“Why can’t I drink beer?” I finally respond after what feels like an eternity of silence spearing the room.
“Well, you were drinking a martini the first night I met you.”
I take the Corona and grasp the cold bottle, hoping that simply holding it will help lower my temperature a little. I actually don’t like beer. It’s only in my fridge because Rachel was here the other night and she likes the stuff. But I’m stubborn and don’t want to tell him he’s right about me.
He positions himself across from me, mimicking my stance by leaning against the other counter. He’s maybe two feet away, and it becomes a challenge to not drink in the sight of him. His skin is bronzed, and I’m betting he didn’t earn that color by lounging by pools or lying in a tanning booth.
He has a straight nose, great bone structure with a strong chin, and a beard coming in.
I think back to that tattoo of his—wanting to take off his shirt and study it.
A tingling heat wraps around my limbs as I watch his throat as he swallows.
Noah folds his arms across his chest, the bottle resting against his bicep, and I force my gaze to remain on his face instead of memorizing his sculpted arms.
Who am I kidding? I cataloged every inch of him the other night. His body is stored in a permanent file in my brain, and I have no intention of deleting it.
“So, you remember what I was drinking, huh?” I set down my beer and toy with the pearl strands on my neck.
He grins and taps his temple. “Steel trap. I remember everything.”
I smile back but feel a tightness in my chest. Desire.
I push away from the counter and go to the wall of windows, stepping over the construction materials, careful not to hurt my bare feet. The place is a bit of a mess now, but it’s starting to come together. He’s building a bookshelf on one of the walls surrounding the fireplace. Plus, he’s altering a few other things in the living area. Next, he’ll be ripping apart the kitchen. I need something lighter—fresher.
My arms slide up and across my chest, a coldness emerging inside me as I gaze out at the city. “Where do you live?”
I’ve never had an issue with small talk before, but for some reason, I can’t figure out what to say to this man. Maybe the memory of our first meeting is still in my mind—when he told me I wasn’t his type. I mean, he’s not allowed to be my type. And he’s remodeling my house, so why his rejection bothers me is beyond me.
Noah is standing next to me now, and he touches the window with his index finger, pointing toward something. “I live on the Hudson.”
“But homes there are expen—” I stop myself, not wanting to sound like a bitch.
“I live on a boat at the docks.”
Goose bumps cover my arms at his words. “I hate the water,” I say, without thinking first.
“Really?” He takes a swig of his beer as our eyes connect in the window. “Why?”
“Um.” Why did I have to open my mouth? I don’t tell people this about me. I always use excuses to back out of any plans that involve lakes, rivers, or oceans. I’m not supposed to have weaknesses. I’m a Parker-King.
“You’re afraid of water or…?” He’s giving me the chance to finish, to share, but I hesitate and take a couple of steps back.
“I don’t like the unknown,” I say softly. “I hate not being able to see what lies beneath the surface.”
It’s the truth. A watered-down version of the truth.
“Hmm.” His palm touches the window as his bottle rests against the side of his jeaned thigh. “Sometimes what’s beneath the surface is worth getting to know.”
I stare out the window and off into the distance. The moon falls like a soft glow over the city—and I’d almost swear the light finds him too.
“But sometimes what’s beneath the surface is ugly,” he adds in a deep voice, emotion threading his words.
It’s hard for me to believe this tough guy has been hurt before, but there’s a definite pain there, and I don’t think it’s from his time in the military.
“Do you think it’s worth the risk, though?”
Noah takes a drink and turns to face me. “Sometimes.”
He angles his head and closes the small gap between us.
I feel awkward. I don’t know what to do with my hands or how to stand. These aren’t feelings I’m accustomed to. I’m self-assured and confident.
Except that when my life flashed before my eyes in that hotel in Athens, I realized I don’t have a damn clue who I am, only who I’ve been pretending to be for twenty-nine years.
“Were you a Marine?” I need to change the topic. I barely know this man, and somehow I think we just drifted into deep territory that neither of us was prepared for.
Noah scrubs a hand down his jaw. We’re standing in front of each other like two teenagers waiting for the other to make the first move. But that’s ridiculous, because we don’t know each other, and whatever I’m feeling for this guy is purely physical. And maybe he doesn’t even have any interest in me. Maybe he wasn’t lying when he said I wasn’t his type.
“I was a SEAL,” he says at last.
“Really?” A grin sneaks up on me. “You guys are kind of badass, or so I hear.”
His mouth broadens into a deep smile. “Only kind of?”
Part of me wants to slip my hands up his chest because that feels like the natural thing to do.
There’s this tight band of tension between us, and I take a breath and release it as I wait for that tension to snap.
Is he going to kiss me?
His eyes are on my lips, and I instinctively wet them. The muscles in my stomach tighten as I find my gaze steadying on his mouth. The dark scruff around his lips—he has that sexy kind of dangerous look…but I can tell this man is only dangerous because he’s forbidden.
I close my eyes and wait. I want to be someone else right now. Someone who is allowed to feel something real.
At the sound of Noah clearing his throat, my eyelids flutter open and my cheeks warm.
“Shit.”
Not the word I was expecting.
“I’m supposed to be somewhere in an hour. I almost forgot.” He looks down at his clothes. “I better go get cleaned up first.”
I don’t totally lose my mind and offer to let him shower here. But that’d be an amazing sight to see, right? This guy’s rippled flesh as water glides over his muscles and down to between his hard thighs.
I blink the images from my mind and force a nod. “Okay. Well, I guess you’ll be back on Monday?”
He glances around the apartment. “Yeah. I’ll probably be able to start on the kitchen by Wednesday.”
This is good. We’re talking about the real reason why he’s here. I need to get my head screwed back on straight.
“You’ve done a great job so far,” I say when I look at the bookshelves, which he’s hand-carved. “Impressive.”
Maybe I’ll even buy some books and start reading again. It’s been years since I’ve read anything other than business journals or annual reports.
“Thanks. I mentioned to Bella you’re living here during the remodel, but she was wondering if when we’re almost done in a few weeks, you could spend a couple of nights out. She wants to do a big reveal with the decorations, but it’s obviously up to you.”
I smile. “Sure. I think I can handle that. Just let me know when you need to kick me out.”
He nods and starts to swivel on his heel to turn, but he stops. “You want to come out? You’re friends with Jessica and Luke Scott, right? They recommended my sis for the job, I think. Well, we’re meeting up with them if you’d like to come.”
I was planning on seeing them this weekend anyway, I rationalize. Wanting to go tonight has nothing to do with the fact I want to spend a little more time with Noah. And that I don’t want to be alone.
“Sure. Where?”
He smiles. “My sister said she’ll be texting me the address right before. She’s being a little w
eird about it. I’m hoping she’s not planning something for my birthday.”
My mouth goes round in surprise. “Today is your birthday?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “And this is the first birthday I’ll have spent stateside in years, so I have a feeling Bella is up to something.”
“Wow.”
He waves dismissively. “It’s no big deal. But, uh, if you want to stay with me—I just need to go shower and change, then we can go together.” He smiles. “I promise I’m safe.”
Yeah, I’ll take my chances with a SEAL over being alone in New York any day.
My lip catches between my teeth as I find myself staring at him again. At his arms now. “Let me just throw on something a little more fun.”
6
Noah
This was supposed to be my first birthday with Lily.
I’ve been home for one of hers and two of Cindy’s since Lily was born. None of mine, though. And to be honest, I couldn’t give a fuck about my birthday. It just means another year older. But it would have been nice to spend it with my daughter.
Thirty-two years on this planet. Almost half of them spent with a woman who is now getting married to a rich broker.
But if it weren’t for Cindy, I wouldn’t have Lily.
And now who knows what will happen since Cindy and I will be battling in court…I have to win, though. Any other option is unacceptable.
My phone vibrates, alerting me to a message. Bella’s texted me the address, although she didn’t mention the name of the place we’re going to. If it’s some crazy club like Cam dragged me to, that would be why she’s leaving that info out.
I tap my thighs as I wait for Grace to come out of her bedroom. I have no idea what possessed me to invite her tonight. I’m not ready to date again. And even if I were, it wouldn’t be with someone like her.
Okay, so I shouldn’t hold it against her that she’s insanely rich, but the idea of the two of us ever becoming anything is more than a stretch of the imagination.
There’s tension, though. I’ve felt it since the moment I was drawn to her at the bar. She’s gorgeous, no denying. And although we haven’t spoken much, I can feel she’s layered. And intense. There’s a lot more to her than looks and money.
But I seriously doubt she’s the kind of woman who’d let a man like me screw her and that’s it. Because that’s all I have to offer.
When I look up from the hardwood, Grace is standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
She’s in nude heels, and my gaze glides up from her slender ankles, over her tan and toned legs, to the hem of her cream dress. It’s sleek and classy and sexy as fuck. It’s strapless, showcasing the curves of her breasts like a cherry perched on a sundae—she’s utterly perfect.
Her hair is down now. It’s like silk, brownish-blond and wavy, falling over her shoulders. She looks like she belongs at the beach—she just needs to lose that dress.
She’s unbelievable.
And out of my fucking league.
I clear my throat and look away for a moment, hoping to still my sudden hard-on. I don’t normally go balls-out, full-on crazy about a woman from just a glimpse of her in a dress.
She moves toward me, and when I drag my gaze back up, I find her eyes practically glowing. It’s probably due to the touch of glittery eyeshadow she’s now wearing, and it gives her an otherworldly look, like a princess from the fairy tale book I read Lily last week.
Lily.
My daughter—the number one reason I can’t fuck up my focus. She’s all that matters. My cock needs to stay inside my pants and away from women right now.
“Is this okay? I didn’t know how to dress since I don’t know where we’re going,” she says softly, and she looks so much more fragile than before.
“I think you could wear anything and look perfect.” I can’t even lie to this woman. She’s the kind of woman who can see through bullshit, so why not be honest? Why play games? I wasted too much of my life being with someone who was wearing a coat of lies—the truth is freeing.
“Thank you.” A touch of red slips up to her cheeks and the innocence is captivating, especially on such a powerful woman. It makes me almost forget that we’re from two different worlds.
Almost.
“I better hurry and get changed too. I got the address from Bella. I don’t know the name of the place, but it’s only a few blocks from my boat.”
“Okay. Uh, you sure you don’t mind me coming with you?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I did.” I smile. “Let’s go.”
She’s holding a small silver clutch, and I extend my arm, motioning for her to walk ahead. When we reach the street, I hail a taxi, and neither of us speaks until we’re tucked inside.
“Have you always lived in New York?” I ask.
She peers out the window for a moment, then her eyes catch mine when she looks my way. “I spent most of my life at a boarding school in Switzerland.”
“Are you shitting me?” I don’t know why I find this hard to believe, but I can’t imagine that parents really send their kids off to be taught by foreigners.
She tucks a strand of hair behind her right ear, and I see a large diamond stud there.
“That explains your lack of an accent.” I wink at her.
“My accent?”
“You don’t sound like a New Yorker.” I press my palms to my jeans as my eyes focus on the edge of her dress, which has slipped higher since we’re in the backseat of the taxi. I wonder if she’s a runner.
“Well, of the two of us, you have the accent.”
I should look her in the eyes now. “I guess even being overseas the last decade didn’t kill the Southern in me.”
“Does that go for all things?” She turns to fully face me, her shoulder brushing mine as she does so.
“Which would be?”
She wets her lips. “Being a gentleman. Having manners. Country music. Sweet tea and kindness…”
I grin. “Oh? Stereotypes?”
“Mm. So those things aren’t true? Damn.”
This woman is night-and-day different from when I met her at that stuffy bar. Maybe she was on edge that night. Maybe this is who she really is—or maybe I’m getting played again. I’m too out of practice, and I’m not exactly trusting of the opposite sex after Cindy.
But what does it matter? I work for this woman. End of story. Period.
“I do listen to country, but I don’t drink sweet tea. And although I have a sailor’s mouth, I try my best to be polite,” I finally answer.
“Do you have a cowboy hat and boots?”
I shake my head. “I’m from Tennessee, not the Wild West.”
Her mouth opens, and a gorgeous smile sweeps across her face. She lowers her head a little, looking up at me from hooded eyes. Does she have any idea how damn sexy she looks right now? For a moment, I almost think we’re two strangers sharing a cab ride. Two normal people who don’t come with pasts. Although I don’t know what hers is, I’m betting it’s interesting.
“What?” I’m smiling now. It’s contagious.
She takes a deep breath, and I watch as her chest rises, the swell of her flesh moving as she releases a lungful of air. Then she looks down at her lap as if embarrassed. “Nothing.”
“Oh, come on. It’s my birthday. You can’t leave a man hanging like this.”
We roll up to the curb near the entrance to the docks, and she looks over her shoulder at me as she reaches for the door handle. “I just think the cowboy thing is too bad.”
Her smooth voice has the hairs on the back of my neck on end. “Let me. I gotta keep up with the rep of a Southern gentleman and all.” I grin and get out of the car.
I offer her my hand once I’ve opened the door, and her face is radiant as she looks up at me when rising out of the car. Maybe it’s the way the light from the street lamp is pouring over us, enveloping her as though she’s beneath the spotlight on a runway—but to me, she looks like an angel. A beautiful and per
fect creature, and it takes my fucking breath away.
I press a fist to my mouth and fake a cough, stepping back from her on the sidewalk. This is so damn awkward. We’re not on a date or something, but seriously, I haven’t been on a date since Cindy in high school. I can take down a target with a sniper—no problem. I can choke out a group of terrorists from a cell in under two minutes.
But talk to a woman like Grace? Well, shit, I’m in uncharted territory. And she thought I was playing some game at the bar that night. Yeah, sure.
I take note of how her eyes have settled over my shoulder, observing the Hudson. There’s a tepidness to her now and in the way she stands; her shoulders have dropped into a sloping line. “You okay to walk on the dock?”
“As long as you don’t go throwing me in the water, I’ll be okay,” she says, but her voice falters a little.
Bringing her here might have been a mistake. “Here.”
I’m probably nuts, but I hold my hand out, offering it to her. She looks at my open palm as if unsure, then she finally allows me to tighten my hand over hers. We don’t lace fingers—this isn’t meant to be romantic—yet as I walk her to my boat, I can’t help but feel some strange pull of emotions travel up my arm and splinter throughout my body.
“This is me,” I say once we reach my boat.
“It’s nice.”
She’s probably being polite. The speed boat is small, and not only is it not, in fact, speedy, it barely moves. I had to have someone deliver it to the docks. The navy-blue paint is chipping, the color faded…some of the wood is rotting.
I shouldn’t have bought it, but I guess living on a boat reminded me of being a SEAL.
“Who’s Madeline?” She points at the name in white cursive on the side of the boat.
“The previous owner’s late wife. He wanted the boat to go to a good home, and I promised I’d fix it up, but now—” I stop myself.
“Now what?” She looks at me.
I glance at our clasped hands, realizing I’m still holding on to her as if it’s the natural thing to do. I should let go, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do it.
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