“You’re sorry? Sorry for what? For kissing me like you wanted to fuck me after telling me there will be absolutely no fucking? And then running out of the office like a little bitch?”
Ouch. “Lennon, I—”
“What was wrong with that kiss? Huh? Because I sure as hell enjoyed it. I thought it was pretty damn perfect. You made my toes tingle, Noah! Do you know how many men have made my toes tingle? One. Christian Grey.”
“Christian Grey? The rich dude who’s into all that bondage shit?”
“Focus, Noah,” she yells.
“I made your toes tingle?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she huffs, dropping her head to my shoulder.
Lennon doesn’t say another word, and she doesn’t move a muscle when I load her up in my Chevelle. By the time we pull into my driveway, she’s passed out.
Even asleep she’s beautiful. Too beautiful. Dropping my head against the head rest, I run my hands over my face and stare at her. How is it that this tiny little spitfire of a woman has managed to infiltrate my mind and my life? I put up walls, damn it! High fucking walls to prevent something like this from happening.
It’s always been easy for me to walk away from a woman. So why can’t I seem to walk away from this woman?
Lennon shifts around in the front seat, swallowing several times. I glance between her house and mine. My plan had been to take her home and tuck her into bed, but as it is, I’m worried about leaving her by herself. So, I do what any other respectable southern gentleman would do.
As
smoothly and quietly as possible, I lift Lennon from my car, walk her inside my house, tuck her into my bed—after pulling off her heels—and I curl up on the couch for what I’m sure will be a restless night’s sleep.
The sun slices through the curtain, jabbing me in the eye, and I moan, rolling over in bed. Only it’s not my bed.
Oh shit, not my bed!
Hand clenched over my chest, I quickly sit up, my eyes scanning the room.
A large mahogany dresser sits against the wall. Other than that, and the bed I’m in, the room is fairly empty. Two laundry baskets sit in the corner, along with an oval mirror, and I see a frame on the floor, propped against the wall—almost as though someone meant to hang it up, but never got around to it.
Sliding out of bed, I tiptoe across the room and pick up the frame so I can see what it holds.
Nova.
My heart slows inside my chest. As much as I don’t want to be at Noah’s house, it’s really a good thing. It could’ve been worse. I could’ve ended up at Cooper’s, and I was determined not to let that happen.
I spent five minutes with Cooper last night and knew we would never work. And not because he wasn’t good looking, or sweet and charming, but because he wasn’t Noah. Noah gives me butterflies. Every time I see him or hear his voice—hell, every time I think about him—a whole swarm takes flight inside my stomach.
That’s something I’m really going to have to work on, too, considering he and I can never happen.
Taking a deep breath, I run my finger over the glass, reminding myself why Noah is trying to keep his distance. I resolve to walk out of this house.
Thankfully, the room has an en suite bathroom, so I take a few minutes to straighten myself up before stepping out into the hall. The house is eerily quiet as I tiptoe toward the front door, heels in hand.
If I’m lucky, I can make it out of here without being seen or heard. And if I’m really lucky, Noah is already at work. It is Thursday after all, and a quick glance at my watch tells me it’s nearly ten a.m. Noah probably gets up at the ass crack of dawn and has at least four hours of work in before I even crawl out of bed.
Another reason why we wouldn’t work out.
I sigh a breath of relief when I make it to the front door without encountering Noah.
“Stop.”
Shit.
“I really need to get going,” I say, my hand still on the knob. “Busy schedule today.”