My jaw clenches at the mess, but I force myself to ignore it. “It’s not her handwriting.”
“She could’ve had someone else write it.”
I raise a brow at the conviction in her voice. “Do you want it to be your sister?”
“I’d rather it be her than someone I don’t know.”
Understanding, I nod. It’s easier to prepare when you know your enemy.
But in this case, it’s not Harlow.
I’d bet The Underground on it.
“It could be anyone,” I tell her. “A person at your school, someone I’ve done business with. Or a stranger you glanced at when at the grocery store. It could be anyone,” I repeat. “Except Harlow.”
Something in her face changes. It’s small, but I still see it.
She draws me in like an open book sitting on a table, walking by I can’t help but take a peek, getting drawn in by the language of words written.
Lyrical, powerful, even beautiful. Sayer’s a book I want to explore more of. To have the pages memorized beneath my hands.
Before I can ask what’s working in that dangerous mind of hers, my door opens, and Reeve and Gabe walk in.
“You rang?” Reeve’s eyeing Sayer in a way that if it was anyone else—including Gabe—I’d throw their face into the wall, but Reeve isn’t a threat. Not to me when it comes to Sayer.
“Ms. Brooks here needs an escort to my place. She’ll also need some of her things relocated there for the time being.”
“Noah…” she starts.
I turn to face her, giving her my full attention. “I don’t know why you’re fighting this, Sayer, we both know who’s going to win.”
I like that she fights me.
In fact, I crave it.
It’s refreshing, being challenged. It doesn’t happen often anymore. The times where I can verbally spare with a person is few and far between these days except when Sayer’s around. Always keeping me on my toes, always has—since she was a teenager.
But that doesn’t mean she’s going to win.
“What about my cat?”
I look to the creature in question as it tries to crawl into the bottom shelf of the bar cart I have in the corner of my office.
“Not coming.” My tone is firm. “There’s only one pussy moving in and it’s not covered in hair.”
Her cheeks redden at my reminder of last night. I wonder if her thoughts jumped to when I got down on my knees before her and became very familiar with the sounds she makes as I unraveled her.
Sounds I wouldn’t mind hearing again.
Low chuckles rumble behind her and with a look of panic, she looks at Reeve and Gabe, forgetting they were in the room.
“Reeve can take it,” I tell her, watching his smile curl higher.
“I’d love to.” He stares at Sayer, who’s shaking her head furiously. He walks across the room and scoops the thing up.
“No, absolutely not.” She shakes her head.
“Non-negotiable. I don’t like animals, remember?”
“You don’t like me either,” she reminds me.
Oh, that’s where she’s wrong. There’s a lot that comes to mind when I think of Sayer Brooks and not liking her isn’t one of them.
I ignore her, focusing on my men. “Take her back to my place.”
The look Sayer gives me is full of defiance as she crosses her arms over her chest, rooting herself in her spot. “You can speak like I’m in the damn room.”
Keep fighting me, Sayer, I’m going to love watching you break.
“Fine.” I give her my hard stare. “Take Sayer here back to my place.”
Reeve snickers as they move to flank either side of her and she steps away from them. Toward me.
The rest of the distance between us erases with my steps. “Do you even want to go back there? To your apartment where a creep with a hard-on for taking pictures of you can get in? To the place where you desperately ran away from?”
She shivers, not denying it. I see the moment she lets go of the fight inside her, letting the exhaustion of the day take over instead. Her tense shoulders deflate and the worry lining her face shifts to fatigue.
I reach up to cup her cheek, touch the fallen strands of her hair, I don’t know—I never get to find out. Without another word she turns and leaves my office, Gabe and Reeve right behind her.
She goes quietly and willingly but the look in her eye as she does?
A kiss of retribution will be waiting for me when I get home.
No more than twenty minutes later I’m closing out of my computer. Shit hasn’t gotten done since Sayer left my office.
Ten minutes ago I got a text from Gabe that said they made it to my place and she was in a mood. Reeve apparently wouldn’t stop taunting her about taking her cat.
They’re gone now and Sayer’s alone in my place.
I slip out the back entrance, down a cramped, narrow alley, the same time my phone rings.
“What?” I bark in answer.
“Why did I just hear that you moved Sayer into your apartment?” Thea sounds concerned on the other line and I’d bet five grand it isn’t for me.
“Because I moved Sayer into my apartment.”
“Noah…”
“Don’t want to hear it, Thea.”
“Well tough shit.”
Oh, she sounds angry. Keeping the phone pressed to my ear, I unlock my sports car and slip in.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Killing two birds with one stone. Someone’s after her, Thea.”
She’s quiet, already aware of this. I’ve had her pull up surveillance around Sayer’s building. I had hoped that was what she was calling about. Not to give a heavy, judgmental sigh in my ear instead.
“You’re going to break the poor girl.”
“That’s the plan.”
Another deep sigh.
Thea doesn’t get it though.
I don’t want to break Sayer as a person. I want to break her in another way. It involves her naked and withering beneath me. I want to break her down sexually, stripping her bare.
“I like her, Noah. I’ve always liked her. She’s not like Harlow. You can’t play the same games you do with her. She’s too sweet for that.”
The more Thea lectures me, the more my teeth grind. By the time I’m able to push out words they’re a rumble in my chest. “I know.”
Thea’s quiet on the other end, no doubt able to feel my anger from across town. “Just—just be careful with her.”
My hand tightens around the steering wheel and I rev the engine around a slow ass fucker, the tires tattooing the asphalt as I weave through traffic. “I’ll treat her how I fucking want, Thea.”
Click.
I end the call and toss the phone in the passenger seat with a growl. I don’t take kindly to others telling me how I should act. Never have. But when it comes from a person who knows me as well as Thea does, who has seen me at my absolute lowest and isn’t afraid to call me out on any bullshit, it sets me off even more.
If I wasn’t a stubborn ass, I’d probably admit it’s because they’re right. But I am, so I won’t. Sayer is mine to deal with and no one else gets a say in shit.
I’ve waited for years to have her. I’m not letting her go now.
“You bastard!”
I’m barely out of the elevator that leads into the foyer of my penthouse when a plate crashes into the wall next to me.
I fix my glare on the five-seven angry blonde standing a few feet in front of me with one of my expensive as shit bottles of wine dangling from her dainty fingers and one of my plates in her other.
Murder blazes in her eyes.
“Honey, I’m home.” My voice deadpan.
“You bastard,” she shouts again, winding up the plate. I lunge forward and grab her wrist before she lets it go.
“So you say.” I keep my voice low, lethal in deliverance, and she shivers against me, the heat in her eyes shifting to another kind.
“But what, pray tell, did I do this time?”
“Where are all my clothes?”
“In your room.”
“No.” She grits her teeth. “They are not.”
My lips curl up. “All the pieces that matter are.”
She moves to whack me, but I’m still holding her wrist captive, so she just leans closer into me. I can smell the wine on her skin. Drunk. Sayer’s drunk. An angry one at that.
Why does that appeal to me so much?
“It’s the middle of winter, Noah, and all that’s there are gowns and dresses that barely cover my butt!”
“I know.”
Her face pinches and a soft thud connects with my shin.
My lips curl even higher. “That was cute, Baby Brooks.”
Her lips snarl and it looks like she’s constipated. “It was supposed to hurt.”
I stare at her, she stares at me. The anger in her slate-gray eyes shift into a different fire, one that burns brighter. Hotter. They dart to my lips as she bites hers.
Fuck, she’s destroying me, even without her touch.
She doesn’t want to want me. And I shouldn’t want to touch her as much as I do.
But damn if I do. Especially when I see how much she wants me, but she’s letting her fear get in the way.
Fear of wanting this. She was bred for perfection and I’m the farthest thing from it.
Maybe that’s why I can’t stop myself. She’s the light to my dark, the angel to my devil. I want to take what makes her pristine and ruin it, to have her revel in sin with me.
Letting go of her wrist, I grab her ass and haul her closer. I don’t know what it is about her that makes me want to eliminate all the distance between us. She’s a siren who calls to me.
A gasp leaves her as my hand continues to glide down her body.
She makes me want things that I don’t want for more than a night, and never from the same woman, but she makes me want to keep coming back for more. And I hate it. But I chase it all the same.
My hands coast down her body, committing every inch to memory, a map for me to explore later.
Her eyes flutter closed and her fingers dig into my shirt, my chest. A smile slowly curves onto my face as my hand goes lower and lower until I feel what I’m after. And I don’t hesitate to take.
Sayer’s gasp is sweet music for my ears as I yank the wine bottle from her hand. Her eyes snap open to glare at me. I bring the bottle to my lips with a smirk.
“Let’s play a game,” I say.
“Wh—what?” she stutters.
“A. Game,” I speak slowly.
She eyes me suspiciously as I take another pull from the expensive ass bottle of wine I hadn’t planned on opening yet. “What kind of game?”
Without answering, I walk through my open floor plan until I’m in the living room. Quiet footsteps let me know Sayer’s following. I knew she would. Her curiosity is like a ball of yarn, toy with it a little and the whole thing will unravel.
I watch her approach from the comfort of my couch. She stands on the other side of my glass coffee table, hands on her hips.
“What kind of game?” she repeats.
I put the bottle on the table between us. “A game I intend to win.”
She quirks a brow. Arms crossed and waiting for elaboration.
“Ever played Never Have I Ever?” I brace my elbows on my knees.
Sayer’s brow stretches higher in surprise. “Yeah. In college. Aren’t you a little old for that though?”
I smirk. “We’re not playing it. But it’s something similar. I don’t know you anymore, Sayer, and I don’t like letting strangers into my home.” I see a dozen questions in her eyes, none of them louder than did you ever know me? Something growls in my chest with a resounding yes. “So, we’re going to play Answer or Drink. I’m going to ask you a question and you’ll have to—”
“Answer or Drink,” she finishes, ignoring the narrowed look I give her for interrupting.
I expect her to ask more questions, like why I want to do this, what’s the point, or any other trivial shit she could throw my way, but once again, Sayer surprises me by nodding her head. “Okay, let’s play.”
My mouth opens, the first question on my tongue when Sayer decides to interrupt, again. “But only if I get to ask some questions of my own.”
How did I ever think she’d make this easy for me?
I lean back on the couch. “By all means, then, ladies first.”
“Where are the rest of my clothes, Noah? How long am I to stay here?”
“Uh-uh.” I wave my finger in the air. “That’s two questions.”
“So pick one and answer it.”
“My, my, someone is feisty tonight.” I eye the bottle of wine. “How much did you drink before I came home?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Is that your question? Because if it is, you’re cheating.”
Oh, if she only knew how much of life I did cheat…
With my eyes locked on hers, I lean over to grab the wine and take a healthy sip. Her eyes harden.
“Your clothes are in hiding. My turn.” I put the bottle back down. “Why’d you come home?”
She startles, not expecting that question. Her eyes go wide, and she looks away briefly.
I can’t help but wonder if anyone has asked her that since she got here. Has no one else questioned how she was gone for six years and then randomly decided to transfer to Haven Harbor University in her last semester?
Pregnant silence pulls between us to the point where I don’t think she’s going to answer and I’m about to nudge the bottle in her direction when she whispers in a choked up voice, “My granddad.”
I freeze, my steady heart misses a beat. Broken. She sounds so broken that even the blackness inside me aches for her. She won’t meet my gaze and I know if she did her eyes would be shiny with unshed tears.
Her granddad was her best friend, the only person related to Sayer to love her the way family was intended to.
“My granddad is the reason I came back,” she says it again, more to herself than me.
I shift against the couch until my knees practically touch the coffee table, compelled with the desire to comfort her but my hands hang uselessly at my sides. If I was ever made for comfort, it was taken from me in the plane crash that took my family.
I have no right to comfort Sayer. Not about this.
But the way she stares at me when her eyes finally lift from the floor makes me wish I was a different man. A better man.
“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” she asks. “To move back for someone who is no longer here.”
I shake my head. If I don’t know how to comfort with my arms, I sure as shit don’t know how to with my words but for reasons that only accompany me when it comes to Sayer, I want to try.
“It’s not stupid,” I tell her. My voice has as much emotion as a robot. I clear my throat to try again when my phone goes off. I almost ignore it, but it could be Thea with an update on who left the note in Sayer’s apartment.
The text is from Thea, but it’s not about the note.
Got a hit on Harlow. Want the coordinates?
If Haven Harbor is my prison, Noah’s penthouse apartment is the cell that keeps me contained with its floor to ceiling windows that open up to the skyline of the city, showing me all that I don’t feel a part of.
Beautiful and distant. Matching the man I’m now living with but haven’t seen since my first night here.
That was three days ago.
Three days.
Three days where he got a text that had him storming out of his apartment, leaving me alone to stew in my loneliness and anger.
And oh, I’m a firework waiting to go off. Especially when I know he’s been home. Home and avoiding me.
His beautiful black and gray chessboard with the white and red pieces says as much. It sits on his industrial glass coffee table and remained untouched the night I was moved in, but by the next morning, when
I came down the sleek, metal floating staircase, I noticed that a red pawn had been moved.
I stared at it for what felt like hours, knowing exactly what it was. An invitation. One I readily accepted. Now I’m locked in a chess game that’s moving at a snail pace, not that I mind the speed. It’s been years since I played the game, so my rusty talent is thankful I’m able to ease back into it.
Rusty or not, I’ve never lost a game of chess and I’m not about to let Noah beat me.
This game means more than winning though. As much as it pains me to admit it.
It’s been my only line of communication with him since he decided to go ghost on me. I don’t get that man.
First, he all but forces me into moving in with him, then he hides all my clothes except for the most impractical, illogical pieces in my closet, then he drags me into playing a game where he wanted me to spill my secrets only to leave me angry and buzzed and wanting to break another one of his plates when his sculpted, suit wearing back disappeared inside the elevator.
The house felt quiet, with a stillness that only came with being alone, but Noah’s presence is a ghost I feel every moment I’m here. It’s in his décor, which is dark and cold. Metals and blacks that make it feel as welcoming as a cave. Even the floor to ceiling windows aren’t enough to make this place feel bright enough.
The ground is black tile under gray rugs, a black marble mantle sits above an electric fireplace that is bordered by smooth gray stone. Blacks, grays, and whites with splashes of reds thrown in here and there, Noah’s home is sleek and industrial with a touch of gothic flare and fits him so properly.
I couldn’t imagine him living somewhere with plants and bright colors. Everything has a place, or it did until I moved in.
It’s only been three days, but I’ve made sure to leave as much of my stuff in Noah’s space as I can. Textbooks on the counter, shoes and coats by the elevator. Used wine glasses on the coffee table. Whatever I could, whatever I had here, was left out to annoy Noah, the clean freak that he is.
I even left a bra on the couch last night.
Call it spiteful, call it whatever, I had thought that if I dirtied up his quarters, sprinkling traces of me throughout, he’d remember that you know, I live here now.
Under the Lies Page 13