by Grimm, Sarah
She swallowed hard, but the lump of emotion remained lodged in her throat. “I don’t much care for airplanes.”
“I know, luv.”
Chapter Eleven
Isabeau’s gaze moved between the numbers on the front of the house before her and the numbers on the napkin. Then, for the third time since watching the taxi driver pull away without a backward glance, she checked the street for a road sign. For something, anything that would assure her she was deciphering Dominic’s scrawl correctly. It was bad enough she’d failed to have him verbalize the address, but then she’d been so afraid she’d misplace the damn thing, she’d clutched it in her hand the entire flight. As a result the napkin was wrinkled and smudged, and half the ink now colored the palm of her left hand.
This was not her best moment.
Why had she listened to Dominic? She would have been better off getting a telephone number from him and calling Noah. But no, she’d made arrangements for the bar to be closed for a few days, cancelled deliveries and called employees. Then she’d tossed clothes into her carry-on luggage and boarded a plane.
A chill walked down her spine. The greasy ball of fear remained in her belly even though the flight was over. Flying. What could be worse?
Oh, yeah. How about standing before two similar yet detached three-story brick homes on a London street, unable to tell whether the last digit of the address was a four or a nine? To say that she was suddenly questioning the intelligence of her rash decision and last-minute trip would be an understatement.
With a sigh, she carried her luggage to the front step of the house whose street number ended in a nine and reached for the brass knocker centered in the oak paneled door. Before her fingers curled around the knocker, the door swung open.
She stepped back reflexively, knocking over her suitcase in her haste. “Hello, um, I’m looking for the Clark home.”
The woman who stepped outside looked to be in her early sixties. Her gray hair in curlers, she scrutinized Isabeau from head to toe and back again in the amount of time it took her to pull the door mostly closed behind her. “Are you expected?”
She did her best not to squirm. “Actually, no. My name is Isabeau Montgomery. I know you don’t know me, but I’m looking for Noah.” She was stammering, but couldn’t seem to stop the flow of words once they started. “Dom wrote out the address for me, but I can’t quite make out this last part.”
The woman was watching her carefully. Isabeau held out the napkin. “Can you tell me if I’m in the right general area?”
Honestly, she expected the woman to step back into the house and close the door in her face. It was early yet, the sunlight just beginning to rise over the houses at her back and slant across the doorstep. Instead, the woman settled her hand on Isabeau’s wrist. “You know Dominic?”
She wasn’t used to strangers touching her. She stood there, absorbing the shock and the surprising comfort in the woman’s touch. The knot in her stomach loosened a fraction. “Yes. I don’t mean to intrude, I—”
“Your hands are like ice, dear. Are you all right?”
“She doesn’t like to fly.”
The deep, masculine voice drew Isabeau’s attention up and over the woman’s shoulder. The door remained open a scant four inches. Centered in an archway between the entryway of the house and what appeared to be a formal dining room stood Noah. His gaze locked on her, expression neutral.
“It’s more like I’m terrified of flying,” she admitted softly. He looked worn-out, his eyes slightly bloodshot and shadowed enough to indicate he hadn’t slept much in the few days he’d been gone. The stubble along his jaw remained, thickened now but still unable to disguise the lines of exhaustion at the corners of his unsmiling mouth.
Anxiety warred with an intense relief that she was at the right house.
“Yet you obviously spent the better part of nine hours on a plane,” he replied evenly.
Oh God, she wished she could gauge his reaction to her sudden arrival. But his expression gave nothing away.
“About ten actually.” There was that hour her plane sat on the runway waiting to take off, while every horrible thing she could imagine going wrong danced through her mind like an in-flight movie. “I had this crazy idea that you might need a friend right about now.”
“Did you?”
He didn’t tell her she was mistaken. He just looked at her some more.
Her right hand clenched around the strap of her tote, her fingers dug into the supple leather.
“Mum, are you going to let Isabeau in, or did you plan on making her stand out on the street all day?”
Relief filled her. She didn’t have to return to the airport. Long Island City. Alone.
Noah’s mom blinked, took a quick look at her son. “Isabeau, you say?” She looked back at Isabeau, the most peculiar expression on her face. “You’re a friend of Noah’s?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I see.” Was that amusement shining in her gaze? “Come inside dear, let me take that bag for you. I’ll place it in the other room.”
“Thank you, Mrs.—”
“Call me Emily, dear, everyone does.” Smiling broadly, she picked up Isabeau’s carry-on and walked off, leaving her and Noah standing silently across the entryway from each other.
The silence stretched, grew. Unable to take it any longer, Isabeau spoke. “Your mom seems nice.”
Noah stood in the archway and drank in the sight of her. He’d been thinking about her all morning, and here she was. In the flesh. In his parent’s home. Flustered and so damn radiant in her simple white cotton dress that he damn near cried.
He managed to save himself from that humiliation. Barely. “You’re…” He struggled to rein in his scattered thoughts. A part of him wondered if she was truly there, or a figment of his exhausted mind. “You got on a plane? For me?”
“The guys couldn’t be here for you. I could.”
His eyes began to burn. Damn it. He was going to humiliate himself after all. “What about the bar?”
“I couldn’t get hold of Clint before I left, so I closed it.” Her fingers clenched and unclenched. As the leather tote she carried slipped off her shoulder, she eased it to the floor near her feet. “Look, if I was too presumptuous, I can leave. Tell me to go.”
“Stay,” he countered instantly, then swallowed against the tightness that had settled in his throat. How had she known how much he needed her?
Noah spent the last few days in a fog of grief so complete it consumed him. He’d done everything humanly possible to get home before his grandfather died. In the end, he’d missed seeing Henry one last time by a few lousy hours. The ache inside him was total. He needed sleep, desperately, but every time he closed his eyes, the pain of loss swelled. Alone in his bed, he longed for Isabeau. Her touch. Her comfort. She understood grief. She’d lost someone, too. In the dark, he’d reach for the phone and punch in her number.
Only to hang up before the first ring, for fear the sound of her voice wouldn’t be enough and he would find himself reduced to begging.
“Noah?”
Here she stood; the answer to his prayers. Every fiber of his being wanted to close the three-foot gap between them and pull her into his arms. He remained rooted in place. What the hell was wrong with him?
He closed his eyes and shook his head in defeat. As the silence settled around him, he feared the worst. Body tight, he waited for the click of the door, the echo of her heels retreating up the walk.
Her cheek settled on his chest, directly above his heart. Arms circled his waist, bringing her body flush against him.
“Isa.” His breath left him in a rush. He set his hands on her shoulders, smoothed them down her back, and took up fistfuls of her dress as he buried his face in her hair and breathed her in.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
The fit was perfect. Her scent familiar. “Let me hold you, for a minute.”
“Okay.” She shifted even closer and hel
d him, as tightly as he held her.
Minutes passed. Neither moved. Slowly, his heart rate returned to normal. The tension he’d been carrying around for days, eased ever so slightly. He released the tight hold on her dress and smoothed his right hand up her back to cradle her head in his palm. Turning his head, he pressed his lips to the soft tendrils of ebony hair that shadowed her temple. “Thank you.”
“You can hold me anytime.”
“I meant for coming to London.”
She eased back and met his gaze. “I didn’t know if I’d be welcome.” Her left hand raised to push his too-long hair out of his eyes before cupping the side of his face. “But I needed to see you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you going through this alone.”
He gazed into her impossibly beautiful eyes and his heart engaged. “You’re an incredible woman, Isabeau Montgomery.”
Linking their fingers, he shifted her hand from his cheek to his mouth, pressed a kiss into the center of her palm. A ripple of satisfaction moved through him when her eyes drifted shut.
“Hmm, why do you say that?” she murmured.
His thumb caressed the spot his lips had just been, back and forth over her scars. “You’re the only person I know who would put her business on hold and her fears aside for me.”
An emotion flashed through her eyes, one he couldn’t identify. “I doubt that.”
“It’s true.”
“I understand grief. How...important...having someone to talk to can be. That doesn’t make me special.”
“Of course it does.” A strand of her hair slid along his jaw as his lips brushed her temple, then drifted toward her ear. Her fingers flexed around his thumb.
Rough bumps pebbled her palm. He lifted his head. When he discovered the heel of her hand torn and swollen, he reached for her other hand. It looked only slightly better.
“What happened to you?”
“I took a tumble.”
He looked her over. Both hands were scraped, and there was a bandage on her left elbow. “How badly were you injured?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him. She slid her hands from his and settled them on his chest. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “A few scrapes. I’m far more traumatized by the fact that you’ve yet to kiss me.”
“Are you?”
“Oh, yes.”
He curled his hand around the back of her neck and eased her closer. With his free hand, he cupped her chin, then ran the pad of his thumb along the curve of her bottom lip.
Her lips parted. Her eyes flashed a very pale blue.
He dipped his head, and she met him halfway. A jolt went through him at the first brush of her mouth against his. He stroked his hand down her back, palming her ass as he did his best to inhale her whole.
“Noah, Mum’s wondering if…”
Shit.
Isabeau startled, pushing against his chest until he was forced to release her. Over her head, he locked eyes with his brother, Paul. “You always did have rotten timing.”
“What can I say, it’s a gift.” Paul turned his head, his gaze slowly sliding over Isabeau as she leaned down and plucked her tote off the floor. “Maybe if you chose a better place than the front entry to greet your guest, you wouldn’t get interrupted.”
“Isn’t that where you’re supposed to greet a guest, the entryway?” Noah watched and waited, wondering how long it would take for Paul to realize the identity of the woman he openly scrutinized. Mum had done it on purpose, of course, sent Paul to fetch them. It was no secret how his brother felt about a young pianist named Isabeau Montgomery.
“I couldn’t help myself,” Noah said unapologetically. “I’m sure you understand.”
Isabeau straightened. She pushed her dark hair over her shoulder and away from her face. Her gaze settled on Paul, her mouth curved in a warm smile. “Hello, you must be Noah’s brother, Paul.”
Paul took the hand she offered. “I am, how’d…” His jaw went slack.
“You have the same eyes.”
“Bugger me!” Paul muttered.
“Excuse me?” Isabeau questioned.
Noah laughed for the first time in days. Laughed. He slipped his arm around Isa and pulled her into his side. “You’ll have to excuse my brother,” he explained as Paul began to stutter. “Mum dropped him on his head when he was a babe.”
“I can see that.”
“You’re…Isabeau Montgomery.” Stunned didn’t begin to describe Paul’s expression.
“Yes, I am.”
“Wow.” Paul blinked. “Wow.”
Noah glanced pointedly at his brother’s hand. “You can let her go now, Paul.”
“What? Oh, sorry.” Releasing her hand, Paul straightened. “What are you doing here?”
“She’s here for me.”
Paul shook his head. He cast an accusatory glance at Noah. “I hate you. You know that, don’t you? I’ve never liked you.”
“That’s a bit harsh.”
Isabeau raised an eyebrow. “Am I missing something?”
“Paul’s a fan of yours.”
“And?”
“And he’s a no-good, stinking rock singer,” Paul exclaimed.
Beneath his palm, her spine straightened to its full height—all of five foot three inches. She was going to tear into Paul. And damn if that didn’t do something for him. “He’s only joking. He loves me.”
“I’m not,” Paul argued, but his grin belied his words. “You’re…what could you possibly see in him?”
Isabeau turned her gaze to Noah. She looked him over, slowly, intensely. A smile curved her lips, warmed his blood.
Paul’s brow furrowed. “I don’t want to know, do I? Forget I asked.”
Isabeau’s smile broadened.
Noah tried to laugh, but the sound stuck in his throat. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the rest of my family before Mum sends anyone else looking for us.”
****
“I like your family,” Isabeau said, a few steps behind Noah as he led her up the stairs to her room for the night. She glanced at the photographs that lined the wall on her right, thinking she should take the time for a closer look. Perhaps tomorrow, after the funeral.
“I believe the feeling’s mutual.”
“You’re a lot like your father.”
A bit of an understatement. It was shocking how much like Colin Clark his son was. Not only did they share the same build, the same striking green eyes and charming smile, but both had similar temperaments.
Paul, on the other hand, was a different story. “Your brother is a character.”
“Yeah, he is,” Noah replied dully.
She glanced up at him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He stopped in the middle of the second floor hallway, and checked over his shoulder. She did the same, even though she knew everyone else remained downstairs.
“Paul isn’t himself. He’s not usually so quiet, not like Dad and me.”
If today was Paul quiet…wow. He’d bantered good-naturedly with his younger brother more than once today, getting Noah to laugh. Spent over an hour talking with her about music, his likes and dislikes, and its effect on his life. There’d only been a few times that he had grown quiet, appearing to become lost in thought. “I thought he was very talkative.”
“He’s usually more like Mum.”
“Oh,” she replied as understanding struck. Emily Clark was anything but quiet. Kind and gregarious, she was a lady who could talk a person to death. Isabeau already had a great fondness for her. “Your mother’s wonderful.”
Noah smiled and gestured for her to precede him into the room “I wish I knew what was wrong with Paul.”
“Noah, everyone handles grief differently.”
“It’s more than that. There’s something going on between him and Anne.”
Yes, there was. And although she’d only just met the couple, she had her suspicions about what that something was.
When Noah had introduced her to his sister-in-law,
she hadn’t been surprised by the woman’s stunning beauty, or the fact that Noah wasn’t the only Clark who apparently preferred blondes. She had been surprised that although Anne was genuinely kind to Isabeau, she grew distant whenever her husband was near. Then there were the times Anne would go pale as a sheet and rush from the room. Although Paul showed concern as he tracked his wife’s abrupt exit, he never followed her.
“Has she said anything about—” Her words died abruptly as Noah closed the door, stepped past her, and pulled his shirt off over his head. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready for bed. I’m exhausted.”
He looked exhausted. But that wasn’t what had her mind blanking. She managed to drag her eyes away from all that naked skin long enough to take in the room more completely. Her suitcase rested atop the full size bed, evidence that she was meant to sleep in this room. However, the black leather duffel bag she’d watched him hurriedly stuff clothes into the other day sat on the floor, next to a dresser topped with a scattering of his personal items. “Is this your room?”
“Yes.”
Her gaze returned to him and her breath shuddered out. He’d tossed the shirt carelessly across the chair at his right, and was busy undoing his jeans.
“Oh, no. No, I don’t think so.” Spinning around, she reached for the handle on the door, gave it a twist and pulled.
He slapped his palm against the door just to the left of her head. The knob slid from her fingers. The door closed with a snap. “Where are you going?”
“I can’t sleep in the same room as you.”
“Why not?” With his hand above her head, he leaned in, effectively trapping her between his body and the door. His musky scent enveloped her. His warm chest pressed against the back of her arms.
“This is where your mother put my bag? We’re not…You can’t let her think…”
“That I want you in my bed? I do want you in my bed.”
Oh, God. The raw hunger in his voice had her eyes drifting shut. For a moment, everything else faded away as she imagined his weight pressing down on her, those long fingered hands gripping her hips as his hard-as-a-rock body slid over her. Into her.