by J. Kenner
He is still clothed, and the brush of his jeans against my bare hips as he straddles me is wildly erotic. "Tell me, baby," he says, as he bends forward, running his hands up my body and cupping my breasts. "Do you want that, too?"
"Yes. Oh, God, yes."
"Do you want me now?"
"You know I do."
"Are you wet for me?"
I spread my legs, the cool air magnificent against my heated core. "Find out."
He chuckles. "I think I will. And here's the other thing, baby," he says, as he presses his lips to my stomach. He tilts his head up just enough to look at me. "The most important thing. I want to take us both as high as we can go, and if we crash back down to earth, I want to know that we're here to catch each other."
"Noah . . ." His name is like breath on my lips. His words have started me melting, and now his kisses down to my core are about to finish me off.
He brings his hands down, then eases two fingers inside me as his tongue strokes my clit.
I buck, gasping with pleasure. "Noah--oh, yes."
"Do you like that?"
"Can't you tell?" I bring my hands down, wanting my fingers in his hair.
"No," he said. "No touching. This is all on me. There's something I want to give you."
He knows exactly how to tease me. Where to suck. Where to thrust. Where to lave me until I'm on the edge and then pull back to leave me trembling and needy.
He plays me like a fine instrument, and only when my body is perfectly tuned and ready does he finally push me over the edge so that I break apart, crying his name as the world turns inside out and colored sparks fill my vision.
He slides up beside me, holding me as the last tremors spread through my body. Then he releases my wrists and I roll over to face him with a satisfied smile.
"Was that what you wanted to give me? An incredible orgasm?"
"Not exactly."
I don't understand what he means, and I'm even more confused when he gets off the bed and goes to the hotel dresser, then comes back with something hidden in his fist.
"I'm not giving this to you now," he says. "I don't want to rush. But I want to give you the promise of it now."
I frown, still confused. "The promise of what?"
"The world," he says, and opens his hand. "Our world."
There, on his palm, is the ring he gave me a decade ago in Los Angeles. The engagement ring I threw at him in anger when he left me for Darla.
My hand flies to my mouth, and when I look at him, it's through eyes filled with tears. "I don't understand. You're not giving this to me?"
"Not yet. This isn't a proposal." His mouth curves up. "But I wanted you to know that a proposal--and the ring--is coming. Until then, I hope you keep it in your heart. And here," he adds, then takes my left hand and kisses the place where the ring will be.
I swallow through a throat clogged with tears. "I think that's the most romantic thing anyone has ever done." I lean forward, then kiss him tenderly. "Will you do something for me?"
"Anything."
"Make love to me, Noah. Slowly. And very, very thoroughly."
"Sweetheart, it will be my pleasure."
20
He didn't remember falling asleep, but waking up was a pleasure. The brush of Kiki's hair over his skin. The soft pressure of her lips against his bare chest. Her naked body straddling him as she sweetly kissed her way higher and higher until she finally claimed him with the kind of kiss designed to make a man come awake.
Very awake.
With a low growl, he pulled her to him, then shifted his weight to flip them over. She squealed and laughed, now flat on her back and pinned beneath him.
"Don't start what you can't finish," he teased.
"Oh, no, mister. That was a wake-up call, not a booty call. Because we're due downstairs in twenty minutes, and I'm not going without my faux-ance."
"Your what?"
"Fake fiance," she explained. "Except not truly fake. So maybe pre-ance?"
He wasn't sure if he should laugh or kiss her, so he settled for both, and only stopped because she wrestled her way out from under him, then grabbed him by the hand. "I promise to make it up to you later," she said. "But right now, we're supposed to have lunch with Celia. It's important."
"I know. I'll be good." He grinned as he slid off the bed, pulling her to her feet beside him. "And when we get back to the room, I'll be better."
"I like that plan." She wrapped her arms around him, her warm, naked body pressed against his. "Thank you."
He slid his hands down, cupping her bare ass and pulling her tight against him, so that there was no way she could miss how hard he was. "Thank me later," he whispered, then took her mouth in a slow, soft kiss.
When they broke apart, she was a little glassy eyed, which was fine with him. She hurried to get dressed, and though he considered joining her in the shower, they both knew that would only make them late. That would be fine with him, too--hell, it would be fine with him to cancel. Not because he didn't like Celia, but because he hadn't yet had his fill of Kiki.
Then again, he doubted he'd ever have his fill of her.
But late would irritate Celia, and at the moment, Noah was all about ensuring that he continued to have the approval of Kiki's best friend.
They found her at a table with a view of the city. The hotel's restaurant was on the top floor, and boasted both ocean and inland views. "Wasn't yesterday the most freaking amazing day ever?" Celia asked as she hugged each of them in turn. "Matthew Holt likes us. He really likes us!"
"I know!" Kiki's voice held the same level of excitement as Celia's, and Noah basked in their joy as they spun out plans and dreams. They'd make it--he firmly believed that.
Hell, they would have made it before if he hadn't broken Kiki's spirit and shattered her drive.
But that wasn't a problem this time.
This time, he wasn't going anywhere.
When the girls wound down, Kiki leaned against him as they scoped out the menu, then ordered. The waitress left, and Celia started to outline the day. "Eden and Kristi can't make it here this weekend, but you and I can clean up a few of the melodies for the lyrics you sent over, and then we can record some tracks together. I went ahead and booked some studio time."
Celia looked at Noah, as if daring him to raise alternative plans.
"Sounds great to me. You two mind if I watch?"
Celia caught Kiki's eye, and then looked back to Noah. "Do you really want to, or are you just trying to make sure things are right between us?"
"Both."
She pressed her lips together, then nodded slowly. "Gotta give the guy points for honesty. Okay, then. But when we ask for your opinion it has to be real. Empty platitudes don't help us sell records."
"I'll be a totally critical bastard," he promised, managing not to crack a smile.
"All right, then. That's the plan."
They didn't talk much once the food came. They were all eager to get out of there and get to the studio. Noah left cash, then slid out of the booth, extending his hand to help Kiki.
Which was why he was facing the wrong direction when Celia said, "Um, I think they're coming for you."
He frowned, then turned to see Damien Stark, Ryan Hunter, and Dallas Sykes walking toward him. Which made no sense. As far as Noah knew, Dallas was in London. If he'd returned early, he surely would have been at the wrap party last night, especially since Jane, his wife, had written the book and screenplay that was the basis of Lyle's first break-out role.
"Hey man," Dallas said, his usually GQ-ready face looking haggard. An heir to billions, Dallas was also the founder of Deliverance. He'd seen more than his share of tragedy and been run through the public gossip mill more times than Noah could count. So the fact that he looked so drawn and exhausted concerned Noah more than his unexpected and unexplained presence in the restaurant.
"How did you know we were here?"
"It's important," Dallas said. "I had Quincy trac
e your cell phone."
Noah was still holding Kiki's hand. Now, he tightened his grip, as if to ensure she was safe. Quincy was MI-6, and also part of the Deliverance team. If Dallas was pulling him in for an unauthorized trace, it was even more serious than he thought.
"You could have texted," he said, warily. "I wasn't hiding."
Then he realized he'd left his phone in the room. Which meant that whatever was going on, his friends didn't want to wait until he saw and returned the text.
"Who are you? And what's going on?" Kiki asked, voicing the question that Noah was avoiding. Because something deep in his gut told him that he didn't want to hear the answer. Because the answer would destroy everything.
"This is Dallas Sykes," Damien said, introducing him, and Noah knew from the way Kiki squeezed his hand that she recognized the name.
"Let's move to the patio," Noah said, feeling both on display and claustrophobic.
The main portion of the restaurant took up most of the top floor. But it also featured a small patio on the west side with no seating, and they all went there now, the view of the ocean a stunning counterpart to the ominous conversation.
"I asked Ryan to look into your green pickup last night," Damien continued, smoothly picking up the conversation. "And based on what he learned, I asked Dallas to come."
"You were in London."
"Yeah," Dallas said. "Well . . ."
"Tell me." Noah's throat felt thick. Behind him, he heard Celia move to Kiki's other side and take her hand.
Damien glanced at Kiki, then at Noah. "Do you want--"
"She stays," he says. "They both do," he added, not wanting to deny Kiki the support of her best friend, whatever this was about.
Damien nodded, then gestured to Ryan.
"I called a friend of mine in Austin, Pierce Blackwell," Ryan said. "He has a security company, and I asked him and his partners to see what they could learn about the pickup. I thought they'd have to pull traffic and security cam footage and do some serious looking, but it turns out it was parked right outside your building."
A wave of dread slammed against Noah. "This doesn't have anything to do with Red Brick, does it?"
"It doesn't." Dallas shoved his hands in his pockets, looking nervous. Another bad sign.
"Just tell me," Noah demanded.
"It's Darla," Dallas said flatly, as the ground fell out from under Noah. "Darla's the woman in the pickup."
21
Darla.
The name settles on me like a ghost, and I back away without thinking--then realize with despair how easily Noah lets my fingers slip out of his grip.
Darla.
It's like a nightmare. No, it is a nightmare.
Behind me, Celia puts her hand on my shoulder, and though I welcome her steadying presence, it's not her touch I crave. But Noah hasn't reached for me. He hasn't done anything. He's just standing there, as if Dallas is speaking in an ancient language that Noah can't comprehend.
Finally, I manage to speak. "You're sure? It's really her? Not some con artist trying to fuck with him?"
"It's her," Dallas says.
My chest aches and my skin turns clammy. Icy fear settles over me, and it's all I can do not to let everyone see the way I'm shaking. But dammit, I'm going to be strong.
Noah turns then and looks at me, his expression more lost than I've ever seen. I hate myself right now, and I move back to his side and press my right hand to the small of his back. He needs as much strength as I can give him. This is a shock, but it doesn't change anything. He's moved on with his life.
The problem is that I'm afraid that he's going to slide backwards.
Yes, it's a miracle that she's alive, but I can't deny that I'm scared. Because she's a threat. She's the enemy, just like she was all those years ago when she took him away from me.
Except she's not, and I need to push past that fear. This is now, not ten years ago.
Noah and I have both grown so much since Los Angeles, and even though this is a shock, I'll be by his side, and we'll get through it together.
I rub my left ring finger, remembering the love in his eyes when he told me that one day he'd give me the ring for real.
I tell myself this doesn't change anything.
But the truth is, I don't believe myself.
My thoughts are churning. And right now, I'm so very scared.
"You checked DNA," Noah finally says, and his low, raw voice reminds me of a wounded animal. "It's been barely any time, but Deliverance has the resources to act fast. You did, didn't you? There's no doubt. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here." He looks at Dallas. "Would you?"
The tiny movement of Dallas's head is barely a nod. "There's no doubt."
Noah opens his mouth, as if to ask a question, then closes it again.
I step forward. "Why now? What happened? How did she survive? Why is she back?" The questions roll off my tongue, followed by the one I've been trying the hardest not to think about. "Are they still married?"
"I've asked Charles--my attorney--to look into that," Damien says. And the fact that the answer isn't a simple no weighs heavy on me.
"As for the other questions," Dallas says, "I asked her that on the phone." His focus is on Noah. "She says she'll tell you everything. But only you, at least at first."
He nods. "Okay, then. I'll go back to Austin tonight. Damien, I know it's not company business, but can I use one of the Stark jets?"
"Of course," Damien says.
"But you're not going to Austin," Ryan puts in. "We offered to fly her out here to meet you, but she turned us down. She said she's driving back to Oklahoma City. She should be there by now."
"That's where she was from," Noah says, as if that is more convincing evidence than DNA.
"We checked that out, too," Dallas says. "Her mother's still there in a small house outside of town. No income other than her disability check. Darla's father passed away five years ago with no assets and no insurance. As far as we could tell, Darla showed up on her doorstep a few months ago, then drove down to Austin more recently to look for you."
"Why go back?" I ask. "If she was desperate to see Noah, why leave now that she's found him?"
Dallas frowns, but doesn't answer. And before I can press the question, Noah looks at him, his expression tortured. "All that time with Deliverance searching for victims, and I never found her."
"Noah, don't." Dallas's voice is firm. "You joined Deliverance long after Darla disappeared. She was never one of our cases. And even if you would sometimes look, follow a lead, whatever, the fact is you didn't have all the information."
"I knew where she went missing. I knew where Diana's body was found." His voice is as hard as stone. As if every syllable is painful.
"You were looking for a woman alone," Dallas says with the unnaturally stiff posture of someone delivering a devastating blow. "And you were expecting to find a path to a body, not to a survivor."
"Alone," Noah repeats, his voice wary. "What do you mean?"
"She says she has a son. She says he's yours."
Noah stumbles, and I hold my hand out to steady him, feeling horribly unstable myself. Like I've been thrown back ten years, and it's happening all over again.
"Mine? That's impossible."
Dallas draws a breath. "He's almost nine, Noah. If Darla was newly pregnant when she was kidnapped, then it's possible. The boy could be yours."
I'm numb as we go back to the hotel room to pack. We both are. We move like zombies through the room, gathering our things.
The air is cloying, as if it holds even more horrible surprises, and although I try to talk to Noah, he's lost in silence. When he does speak, it's only in monosyllables.
"Noah, please." I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, my small carry-on bag already packed. "You should talk about it. You'll feel better."
"Will I?" he snaps. "Talking will make me feel better about leaving my pregnant wife behind in Mexico? About not looking for her hard enough when I had a
ll the resources at my disposal to do that?"
I cringe, not only from the force of his words, but from the pain within them. But it's the most words he's spoken since we arrived in the room, and I try to hold onto that fact as a mini-victory.
"It's not your fault," I say. But the look he gives me makes perfectly clear that he doesn't agree with that at all.
"What are you going to do?" I ask.
"Make it better." His voice is laced with a fierce determination, and I'm struck by a sudden, horrible memory. I have to make it right, he'd said to me ten years ago. I have to make it better.
"Noah," I begin, but I can't go on. My throat is too full of tears and the past is pushing painfully against me. I force myself to breathe, then try again, hoping desperately that I'm not looking down the path that we're about to travel. One we walked already, ten years ago.
Finally, I manage to form one simple question. "How?"
"I don't know," he says. "Whatever it takes to make it right."
I swallow, then nod numbly, my worst fears confirmed. I've lived this nightmare before, and I know where it's going. I blink back tears, hoping that I'm wrong. Hoping that everything we've rebuilt hasn't just crumbled into dust around us.
"We should go," I say.
He picks up his bag and swings the strap over his arm. For the first time, his eyes seem clear as he looks at me. "Kiki, oh, God, Kiki. I'm so sorry."
He moves closer, then brushes away the tears that are trailing down my cheek. "But I need to go do this alone."
22
"I'm fine," I lie, as I pull Celia's snuggly purple blanket up around my shoulders. "You didn't have to put me up tonight. The hotel would have been fine."
"Fine?" she repeats. "Do you know what a completely lame word that is? Because seriously, sweetie, unless you define fine by whether or not you're on this earth and breathing, you are not fine at all."
I grimace. "Well, that's something at least."
She makes a scoffing sound. "You can stay here as long as you want, you know. Hang out. We'll write songs. Drink buckets of wine. Eat cookies. My couch is yours for as long as you need it."
Her apartment in Culver City is small, about the size of Noah's place. Only hers isn't a studio, but a one-bedroom. Which means her room is tiny and the living room is tiny.