“I could be wearing a nun’s habit and she’d try to eviscerate me.”
Noah’s expression doesn’t change, but I like to think he’s laughing on the inside, appreciating my humor, knowing it’s true.
No matter what I do, what I wear, as long as I’m with Noah and my sister sees it, she will freak out.
We both know this. Noah doesn’t need to police my outfits, he’s just doing it to show his dominance. Which is completely unnecessary. His alpha attitude can be felt from across the room.
“We both know my outfit is fine,” I say when his stare becomes too much for me, feeling it sink beneath my clothes. It’s too much, feels too intimate even though he hasn’t made a move to touch me. “Can we just go?”
His nod is sharp as he reaches for my wrist. I stare at it as he pulls me out of my room. Strong and masculine, he holds me in an almost delicate touch. He walks through my apartment like he owns it and I let him, too focused on the feel of his skin on mine. It feels right, having his hand on my body.
“Will you tell me where we’re going?” I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark. A point I made clear last night. Living with my parents and sister, I tended to be the last one to know everything.
“To a party.”
He doesn’t say anymore, but I can fill in the blanks to what he leaves out.
We’re not going to a social gathering, but a social battle. Where people wear their clothes like armor and brandish their words like knives.
Of course Noah was going to pick that as our first official night out as—
“What are we?” I ask when we’re in the lobby of my building.
“Well, to me you’re a barely tolerable—”
I cut him off before his words can hit their intended target. It seems Noah sharpened his swords earlier than necessary. “I meant” —giving him a pointed look— “what are we going to tell people there?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” I echo.
He nods, his thumb tracing circles along my skin. The soft, methodic strokes are a contrast to how tight his body is wound. He’s always on the offense, waiting for a fight.
“The less we say, the more they’ll speculate. The more they’ll talk,” he elaborates, seeing the confusion on my face.
It comes as a shock to no one that I’ve never done anything like this before. I’m not sure of the protocol.
Noah’s fingers find a home under my chin, tilting it up until our eyes lock. “Can you do this?”
I huff, pulling my chin away. “Of course.” I hope my voice is more confident than how I feel. “Can you?”
He smiles, a soft, knowing smile, and pulls us into the cold winter night. As he escorts me to his idling car, I can’t get his smile out of my mind. It reminds me of when we were younger, and he’d come to search me out. Secrets. It’s a smile full of secrets that I’m desperate to learn.
As he drives us to our destination, I study his profile. Strong. Angular. Greco-Roman. A sinful man shrouded in secrets. But despite his appearance, it’s what’s underneath that pulls at me the most.
What he’s keeping locked away.
…I wonder if I can find the key to unlock them.
Arms slip around my waist from behind. I go stiff as they pull me against their hard body before I force myself to relax. Noah. It’s almost scary how instantaneous it is for me to recognize his touch.
“Relax,” he whispers in my ear. I guess I didn’t unwind as much as I thought. But it’s hard. Agreeing to this.
If I felt uncomfortable and out of place at The Underground, it’s ten times worse being here. People keep staring, their whispers are a constant white noise in my ears.
“I thought you said it didn’t matter how I acted,” I hiss under my breath.
Evidently, he lied.
“It does when it feels like I’m holding a corpse. You’re too tense.”
“Hey, there’s an idea.” I lean my head back onto his chest. “Maybe you don’t need me after all. Harlow would be super jealous if you were suddenly into necrophilia.”
He chuckles, spinning me around so fast the room blurs. His forehead rests on mine. “Not happening. I like my women warm and breathing.”
“How else do you like your women?” I can’t stop myself from asking, curiosity hooks me by her claws.
Noah hums, heat pooling in his eyes, his voice husky as he says, “I have a particular liking for blondes.” He wraps a finger around my hair and tugs it. “And eyes like molten gun metal.”
Me.
“Noah—” Swallowing, my hands go to his chest to create some healthy distance between us.
I can’t let his words get to me. If I do, I’ll let him in and if I let him in, I’ll be the one getting hurt in the end. But it’s like pushing against a wall. He doesn’t move. At least, not his feet.
His hands skim over my hips and around the curve of my ass. A gasp leaves me as he squeezes, pulling our bodies closer together. If he’s trying to make me relax, he’s doing it wrong. I’m wound tight, my chest beating wild.
Close. We’re so close.
“I changed my mind,” he whispers, his lips hover inches from mine.
“About what?” I breathe, too focused on his body against mine. His hard to my soft. The dark of his suit to the white of my dress.
We’re opposites who shouldn’t fit, but with our bodies this close it feels like we’re a perfect match. Puzzle pieces made to go together.
“About how we act tonight.” The stubble of his beard scratches my cheek as he moves to whisper in my ear. “I want you like this. Next to me. My hands on you. The entire time.”
“But the contract,” I protest weakly as his other hand moves behind my back, locking me to his chiseled chest. The flimsy excuse to protect me and my soft heart.
“Fuck the…” Noah’s voice trails off as his hands tighten.
“You don’t get to hog her the entire night, Kincaid,” a voice says from behind me.
Thea le Veck.
I know without turning around. She sounds the same as she did when we were lab partners in tenth grade.
Noah cuts her a sharp look as I turn around. Unlike most people who’d buckle under the weight of Noah’s stare, Thea ignores him, smiling at me. It’s a warmer greeting than I expected. I haven’t talked to her since prep school.
She hasn’t changed appearance-wise, either. Her dark brown skin is flawless and her hair still wild and big with voluminous tight curls that bounce when she moves.
I find myself smiling back, it growing wider when Noah makes a sound behind me.
He’s not thrilled.
“What’re you doing here, Thea?” he asks.
“Please, as if I wouldn’t be here.” She rolls her eyes before focusing back on me. “So. Sayer. Welcome home.”
My smile falters a little.
Home. I wouldn’t call this place home.
He can’t see my face, but it’s like Noah knows my mood has shifted. I feel his fingers brush against my lower back.
“Thanks.”
“I can’t tell you how happy our boy here is now that you’re back. Well, I wouldn’t exactly say happy since I doubt he lets him feel such a joyous emotion, but he’s definitely less grumpy now.”
Noah glares. “Seriously, Thea? Go away. We’re in the middle of something.”
She shakes her head. “Can’t do that, Noah.” Turning her body slightly, she points across the room to a man with reddish-brown hair and ink on his knuckles. “He wants to talk to you.”
Noah’s hand drops from my back and my body becomes cold as he moves away, angling his body semi in front of mine.
“You brought him here?” Noah’s furious question is directed at Thea.
Thea, like with his glare, doesn’t back down. She simply raises a sculpted brow. “Want to use your inside voice?”
“Want to tell me why you brought Seamus Kelly here?” he shoots back, not using a friendly tone.
“Who’
s Seamus?” I can’t help but ask. He doesn’t look the friendliest as he stares over here with a nasty scowl.
“No one,” Noah answers the same time Thea says, “He’s complicated.”
Well then. It looks like the Complicated No One is walking this way.
Noah curses, glancing at me.
Thea’s arm wraps around my shoulders, pulling me close. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep her company.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” he mumbles, looking at me. Another curse escapes. “Wait here,” he tells me before meeting Seamus halfway.
With bent heads and low voices, they look tense in conversation before walking out of the room. Some mingling people watch them disappear before shooting looks at Thea and me.
I try to ignore them as I ask, “What’s that about?”
“He’s been giving Noah a hard time about some business they did recently. It’s not a big deal.” Thea simply shrugs, but her words are calculated. As if carefully picking them one by one before stringing them into a sentence.
Noah’s anger at seeing Seamus didn’t feel like a small deal, but if I press more, it’s not going to result in anything. So I accept her answer for what it is and try to think of something to fill the lapse of conversation between us only to get distracted by my name in a nearby group.
“What’s she doing here with him?” a woman asks in a failed whisper. Her bird-like gaze darts to me.
My lungs tighten while my ears strain to hear more.
“I don’t know, but it doesn’t surprise me,” her friend answers, matching tone. “Don’t you remember what people were saying when she mysterious moved away after graduation?”
What did people say? I watch the first woman with a whispering deficiency shake her head.
“It was because she was—”
I never get to know what she says next. Thea pulls me away from them. “C’mon, let’s get you a drink.”
One drink turns to two and two turns to three. By the time I’m on my fourth—or is it fifth?—glass of champagne, Noah comes back, looking more agitated than when he left. I giggle as the crowd parts for him. So obedient, everyone is afraid to get in his way. To stand up to him.
Noah doesn’t pay attention to them, they’re peasants beneath him, as his eyes roam over the faces—looking for someone. Looking for me.
A cheap thrill caresses me with the knowledge.
He doesn’t see me right away, I’m hiding behind a fake plant, the fake fronds tickle my exposed skin, but the spot gives me the perfect advantage to watch him undetected.
Like me, Noah doesn’t fit in this world anymore, but unlike me, he’s sitting on his throne at the top while I’m still trying to find my place somewhere near the bottom.
I take a sip of champagne, transfixed by him. His movements. Powerful like a panther, he prowls through the crowd. So proud in his steps, so sure. So angry. He walks like a king, an invisible crown upon his mussed hair.
Even from here, I spy the tension that rests in the corner of his eyes. Whatever business he had with Seamus, it didn’t go well.
Hmm, interesting.
I don’t even have that effect on him and it makes me wonder what happened to make his shoulders that taut, his frown so prominent. It creases more when he still doesn’t see me.
Stopping in the middle of the room, he looks around. And I giggle at the lost look that takes over his face. It’s small, so small no one else probably notices it, but I do. I see it. Like he somehow missed me.
Oh, how invisible I’ve become that all it takes is some well-placed shadows and a fake plant to hide me from even the most keen observer.
Something heavy settles in my stomach. Am I that lackluster? That insignificant? I start to move from behind my hiding spot, no longer enjoying being invisible, not from him, not from the man who has always been able to find me. I don’t get more than a step before I stop.
A man I don’t recognize takes a sip from his glass as he steps in front of Noah, and that must be a magical sip with the gift of bravery because the man so boldly reaches out to touch Noah’s arm. He turns with a sneer and the bold man shrinks back.
Whatever Noah says it’s too low for me to hear, but the man looks like he’s about to make a mess in his sharp pants. He then starts to back up, steps hurried under the scrutiny of Noah’s cool eyes.
He keeps walking backward, apologizing profusely for interrupting Noah, for not thinking before touching him, for thinking he was worth Noah’s time at all.
What did Noah say to him?
The man’s not paying attention to where he’s going and my eyes widen, watching almost in slow motion as he runs into the tray of a passing by wait staff. They both tumble to the floor while the tray goes flying in the air, the drinks balancing along with it.
When the tray lands, it’s without the drinks. The glasses go off in all directions, shattering on the hard floor. The contents go everywhere as well. On people, on furniture, on the ground.
It’s eerily quiet. No one dares to move, except for another server who comes along and slips on the mess. Their tray clatters to the floor while these drinks get thrown on a person.
Noah.
He’s soaked, the shirt drenched and sticking to his skin. His unruly hair flattened.
No one moves.
I’m not sure anyone even breathes.
The room hangs in a deafening silence. And I can’t help it, can’t stop it even if I wanted to. I laugh. Full on belly laughter that pulls at the muscles in my stomach, tears welling in my eyes.
Noah jerks in my direction, eyeing me with his hard, assessing eyes. Except, they’re not that hard. Not right now. I see them melt when they latch onto me.
Soaking wet and smelling of alcohol, he’s fighting a smile. One directed at me.
I smile back. Uninhibited and free, a feeling I don’t think Noah allows himself to have. Even now he’s battling with himself, I can see it when we lock eyes. But I feel something else. This magnetic pull pulses between us.
Forgetting everyone else, he takes a step closer.
In a mood to play, I take one backward.
He raises a brow with another step.
Gonna come get me, Kincaid? My eyes dance.
You bet your ass, BB. His seem to say back.
My smile grows with each step I take, with each step he takes.
Our connection is broken with the same man from before rushes toward Noah, profusely apologizing. Again.
This time I don’t bother listening. I’m about to turn away to find something stronger than champagne when I see Noah shove the man out of his way and into a nearby couple.
Noah’s eyes are on me, warning me not to take another step.
I take one teeny, tiny step and he closes the distance between us in what feels like a nanosecond. A giggle escapes as his hand curves along my waist.
“You smell.” I’m still giggling.
Noah’s facial expression doesn’t change, but I see something softer in his eyes. “And you’re drunk. How much did you drink? I wasn’t gone for that long.”
I hold up three fingers, or maybe I hold up four. Either way, it’s a lie because I tell him, “Five.”
“Five what?” he whispers, his hand moves up and down my body.
My body electrifies under his touch and Noah has to repeat the question. I blink. “Five glasses of champagne.”
A smirk curves his chiseled face. “Lightweight.”
Oh, I totally am, but it’s not polite of him to point that out. “Ruuude.” I smack his arm and if the unimpressed look he just gave me is any indication it doesn’t intimidate him.
“Where’s Thea?” I hear what he doesn’t ask, Why wasn’t she watching you?
Because I can take care of myself. I shrug, “I don’t know. She got pulled away by like drink three and then a woman insulted my shoes after she stepped on them so then I started drinking without her just to keep myself sane. I don’t like these people.”
Noah d
oesn’t tell me that I am one of these people. He knows I’m not. Not anymore.
He squeezes my waist. “Want to get out of here?”
I do, but I’m not ready to go home. Not yet. “Have we done enough?”
“Right now, I don’t really care,” he says as a flash goes off and we pull apart, seeing a man with a camera pointed at us.
“There,” he whispers. “We’ll be the biggest picture in the gossip column tomorrow.”
“Who was that man?” I ask when he walks away.
“A reporter for the newspaper.”
“So everyone will know about it.”
“Don’t sound so broken up about it. You’re the one that wanted to do more tonight.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I just don’t like attention on me.”
When he doesn’t answer, but I can feel Noah’s stare, I chance a glance up to find him studying me.
“What?” I ask when his stare becomes too much.
“You’re nothing like Harlow.”
At first, I bristle at her name. He says it with disdain, and another quality I don’t want to touch on. A quality I’m not a fan of.
And I don’t like that I don’t like it. A vicious circle.
But I don’t want to be compared to my sister. Not by anyone, but especially Noah. He’s the one person that knows her best. I was always compared to her growing up, held to a standard of how I shouldn’t be.
At a young age, I was pitted against my sister and it ultimately destroyed us to where we’re siblings in blood and nothing more. There’s no heart between us.
How could there be when I was meant to be her replacement?
“Is that a good or bad thing?” I whisper.
“Good,” he admits after a beat. Shocking me again with his honesty. “You seem surprised,” he adds in a low octave.
“You seem to keep doing that to me.”
A pause.
Then, in the same voice, he says, “I’m not all that you’ve heard, Sayer.”
Behind the frames of his glasses, those glacial blues nail me where I stand.
“No,” I agree. “I think you’re more, Noah Kincaid. More than a story could ever hold.”
The air is thick around us, humid with tension as he stares down at me with an unreadable expression.
Under the Lies Page 8