who’s wrong?”

  “Tommy. You are special.”

  Emotion clogging her throat, she stared at him.

  “You’re special to me.”

  Chapter Seven

  Isabeau stood at her kitchen sink, staring at the swirl of red as it washed down the drain. It was Thursday, her night off, and because she found it impossible to relax, she’d painted her bathroom. Every time she sat still for more than five minutes, her thoughts would drift to Noah, always to Noah. Even now, as she worked to rinse paint from the brush, his face slipped to the forefront of her mind. She saw his eyes, those striking green orbs that seemed to see right into her. She felt his hands on her back, the shock of electricity his touch sparked, and something inside of her quickened to a gallop.

  Even as her brain tried to warn her away.

  Thoughts of him kept stirring up feelings she didn’t want to examine too closely. Staring blankly while her mind raced, she worked to clear her thoughts of him. She focused on the music that drifted softly from the speakers around her apartment. But as the whiskey-smooth tenor crooned about being ready for love, sighed in defeat.

  She’d been happy with her life, content to mind her business when Noah walked through her door and smacked her between the eyes. He knocked her off kilter, made her feel unsettled and edgy. Made her think about things she hadn’t thought about in years, wish for things she couldn’t have. Not with him.

  Not with any man.

  Isabeau sighed. She flicked off the water. Turning, she leaned back against the counter and studied her surroundings. Thanks to
her restlessness, her apartment was spotless. Everywhere she looked surfaces gleamed and sparkled beneath the glow of recessed lighting. There was nothing left to dust or vacuum. Nothing left to keep her mind occupied, away from thoughts of the too-sexy singer.

  A knock sounded at the door. She frowned. Suddenly the music sounded louder, her body more sensitized. She knew before opening the door, the identity of her visitor. “Noah.”

  He stood with his shoulder against the doorjamb, legs crossed at the ankles, as he skimmed his gaze from her toes up her bare legs. His attention paused on her paint-splattered tank top and cut-off jean shorts before continuing to her eyes. “Hello.”

  She dragged in a breath as her nerves scrambled. Dark need stirred her blood. “Hi.”

  How could he look even sexier than the last time she’d seen him? It wasn’t possible. But he did. From the worn, comfortable jeans that hugged him in all the right places, to the green T-shirt that matched his eyes, the man looked sinfully good. She was still trying to absorb the effect he had on her nerves when he smiled. Damn him. His smile was wicked and cocksure.

  It took her breath away.

  “Should I have rung you first?”

  “What? No.” She stepped back and gestured with her hand. “Come on in.”

  He stepped inside, and she shut the door behind him. His gaze swept around the room before coming back to her. “Have you been painting?”

  Maybe she should have left the door open. Was it hot in here? “I painted the bathroom. How’d you know?”

  “I can smell it,” he replied. “Plus, you have a bit of red paint right…” He reached for her, the pad of his thumb brushing slowly across her collarbone. “Here.”

  Heat sizzled to life between them. Every cell in her body tingled. Her breath froze in her lungs. She felt herself leaning toward him. For her own peace of mind, she eased back.

  His hand dropped away. He frowned. “I didn’t get all of it.”

  She absently scrubbed at the spot. “It doesn’t matter. It’s latex paint, it will come off in the shower.”