by Nalini Singh
"These old things?" she said and, stepping out of the dress, bent down to pick it up. She was hotly conscious of Noah's eyes on her ass as she walked into the wardrobe and hung the dress in the section where she put clothes that needed dry-cleaning.
A deep inhale while she was hidden from him, a slow exhale, her pulse a drumbeat.
Going back to the bed using the same unhurried stride, she put one foot on the mattress and unclipped the stocking from the garter belt. The stocking was baby fine and, to be honest, not really necessary in LA. But again, it was all about playing to Noah's fantasies.
She rolled down the stocking with care, inch by inch. Tugging it off her foot, she dropped it to the floor and started on the second. No rushing, no visible self-consciousness, just a woman slowly, sensuously teasing her lover as she undressed for him.
Though Noah hadn't moved from his position by the door, his thumbs hooked into the front pockets of his jeans, his breathing was audible. Her own heart thumped hard as stone against her ribs. It was so loud by the time she finished taking off the second stocking that she couldn't hear Noah anymore. Dropping the ball of airy material to the carpet, she put both feet back on that carpet and went to undo the tiny hooks that fastened the lace of the garter belt around her hips.
It was erotic black, the same color as her panties and the demi-cup bra she wore on top. All a matched set.
Her hands trembled as she removed the lace and dropped it on the bed.
She'd just lifted her arms back to unhook her bra when Noah moved. She saw it out of the corner of her eye, stumbled when his weight hit her, but he had his hands tight on her hips, kept her upright.
"Noah," she gasped, feeling the hard push of his cock against her lace-covered butt.
"Now, Kit," he said harshly. "Now, while I only have you in my head."
Kit didn't argue. If Noah thought now was the time, now it would be. It wasn't as if she wasn't burning up for him. "Yes," she said.
He turned her to the wall, pushed her forward. It was rough but controlled, Noah's hands holding on to her until she'd braced her palms against the wall. Her chest heaved, her breasts swelling against the cups of her bra. She made a low, needy sound in her throat when he pulled down the scrap of her panties... and then they just tore, the ribbon ties on either side snapping like they were made of paper.
She felt his hands moving behind her, heard the sound of a belt buckle being opened, the metallic rasp of a zipper being lowered, braced herself for him. She was ready, her body melting, but at that moment, a dark, twisted fear invaded her heart. He was taking her from the back, the way he'd no doubt taken many of those other women. Was that all she'd become? Did he even remember who she was anymore?
Something ripped.
A condom wrapper.
"I'll keep you safe," he ground out.
Her panicked heart interpreted that to mean he was keeping a barrier between them. Part of her knew that was stupid, that he was doing the right thing, but her panic grew and grew. She couldn't bear it if they did this and--
His hands back on her hips. Spinning her around, strands of her hair sticking to her cheeks, he grabbed her face in his hands and kissed her so hard that their teeth collided. But that was okay, that was better than okay, because he had his eyes open and he was looking at her and he knew damn well who it was he held.
"Kit," he said, stroking his callused, gifted hands down her body and lifting her just enough that he could thrust into her.
Hard. Fast. Deep.
A guttural scream ripped out of her. She'd thrown out her hands for balance when he spun her, clawed at the wall as he pulled out then slammed back in. Barely able to hold herself together, she put her hands on his face, on that part of him he so rarely allowed anyone to touch, and held him, their eyes locked together and their breaths colliding as he pounded her into the wall.
The scent of him was hot, masculine, and Noah. Just Noah.
Her body knew his, wanted his, and her heart, it was his.
Her orgasm was inevitable. The last things she saw were Noah's eyes looking into hers, the dark gray wild. His body slammed into her one final time and went rigid, his fingers digging into her flesh and his chest crushing her breasts.
Her hands never left his face.
And she heard him say "Kit" again a heartbeat before the world became nothing but a wrenching kaleidoscope of pleasure.
Noah shuddered through the clawing, violent pleasure of his orgasm. It gripped him, shook, but what held him even more tightly was Kit's touch on his face, her skin against his.
Legs shaky afterward, he pulled out of her and got rid of the condom by trying to chuck it in the neat wicker trash basket Kit kept on one side of the room. He was fairly certain he missed, but Kit could be pissed with him for that later. Right now he just wanted to hold her.
Tumbling them both onto the bed, Kit's eyes dazed when they opened, he braced himself over her just enough that he wasn't crushing her. Her breasts, still cupped by black lace, moved against his chest, and her breath kissed his face. She lifted a trembling hand, stroked his jaw. It felt good, felt fucking great.
"You can have the romantic bullshit now," he said, being the hard man when the truth was that he needed the romantic bullshit.
Lips curving in a smile that rocked his world and eyes heavy lidded, Kit stroked her fingers back to play with his hair as she put her other hand on his biceps. "Thanks," she said and, when he kissed her, kissed him back slow and lazy.
He sank into the kiss, sank into her, feeling good after sex for the first time in his life. It hadn't been some cheap hate fuck. Not the women, he'd never hated them. It was himself he'd hated, his anger directed inward.
This, tonight... it didn't feel like that.
He didn't hate what he'd done, didn't want to escape it. He wanted to linger, wanted to wallow, wanted to wrap himself in this moment when he'd given his woman what she needed. Squeezing her breast as they kissed, he caught her moan in his mouth, squeezed again.
She squirmed under him, but her fingers stayed lazily playful just above his nape.
Lowering himself even more heavily onto her, he tugged down the cup of her bra and filled his hand with her warm flesh. Her nipple was stiff against his palm, her skin silky. Even softer than the skin of her legs as they rubbed along the hair-roughened skin of his.
They lay tangled and lazy in bed, kiss after kiss, the air hot and humid between them and his hand on her breast.
"Let me take off my bra," she murmured when her lips were swollen and wet and her body so aroused that he could smell the erotic musk of her in the air.
He lifted himself off her but didn't go far. She had to twist to get the bra off, and he enjoyed every small movement. The instant the lace was gone, he came down on her again, this time with his chest flush against her breasts and his hands interlacing with hers on either side of her head. His cock unerringly found her slick heat.
She arched, moaning. "Again?"
"Yeah." He felt good tonight, felt normal, no demons howling in his head. "You got protection?" He'd only had the one condom in his wallet
Kit ran a foot up his calf. "In the bathroom cabinet."
He groaned, not wanting to get up and out of bed to go grab it. "It's meant to be in the bedside drawer for a reason."
Rubbing up against him, she wiggled one hand free to run a finger down the line of his throat as the tip of his cock touched the scalding heat of her. His eyes all but rolled back in his head. A little more of this and he was done. Especially if she kept stroking him, petting him, dropping kisses along his jaw and down his throat.
"I'll go get it," he said, not moving.
She hooked her legs over his hips. "Okay."
"Kit." He was trying to be a good guy here, but she wasn't exactly helping. "Move another inch and I'll be inside you."
Lashes lifting, she sank her teeth into her lower lip... and moved that inch.
The air left his lungs, his hips slamming forward almost of their own
accord to bury his cock to the hilt inside her. She was so goddamn hot, so fucking wet. "Oh, Jesus."
Not about to question her trust when he'd never felt so good in his life, he began to move again. He'd intended to go slow, intended to make it last, but his body had other ideas. No way would this be slow, not with Kit holding him so possessively inside her while her kiss was pure heat and tenderness.
"Noah, do that again," she moaned after he pulled out almost all the way, only to thrust back in.
His cock pulsing at the sign of her pleasure--yeah, his dick was a teacher's pet, wanted all the gold stars--he gave her what she wanted. Again and again and again.
An hour later, they somehow stumbled to the outdoor bed and fell asleep, sticky with sweat and sex.
Chapter 37
Kit was still floating in a dream world midmorning the next day. She'd always known she'd enjoy getting physical with Noah, but she'd never imagined that. It hadn't just been the orgasms. Those were incredible, her body yet buzzed from them. No, what she'd loved the most had been all the unexpected "romantic bullshit" afterward.
Just lying tangled up with Noah while they kissed and laughed and talked.
They'd done that after the second time too, and she'd fallen asleep to the feel of his kiss against her shoulder as he spooned her.
The fact he'd slept the night through was the cherry on top of the entire thing. "Careful, Kit," she murmured to herself. "One night doesn't fix everything." What had happened to Noah couldn't be so easily overcome. It was a scar on his soul, and the two of them would have to learn to deal with it day by day. But--she smiled--it looked like there were going to be a lot of good days mixed in with the bad.
Buzz.
Startled from her happy thoughts by the sound of the intercom, she answered it to find Butch on the other end. "What is it, Butch?" If she had a visitor other than a friend, she'd have to change quickly out of the old cutoffs she was wearing with a sleeveless amber-colored top.
"Your friend, the makeup artist with the blue hair, is here. I figured you'd want her sent up, right?"
"Yes, thanks." Hanging up, she finished putting her hair in a ponytail and went to the front door to open it. She waved to Becca when the other woman stepped out of a red sports car of the same model as Kit's black one.
"I didn't expect to see you today," Kit said, happy for the company. Noah had gone out to pick up a purchase, and she wasn't meeting Harper and Thea till this afternoon. "Aren't you at a shoot today?"
"I'm on break. I had to bring you something!" Becca ran over on high-heeled black boots. She'd paired the boots with a short and tight black skirt, her top a fitted white tee over which she'd thrown a fake fur vest in black with sparkles. On her head was a jaunty hat also in black.
Reaching Kit, she opened her hand.
Gold glinted in the sunlight.
"My necklace!" Kit picked it up. "Oh my God, where did you find it?" A rare, thoughtful gift from her father, Kit had cherished the fine necklace with its diamond pendant in the shape of the comedy and tragedy masks that symbolized the dramatic arts. She'd lost it after forgetting to leave it at home one day, had believed it stolen.
It was the necklace for which her stalker had sent her a "replacement."
"It was in a corner of the makeup trailer I'm in for this movie--same trailer as with the superhero flick," Becca said. "I realized that's where I always put my makeup kit after I worked on you in your trailer between takes. My best guess is that the necklace fell into it and then fell out when I opened the kit."
"I'm just glad you found it." Hugging the other woman, she invited her in.
"You alone?"
Kit smiled. Clearly the Noah-Becca relationship would require more work. "Yes. Noah's gone to pick up a guitar he just bought." He had an ever-expanding collection--a large part of which was now housed in one of her formerly spare rooms, and the thing was, he used them all.
"These were made to create music," he'd said to her once. "Not to be hung up in a museum or a rich man's showroom."
"Let me grab my purse and phone." Becca zipped back to the car before coming into the house.
Leading her to the kitchen, Kit set the coffee to brewing, then used the shining brushed steel of the fridge as a mirror to put on the necklace. As she did, she thought back to the day it had gone missing and remembered that she'd been extra careful. Not wanting to lose it, she'd put it in a little toiletries bag, which she'd then placed in a cupboard built into the wall.
It didn't have a lock, but since the cupboard otherwise held light snacks, she hadn't thought anyone would bother to search there, even if they got into the trailer.
"Hmm," she said to Becca. "I don't think this fell into your makeup kit."
Her friend froze in the act of eating a cookie she'd grabbed out of the jar on the counter. "You don't think I took it?"
"No, oh my God. Of course not!" Kit was horrified Becca would believe that even for a second. "I was thinking that whoever stole it might have stashed it in the makeup trailer since there's always so much traffic there and, for some reason, couldn't come back."
"Yeah, could be. We did have a lot of new people on that movie." Becca smiled. "So how's the whole stalker deal? Still creepy?"
"It sounds so old-fashioned, but having Noah here really helps." Kit felt her heart just grow big and hot inside her chest at the touch of his name on her lips. "He makes me feel safe. I know the stalker won't try anything while Noah's around."
"Wow, lot of faith in a guitar player."
"He's far more than that," Kit said, walking over to check on the coffee. "Just give him a chance."
A shrug. "Sorry. I'm always going to think you deserve better."
Kit didn't want to have this conversation again, and this time she decided to be honest with her friend. "Don't do that, Becca. Don't put him down." She knew Noah would never allow anyone to bad-mouth her in front of him, and she hated hearing Becca do that to him. "I love him, and he's going to be a part of my life."
"So I should get with the program or get out?" The other woman put down the cookie and got off the breakfast stool. "I expected better from you than that you'd be one of those women who ditches her friends once she has a new cock."
"Becca." Shocked by the vitriol, Kit came around the counter. "Why would you even say that? We've been hanging out just as much as always. You know I cherish my friends."
The other woman folded her arms. "I know you used to talk to me about the stalker and your contracts and how much this house was sucking your income and all that real stuff. I was the one who helped you when the stalker first appeared. I was the one who held your hand when you made the first police report." Becca's cheeks were red, her breath quick and harsh. "Now you tell Noah everything and treat me like nothing."
"That's not fair." Kit waved her hand in a wide gesture, accidentally hitting the small glass bowl in which she kept her keys. It went to the floor, shattered, her keys falling out. She didn't stop to pick them up. "We spoke so much because we were together on set every day." First on Primrose Avenue, then later on Last Flight and the superhero movie. "Of course we see less of each other now that we're working on different projects. That doesn't mean we're not friends."
Becca shrugged off her hand when Kit would've put it on her shoulder. "He's a whore, Kit and you're a whore for sleeping with him."
Flinching, Kit stepped back. "That's enough." It was far beyond anything a friend should ever say. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but I think you should go before you destroy our friendship."
"Don't call me the next time the stalker leaves a gift in your car. Personally, I think he's wasting elegant Florentina Chastain chocolates on a woman who thinks Noah St. John is a good catch."
Furious, Kit was about to physically throw Becca out when her blood ran cold. No one but Kit, Noah, Butch, and the police detective handling her stalking case knew about the chocolates.
Even if she was misremembering, she knew she wouldn't have said the
name of the chocolatier to anyone--she hadn't even opened the package at the time. It was only forty-eight hours ago that the detective had mentioned the name in a call to her. He'd been checking if maybe she'd had any contact with that particular store, or if any of the employees were familiar to her.
"How do you know about the chocolates?" she asked Becca, a sick, heavy feeling in her gut.
When Becca's expression went white, her lips not moving, Kit lifted a hand to her mouth. "Why would you do that?" It came out a shaken whisper. "Why would you help some creep terrorize me?" The two of them had been friends forever, had trusted one another with so many of their secrets and dreams. "Why, Becca?"
Becca didn't answer, just reached into her purse and pulled out a small, sleek gun. Kit stared at it. Of course the security guards wouldn't have thought to search her. She was Kit's good friend, had often come to the house... when she could've left a door ajar or a window open for later access. Not here, not with the alarms, but back at the town house, where the stalking had first begun.
"I don't want to kill you," Becca said in a voice that held anger and panic both. "I never wanted to hurt you."
"Then why did you bring the gun?" Kit felt as if she were looking at the world through a freeze-frame, everything hanging in time. "Why are you pointing it at me?"
"The gun's for him, for that fucking whore who made you so cheap." Becca's pitch was high and sharp, but her hands didn't tremble. "You're my friend. Mine. He's got no right to you."
Kit suddenly remembered how someone had wrecked Schoolboy Choir's dressing room a couple of years ago when they'd done a set as part of a charity concert. The guys had figured it was a drunk fellow musician, but Becca had been backstage at that concert, acting as makeup artist for a soloist.
Kit put that incident together with Cody's slashed tires the night of the wrap party, the dog feces that had been thrown at the house of a female director with whom Kit had begun a friendship before the director moved to work on a project in Europe, as well as the way Becca was always busy when Kit invited her to join Kit, Molly, and Thea for coffee or lunch, and knew the police, everyone, they'd been wrong.
The stalking had nothing to do with sex or physical attraction. It had to do with a pathological kind of friendship on Becca's part. If Kit was right, Becca hadn't been helping a male partner--this was too personal. That meant the sexual part of the stalking had been window dressing meant to hide Becca's gender and true aim: to be Kit's one and only friend.