by RC Boldt
Except for the man standing before me. Which is why I manage to swallow past the lump of nervousness in my throat and say the next words.
“Want to come in?”
There’s the briefest pause—like he’s caught between surprise and uncertainty—before his lips curve upward and the look he gives makes my heart skip a beat. Because it’s a look he’s never given me before.
Although small, it’s one of those rare, genuine smiles. The one I’ve seen him bestow upon his sister and mother, but never before on me. Leaning in with a sexy smirk, one hand cradling the side of my face, he whispers, “Is the Pope Catholic?”
“Ah, we’ve got a comedian on our hands, do we?” I whisper back.
He gives me a playful swat on the ass. “Unlock the door, woman.” His stern expression is at odds with the humor lighting up his eyes.
After unlocking the door and disarming the alarm, he ensures we’re safely inside before securing the lock on the door, once again. I slide off my wedge heels onto the doormat, spotting the package he’d brought me earlier. Picking it up, I walk down the hall to set my keys and purse on the kitchen counter before tearing open the package. “What is this, by the way?”
When he comes up behind me, his voice is gravelly and deep. “Just some replacement items.”
What spills out of the package isn’t at all what I expect. Because, holy crap. Foster Kavanaugh had apparently taken it upon himself to buy me replacements for the bras, panties, and other lingerie Brad had destroyed. And they are exquisite; far nicer than anything I could ever afford. Or would purchase and still be able to sleep at night, knowing how much money I’d spent on something so frivolous.
“Foster,” I breathe out in part wonder and awe. “I can’t accept this. It’s too much.” Turning to stare at him, I’m stunned he did this for me.
“It’s not too much. It’s beautiful.” His eyes dart away and he runs a hand over his close-cropped hair as if nervous, before finishing with, “like you.”
He just had to go and say that. Damn it. No wonder he gets all kinds of crazy action with the ladies. Which spurs on my next question.
Head tipped to the side, I say, “Do you do this for all of the women you sleep with?”
His eyes snap to mine and there’s an array of emotions flickering over his face, none of them lasting long enough for me to identify. Finally, holding my gaze, he answers, “I’ve never bought a woman this kind of thing before.”
“Ah.” I look away, trying to brush off the moment. “So this is a first, then. What? Did it not go well with the last woman?”
“I haven’t slept with anyone in well over six months.” My eyes fly to his in shock, and I see a similar look on his face, as if he’s surprised by disclosing that, too.
Trying to play it off, I give a little laugh. “Oh, dear. Are you having some erectile dysfunction? Trouble getting it up? You should probably see a doctor for that. You know they make those little, blue pills—”
At once, I’m crowded against my kitchen counter, his body pressing firmly against mine before lifting me upon the counter. “Does it feel like I have trouble getting it up?” He nudges my legs apart to nestle between them, rocking his hard cock into me right where I ache for him. “Does it feel like I have any issues?”
“Mmm.” My response is breathy, and I’m having trouble maintaining composure. “Not too sure. Think I might have to do a more thorough inspection.”
His lips curve up before dipping his head to brush his lips against the column of my neck. “Inspect away, Davis.” His teeth nip at me, and I let out a tiny moan. “Inspect away.”
Somehow, though, certain thoughts worm their way to the forefront of my mind. They’re powerful enough to nudge aside the lust and desire I’m feeling for Foster. Because let’s be real; I’m a woman and emotions play a role in everything I do. It’s how I’m made. And that’s why I feel the need to have my question answered.
Leaning away slightly, I meet his eyes, speaking softly. I hate the way my voice sounds so small and vulnerable. “Are you doing this because you haven’t had any action in a while? Because from what I know,” I glance away, “you don’t even like me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Foster
I can’t believe she just said, or asked me that. Yet, another part of me can. It’s not like I’ve given her any indication otherwise for the past year. Hearing the wary, vulnerable quality in her voice makes me feel like an even bigger asshole.
“I mean, maybe this is one of those I want what I can’t have kind of things for you. Wanting what’s not necessarily readily available.” Her words stop me in my tracks, digging beneath my skin.
My hand goes to her chin, tipping it up, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Let’s get one thing straight. I don’t believe there’s anything that could make me not want you.” I pause to let that sink in. My next words come out in a husky whisper. “If you want to know the truth, deep down, I’ve always wanted you, Noelle.” The conflict is apparent in her blue eyes so I push even further. Taking her hand, I place it over my pants where my hardened cock is pressing against the fabric.
“This is what you do to me. And I don’t want—haven’t wanted—anyone except you. I get we’ve both got shit going on in our lives, but I’ll be honest with you and say I’m having a really rough time not pushing you up against the nearest wall and having my way with you.”
“That’s probably not wise since—”
“And that’s only the beginning, until I get you in the bedroom where I can spread you out and have my way with you. Over and over again.”
“—you’re my boss.”
“You’re off the clock. What’s your excuse now?”
A myriad of emotions flicker across her face. “I don’t want you to treat me differently if we do this.”
Holding her gaze, my lips curve up. “You want me to harass you, as much as usual, at work?”
She huffs out a short laugh. “You know what I mean. I don’t want people to think I’m sleeping with the boss to get preferential treatment.”
Leaning toward her, I let my lips trail over her cheek and down the graceful column of her neck. “Oh, but you’ll be getting preferential treatment … in the bedroom.”
“Foster?” Her tentative tone makes me lift my head to look at her. “I’m … scared.” Her eyes are so blue and direct, holding both hesitation and fear in them. “I don’t want to get hurt.” She pauses and her next words come out in a barely audible whisper. “I’m trusting you not to hurt me.”
I’m trusting you not to hurt me. Those whispered words strike me to the core. I know she isn’t a woman who trusts easily. Yet, here she is, putting her trust in me. That I won’t hurt her, betray her like the asshole she’d been with.
“There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do to protect you.” My words are sure, firm, and they appear to strike a chord with her because in the next moment, she reaches up to wrap an arm around my neck, our lips meeting in a heated kiss.
Bringing her body flush against mine, my arm slides around her, cupping her luscious ass, tugging her against me as my other hand delves into her blond locks. Rocking my arousal against her core, I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding in to spar with hers.
When she lets out a tiny moan, it spurs me on. Lifting her up with the intention to carry her down the hall to her bedroom, her legs immediately wrap around my waist.
Just as I take one step in the direction of the hallway, a loud crash and shattering of glass sounds, and I immediately bring us down behind the small kitchen island. Maintaining my hold on Noelle, I listen for signs of entry into the house, but hear nothing. Reaching into my pocket, I call Ty who picks up far quicker than I expect, thank God.
“Fos?”
“Sounded like something large came crashing through one of the front windows of Noelle’s place just now. We’ve only been home a short time.”
“No entry?”
“Not as of right now.”
“Sit tight. It’s been another slow night so I can head over in a minute.” There’s a pause. “You carrying?”
Letting out a sigh, I answer him, pissed at myself. “Not currently.”
“All right. Thomasino’s coming with me. I might have some boards we could use to temporarily secure the window. I’ll bring those with us. See you shortly.”
Once I end the call, I concentrate on the fact that I have a woman in my arms who is trembling in fear and far too quiet.
“Ty and his buddy are on the way.” I run a soothing hand over her back, noting the rigidness of her spine, which is likely due to the combination of the fear and adrenaline that rush through the body in a situation like this. “Shh. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” I speak quietly, pressing my lips to the top of her hair, relishing in the silkiness of it.
I’ve determined no one has entered the house, but I’m not sure I can untangle myself from her death grip to go and inspect anything. It had sounded as if one of the windows in the small spare bedroom facing the front of the house had been damaged. Knowing Ty and his buddy are on their way over in official capacity, I’ll hunker down and try to offer her some comfort.
Continuing to run my hand over her back as I hold her, shifting into a more comfortable position with her on my lap, I’m hit with two startling realizations.
I’ve begun to get attached to the spitfire of a woman in my arms—far more attached than I’ve ever permitted myself to get—and there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to keep her safe. But I also can’t help but feel like fate somehow intervened on Noelle’s behalf tonight, throwing up a road block as if to say, Hey, Kavanaugh? Did you forget that you’re no good for her?
Doesn’t mean I don’t want to tell fate to fuck off, though.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Noelle
“That was one hell of a brick.”
“Forget the brick. That was one hell of a note strapped to the brick. Guy’s a real charmer saying shit like, This is just the beginning! before breaking a woman’s window.”
“You about finished with that window, Fos?”
I’m still sitting on the kitchen floor, my back against the island, knees pulled to my chest with my arms wrapped tightly around them, dazed and not really registering the conversation going on in the other room a few feet away from me. I hear some hammering and some crinkling of plastic and know they’re likely boarding up the now missing window and securing it with thick, tarp-like plastic in case it rains because, well, Florida.
As pathetic as it is, my mind is racing with a million and one thoughts and the bulk of them are selfish.
I have my college degree in business and accounting. How does this happen to someone like me?
I’m not a complete dumbass, so how did I ever get taken in by someone like Brad?
This is the second time Foster has been saddled with my crap.
Oh, shit. What if I lose my job over this? I mean, I can’t really blame the guy but—shit, shit, shit!
What normal, educated woman has to deal with this kind of thing on a Saturday night? Or ever?
How did this happen to me? How did I let it happen to me?
“Noelle?” My entire body jerks as I’m startled, drawn from my inner thoughts and self-recriminations. Looking up at Ty, he gives me a patient and kind smile. “I wanted to see if there was anything you needed to add to the report before we leave.”
Shaking my head, I mutter, “No, sir.”
He squats down. “Hey. You didn’t do anything to deserve this.” He waits, and I finally give a short nod. “I suggested to Fos that you not stay here tonight, just to play it safe.” Raising up a hand with a stern look to stop my protests, he adds, “I can walk you into your bedroom while you pack some things, if you like.”
I hate this. I hate being in this position—having to constantly rely on others like this. Because, to me, it means Brad’s winning. That he’s managed to scare me out of my own home.
As if knowing where my thoughts have led me, Ty starts in, “Now, don’t think—”
“Davis.” I turn to see Foster who’s just joined us. “I would stay here with you tonight except I’m not carrying my sidearm, and I would rather have it if I were staying here with you. If you want to stay here tomorrow night, that’s fine. I’ll bring it with me.”
Trying to process his words, I know my brows wrinkle. Because it sounds like he’s planning on staying here with me tomorrow night. Maybe even indefinitely?
“Davis,” Foster says on a sigh. “Just go with it for now. Please.”
If it weren’t for the concern in his voice, I probably would’ve put up more of a fight. That and the fact that my nerves are completely shot. It’s taking all of my power to not give into these crazy shakes and shivers trying their damndest to take over my body. Avoiding his eyes, merely nodding, I pull my arms tighter around my legs.
Suddenly, Foster crouches down in front of me, waiting for me to meet his eyes. Once I do, my relief at not witnessing any judgment in them is palpable.
“Ready to head home?” His large palm is out, open in offer.
“Will you … help me throw some stuff into a bag real quick?” Hating how fragile I sound, I swiftly grasp his hand to assist me in standing, wavering slightly for a split second before righting myself. I know Ty offered, but I feel calmer, safer having Foster with me.
His reply is immediate. “Of course.”
Heading on over to my bedroom, not allowing my gaze to veer in the direction of the other room, I enter and pull a small bag from my closet. Foster enters a moment later with the package from earlier, all of the contents shoved back inside of it, and stuffs it inside my bag before heading to my closet.
“Tell me what you need out of here.”
Inhaling a deep, fortifying breath, I pull out a drawer holding my pajamas. “I don’t need anything from the closet since tomorrow’s Sunday and I’m coming back here.”
“Humor me.”
My head whips around to stare at him, but his back is to me, staring at the array of clothes in my closet, awaiting my directions. When I still don’t answer, he lets out a slightly exasperated sound.
“Davis, there’s a chance I might not be able to get someone out here to complete the installation of your new window for a few days. Especially if any bad storms hit. This is just in case.”
Oh. Okay, then. That actually makes sense.
“The teal and white polka dot dress, my black pinstriped pencil skirt and a blouse that would go with it, and one of the red dresses in there. Please,” I tack that final word on the end because I don’t want to sound completely ungrateful.
I head to my attached master bath to retrieve my toiletries and anything else I might need before reentering my room, placing the items in my bag and zipping it up. Looking up, I see that Foster’s leaning against the bedroom doorway, clothes draped over an arm, watching me with his usual unnerving intensity.
“Ready?”
“Ready,” I answer with far more conviction than I actually feel.
This is how I end up having yet another “slumber party” over at Foster Kavanaugh’s place.
Minus the whole braiding each other’s hair, painting our nails, and gossiping about men kind of thing, of course.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Foster
Noelle’s coming home with me. Again. While there’s a small part of me who finds this appealing, the bottom line is I don’t find the reason why she’s coming home with me appealing. At all.
Part of me is royally pissed we were interrupted back at her place, just when it was getting good. God, I swear my hands and fingers still burn from the memory of holding her, caressing her. My lips feel as though they’re aching for her, which is ridiculous. I’ve never ached in any capacity for a woman before in my life.
But when it comes to Noelle Davis, there’s just something that happens to me—inside and out. Just being near her sets me on edge because now that I’ve had a taste of th
e passion this woman has within her, I’m like a junkie—like I might even get the damn shakes due to wanting her so much, aching for another taste.
We drive to my house in silence and I find myself running through the night’s happenings in my mind. What if we had lingered outside her door a few seconds longer? What if something would have happened to Noelle? What if she had been hit by that brick instead of the bedroom window?
“Pretty sure if you clench that steering wheel any harder, it’ll break.”
Her words, the barest hint of humor beneath them, still sound delicate, lacking her usual sassiness and bravado. But it brings attention to the fact that my hands are practically strangling the steering wheel, and I’ll be surprised if there aren’t indentations left in it.
“Just thinking about tonight, that’s all.” My tone is noncommittal, as if I’m not on the edge of becoming a fucking emotional wreck.
“It’s not your fault,” she says as I put the truck in park in my driveway. Clenching my jaw tight, attempting to focus on calming my breathing, I don’t answer her. Instead, I get out of the vehicle and come around to her side to help her step down, slinging her bag over my shoulder and snagging the rest of her clothes with my free hand.
As we walk up the stairs to my home, one of my hands stays at the base of her back, as if my need to maintain some sort of contact with her has to be satisfied. Once I unlock and disarm the alarm system, I hear the telltale noise of the automatic doggy door sliding open before the sound of Harley’s nails on the hardwood floors approaching us. And who does he go to first?
Yeah. My dog’s a damn traitor.
“Well, hello to you, too,” Noelle greets him when he comes right over to sit, waiting for her to pet him, bending her knees to get on his level. Once she does this, he gives her a big kiss on her cheek, as if he knows she needs it after the night she’s had. And this is the moment where I wait for it. Where I wait for her to say, Ewww. Stop it, and wipe off his saliva. While I know it’s not the most awesome thing in the world to have a dog lick you in affection—especially considering I’ve seen him lick his own ass—he’s got feelings, too. Harley’s a good boy and his affection is not given freely. The fact that he instantly took to Noelle says a lot.