by Wynne Roman
Or so I thought.
I meant to be a good guy and sleep on the couch. Paige’s soft voice stopped me at the bedroom door.
“Noah?”
“Yeah?”
“Will you stay?”
“In here with you?”
“Uh huh.”
“Uh . . . yeah. Sure.” I was screaming inside my head—no!—but I couldn’t say the word out loud. “You . . . uh, sure you want me to?”
“Yes.” No sound of a question in her voice.
“Okay.”
“And, Noah?”
I stiffened when she said my name again. “Yeah?”
“Will you hold me?”
Shit. No. No, no, no!
Thinking that way, that kind of intimacy, was not a good idea. I know it now just as much as I knew it last night.
I did it, anyway.
“Okay.”
I checked the front-door lock, turned off the music right in the middle of Earth, Wind, and Fire’s song Fantasy, and then piled my clothes in a heap right next to the bed. I left my boxers on, almost as an afterthought, and now they feel like too little protection between Paige’s fine ass and my unruly dick.
I lay quietly, willing my body to relax, my cock to soften, and my brain to give up its sudden fantasies about Paige and me and this effing bed. Without much success. I can’t stay here next to her, but how much I can move and not wake her?
I test the idea, stretch my legs a little, and she shifts against me. I settle again, except for my fingers. They twitch with the need to tighten around her breast while I drag my thumb over that pert nipple. My hips shift without me meaning to, wanting to thrust my erection against her until it tucks into the crease of her ass.
Oh, my cock . . . Jesus!
Paige groans and arches back against me, snuggling closer. My physical awareness turns into hell. Literal fucking hell.
Holy Christ, does this woman have any idea what she’s doing to me?
I know better. She’s hung-over, for God’s sake. She—
“Noah?”
Yeah. It’s me.
I lean close to whisper against her hair. “Morning, sweetness.”
“Noah!”
She moves then, faster than I expected she could. She shoots out of my arms, faces me, and crouches on her knees on the other side of the bed. One strap of the red Wycked Obsession tank top falls far enough down her arm that I know, if she moves just right, her boob will pop out. If she notices, she doesn’t care, and I’m not saying a damn thing about it.
“You feeling okay?” I ask in the most neutral voice I can find.
“I . . .” Her voice dies, and she blinks. “Uh, no. I feel like shit, actually. But—what are we doing here?”
“Sleeping.”
“Together?”
“Yeah.”
“In the same bed?”
“Yeah.”
“But . . .” She shoves a hand into her messy hair, a chunk of it pulled from her ponytail. The rest is tangled and flying all over the place. “Oh, God. What happened last night?”
She plops down on her butt, her legs crossed, her hand still on her head. I get a peek at her lacy pink undies, but force my attention away. I need to look at anything else.
Her eyes dart from side to side as she tries to remember, but I take pity on her under the circumstances.
“You got a little drunk.”
She flinches, rests her fingers against her forehead. “Uh . . . yeah.”
“Stay here.”
I climb from the bed, grab a couple of aspirin and a glass of water from the bathroom, and take them back to the bedroom. Paige’s eyes are closed, and she’s swaying slightly.
“Here.”
I hand them over, and she swallows them down with a groan.
“Drink all the water.”
“What?”
“The water. You need to hydrate.”
She eyes me like she either doesn’t believe me or doesn’t trust me, but then she nods and chugs the rest of the water.
“What’s next?” She hands me the glass.
I lift a shoulder in what’s supposed to be an easy shrug. Not one that says, I’d really like to fuck you right now.
“Coffee. And then I guess you figure out where to go from here.”
Chapter Five
Paige
Where to go from here.
My brain might be sluggish, but I can make sense of Noah’s statement well enough. It’s all there in my head, just waiting to pounce. The whiskey might have wiped out some of the details, but the basics haven’t gone away.
Drake. Marlie. Their affair. Or, hell, maybe I’ve become the affair. Then there’s the question of going home with Noah, because I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. Drinking that damn Crown Royal. And then . . . murky darkness with occasional flashes of Noah taking care of me.
So here I sit on Noah’s bed with him close, watching me. The longer he’s quiet, the more irritated I am.
“What?” I snap.
He shakes his head. I have no ability to perceive what he’s thinking now.
“You want some coffee?”
Coffee?
“Yes.” I nod once. “And a shower.”
“Got it.”
He tries not to smile, but I can see his lips twitch. Non-hungover people always act that way, and it pisses me off. And why isn’t he drunk?
I glance around the room, not really seeing anything but not quite sure what else to do. Even knowing how it happened, it just feels so weird to be here. In a bedroom. Alone with Noah.
I pull in a deep breath. When I left work last night, nothing could have prepared me for—
Oh, my God! “What time is it?” I push up on to my knees, searching the room for a clock.
Noah points to an alarm clock on the nightstand. “Nine forty-seven.” He repeats what I can now see for myself.
“What?” I scramble from the bed. “Nine forty-seven? I’m supposed to be at work!”
I waver and groan the minute my feet hit the floor. Noah steps close to balance me.
“There you go, sweetness.”
“Where’s my phone?” I’d search myself, but I really don’t have the strength for it. Crap. I’m leaning way too hard against him the way it is.
“In the other room. C’mon.”
He herds me into the main living/dining/kitchen space, one hand at the small of my back, and I let him because it’s the easiest thing to do. He’s wearing black boxers, I’m in a too-big tank top and panties, and I just can’t find any concern over it.
It’s not like we’ve never seen each other naked.
Oh, no you don’t! My head pounds. Do not go there. Not now. Too much other shit is going on. You don’t have time for that old routine.
I spot my phone sitting on the coffee table. The short walk seems to have done me some good, giving me back my footing well enough that I can wobble over there on my own. I sink down on the couch, turn it on, and a chorus of beeps and alerts ring through.
“You okay?” Noah asks from behind me.
“Yeah,” I sigh. I’m not looking at any of that stuff yet.
“I’ll make coffee.”
I nod and call Ruby without looking back. I can hear him rummaging around in the kitchen, which gives me one hope. Coffee.
Will that make me feel better?
“Paige!” Ruby answers with a squeal.
“Hey,” I mutter in a much softer voice.
“Where are you? What happened to you?”
I look at the phone and switch to speaker. I can’t listen to anybody’s voice, especially an excited one, that close to my ear right now.
“Uh, I won’t be in. I really don’t feel well.”
It isn’t an exaggeration. And I shouldn’t feel guilty about it, either. It’s maybe the second or third sick day I’ve taken. Ever. In my entire life.
“Okay . . .” Her voice fades. “Are you all right?”
I take a breath. “Yea
h. Or I will be. Just . . . not up to coming into the office.”
Faint static echoes from the speaker, until finally Ruby says, “Drake called.”
I jerk my head around, my half-assed ponytail smacking me on the face, and glare at Noah like, what?!
He shrugs, and I force myself back to my conversation.
“What did he want?”
“He was looking for you. Did you two have a fight?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Well . . .” I can hear the hesitation in her voice. She doesn’t know Drake all that well, and they never really hit it off.
“What?”
“He was just . . . himself.”
“An asshole, you mean.”
“Yeah.” She laughs, but I don’t.
“What did you tell him?”
“You were in a meeting.”
“Good.” I swallow. “If he calls back, I’m in meetings all day.”
“Okay, but . . .” She hesitates. “What if he shows up?”
I have to think for a minute, but only because my brain is still functioning at half power. “I’m out. My meetings are out of the office.”
“Right. Got it.”
“Don’t tell him anything else. If he asks, say you don’t know. I—I’ll explain everything Monday.” Maybe I’ll have some freaking answers by then.
“Okay, but . . . you’re sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod carefully, even though she can’t see me. “I’m just really feeling crappy, but—” I pause to choose my words “— a friend is here with me. I’ll be fine.”
We end the conversation with a few more comments. Ruby’s “Can I do anything for you?” and more “I’m fines” from me. I end the call just as Noah circles the end of the couch with a steaming coffee cup in each hand. And, dammit, he’s still wearing just his briefs.
“Here.” He hands me one of the cups. “It’s black. I don’t have any cream or sugar.”
I snatch the cup and inhale the aroma. “It’s caffeine. That’s all I need right now.”
It’s strong, maybe a little bitter, but I don’t care. I’d have it injected straight into my veins if I could. I need something to kickstart my brain, and I’m counting on my beloved caffeine to do the trick.
Noah sits across from me, and it hits me then that we’re in much the same positions we were last night. Except this morning neither of us is fully dressed, and my head is struggling for clarity.
“So, what’s next?”
Noah drinks from his cup after asking the question, but his attention is focused solely on me. His blue eyes are dark and probing, and I know he sees stuff in my expression that I’d rather keep hidden. I just don’t have any idea what it is—or how to hide it.
“You think Drake’s gonna cause trouble?” he continues.
I slant a disbelieving gaze in Noah’s direction. “What do you think?”
He shakes his head, takes a drink of coffee, then lays a serious look on me. “What are you doing with him, anyway? Did you forget everything about high school?”
I sigh and take my own drink of the hot, bitter nectar of life.
“No. I didn’t forget. He just . . . he’s charming. You know that.”
Noah’s eyes widen before his brow angles down. “Charming? How the fuck am I supposed to know that?”
“You were friends in high school. You know what he’s like.”
“Yeah, he’s a douche. As in no girl I know should be with him, except maybe somebody like Marlie.”
I huff out a breath. “Well, he was on his best behavior with me. Convinced me he’d changed. Grown up.”
“And you believed him?”
I put one hand to my forehead and close my eyes. “Look, I know it was stupid. I can see that now, and I get that I should have known better. That any man who says and does all the right things shouldn’t be trusted. But can we talk about it later, when I’m coherent enough to mount a decent defense?”
“Aw, c’mere, sweetness.”
The coffee cup is tugged from my fingers, and by the time I open my eyes, Noah’s placing it next to his on the coffee table. He pulls me close and tucks me against him, his arm curling around my shoulders. I don’t even have time to squeal, because my head swims with a wave of dizziness.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes softly. “I didn’t mean to give you a hard time. I know shit about Drake Johnson that you probably don’t. He’s never been a good guy, and let’s just leave it at that.”
I sigh. I hope he means it, because I’m really not in the mood to dissect my reasons for allowing myself to be in the running for dumbass of the year.
“At least you don’t live with him,” Noah murmurs softly, but then he must sense a sudden tension when I stiffen. “Do you?”
I swallow. “No. Not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
He sits up, and I lose the feeling of heat and comfort that his body offered. I’m surprised to realize how much I liked it, and I frown as I struggle to push myself straight.
Noah stares at me. “What the fuck does ‘not exactly’ mean?”
I blow out a breath and try to stare at anything besides Noah’s beautiful and yet irritated face. And not at his tattoo-covered chest with the Wycked Obsession logo on one pec, some kind of heart the other, and—
Stop it! You don’t have time for that now!
But, God, how I’d like the freedom to just look. And touch.
I grapple for the words. “We’re not living together. Not yet, but . . . we were supposed to.”
“Explain.”
“My lease was up a couple of months ago. Drake convinced me not to resign, to move into an apartment in a building owned by his father. I got a pretty good price on the rent, didn’t have to pay the deposit or any move-in costs, but everything had to go in his name to get the deal. He was supposed to move in with me.”
“Was?”
I cringe, knowing how naïve I’m going to sound. “His lease was supposed to be up shortly after mine. Then he said he got the date wrong, that it’d be a couple more months. I . . . don’t know where it all stands now, except that he never moved.”
Noah keeps staring. “He got a key?” He sounds calm enough, but I can tell by the tight lines around his mouth that his feelings aren’t so cool.
“What do you think?” I snap, more irritated with myself than Noah—or even Drake. “The lease is in his name. Of course he has a key!”
“So, basically, you’re fucked.”
I feel myself wilt. “Yeah.” All the air in my lungs deserts me. “Pretty much.”
“Goddamn it, sweetness. You’re smarter than that.”
If I remember anything about Noah, it’s that he rarely sugarcoats anything.
I frown. “How do you know how smart I am? I haven’t seen you in five years.”
“Because you’d have never fallen for that kind of bullshit in high school.”
He’s right. Even then, I’d have smelled a rat where Drake was concerned. My father’s a lawyer, for God’s sake, and my mother a doctor. They made sure I had some pretty good problem solving skills, so how did I miss it this time?
Good question. I can’t look at Noah as I consider it.
Was it because I was lonely? Maybe, but only a little. I haven’t dated a lot since Noah and I broke up—just Todd and now Drake—but I didn’t miss it all that much, either. I wasn’t ready.
So what about now? Was it Drake’s charm? I suppose it was some of that, but I saw the bullshit. Even called him on it more than once—and he always flirted his way out of it.
The thing was—is—he chose me. He pursued me. He wanted me. Noah didn’t, at least not exclusively. Todd didn’t, either. And Drake? He found my weakness, and he exploited it.
But now I know the truth. He didn’t want me, either. I was just another conquest.
Goddamn it.
“Hey, sweetness.”
Noah smiles and takes my hand in his much larger one. He al
ways sees too much, and it’s no different right now. I can tell by the crooked uncertainty of his grin, but I really don’t have the heart, soul, or brain power to do anything about it.
“It’s gonna be okay, baby. I promise.”
“Because Noah Dexter says so?”
He laughs, and it sounds a little more genuine. “Pretty much.”
I can’t help but smile.
“You get in the shower.” He stands, pulls me to my feet. “Then we’ll have a nice greasy breakfast to settle your stomach.”
“Ugh.”
“You’ll love it. I promise. Now get busy.” He gives me a gentle push toward the bedroom. “Get yourself cleaned up so we can start figuring shit out.”
Chapter Six
Noah
I shower and dress alone, because Paige has no sense of humor over my joke that we should save water and shower together. I find her in the living room, a mostly untouched cup of coffee on the table in front of her. She’s sitting on the sofa with her phone, wearing her flowery dress again, and her hair pulled back in a much looser ponytail than last night. No makeup, just a fresh face that’s as beautiful as ever.
I can’t tell if she knows I’m there. She doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, doesn’t even say anything. She just stares, and not in a normal, easy way.
“What’s wrong?”
“Uh . . .”
She looks up, her gaze oddly blank. Her eyes are more brown than green today, and there’s a riot of shit going on inside of her this morning. Stuff that wasn’t there before. I can’t tell exactly what any of it is, but it doesn’t take much of a guess to figure out who’s behind it.
“What’d he do?”
She shakes her head. “Just . . . texts. And voice mails.”
I stalk to her side, hold out my hand. “Give it to me.”
She looks from me to the phone, takes a breath, hands it over. It strikes me as weird that she actually listens, cooperates, but I suppose it shouldn’t be that big of a surprise. I know as much about what went down as anybody else.