Out of nowhere she remembered how he’d appeared that morning at his bedroom door, a rippling wall of abdominals beneath a tan, swarthy chest, a tattoo just above his heart – too far away for her to make out the details of the cursive script, but just the sight of the ink on his flesh had made her belly flip and flop. His boxer shorts were dark gray but they’d done nothing to disguise his generous proportions, so now she’d spent the entire day unable to think of much besides Noah, his body, his ass, his everything.
It pissed her off.
Max didn’t like obsessing over anyone, and sure as hell not her brother’s best friend. He was arrogant and bossy and besides that, she was mortified that she’d run her finger over his lips the night before, practically begging him to kiss her – and more – and that he’d shut her down. Could he make it any more obvious that he wasn’t interested? And shouldn’t she be focusing on something far more important, like the whole ‘someone stalking her and getting into her home’ aspect of things?
Grinding her teeth with determination, she gave one last look at the paparazzi then sashayed towards the tent entrance, where two men in dark suits stood sentry.
At the gate, though, they stopped Noah.
“He’s with me,” she murmured.
“Identification?”
Noah pulled something out of his wallet, a badge of some sort. One of the security offices studied it then nodded, pulling back the curtains.
Was Noah wearing his gun even now? Again, that same frisson of anticipation ran through her, so she focused extra hard on looking as though she barely knew he existed.
Fashion shows were frantic and bedlam, and this was no exception. The tent was overflowing with models, celebrities, security and a select handful of photographers. Many were in a state of undress, or wearing lingerie as their hair and make up was completed.
“Darling, you’re here. Thank God. We’ve got you in the Stella McCartney,” Elvira Pepin, organizer of the event, dressed in an electric pink suit caught Max by the arms. “You’re over there.” She nodded towards a dressing area in the centre of the tent. “The necklace will have to go for the show.” She nodded at Max’s diamond, a piece she always wore. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a seventeen-year-old coked out of her brains I need to deal with.”
Max grimaced. “Good luck with that.”
She looked up at Noah, wondering how this must seem to him, and got nothing from his expression. He was like a stone at her side, his eyes flicking the room, scanning, always scanning, so she felt uneasy and wished, for a moment, that he’d stop doing that. She knew he was there to keep her safe, but she wanted to forget there was any risk, just for a little while.
“I’m fine here, Noah. You saw the security outside, right?”
His response was a tightening of his lips, a sardonic half-smile. “Pretend I’m not here.”
Easier said than done. It took a monumental effort to act as though she wasn’t aware of him, dressing into the stunning gown and sky high heels before hair and make up set to transforming her into something other worldly. When she was at home, Max preferred to wipe all her make up off and scrape her hair into a pony tail, but for events like this, she was painted like artwork, the eye make up smoky and thick, fake lashes applied so her eyes were impossible to ignore.
As the stylist chatted inanely and fashioned her hair into a teased, curled masterpiece, her eyes strayed to the mirror; specifically to Noah, who stood just to her right, his eyes roaming the room in an impersonal, watchful way.
“You’re up, babe!” Elvira was back. “Holy shit. You look smoking hot. How do you do it?”
Max deflected the praise. “This dress is amazing.”
“And how you wear it is,” she pinched her fingers to her lips in a gesture that said perfection. “Now go, go, go.”
“I’m going.” Max stood, appraising her own reflection for a moment, straightening the dress over her stomach and fluffing it at her thighs, then glancing at Noah on autopilot. Now he was looking at her, and just the briefest clash of their eyes sent her pulse into a dangerous rhythm.
“I’ll be watching,” he said quietly, an arm on her elbow as he led her to the door all the models were filing in and out of.
She nodded, a kaleidoscope of butterflies overtaking her stomach. It was ridiculous. She’d done this dozens of times – not because she had any secret penchant for modelling but because she was a sucker for a good cause and a charity fashion show always raised a small fortune. At one time, she’d believed that no publicity was bad publicity, hence the never-ending way she’d torn up the red carpet in her teens and early twenties, but it had never occurred to her she’d end up with some stalker obsessively watching over her, tracking her every movement.
Someone who’d broken into her garage, vandalised her car, who knew everything about her, who could be in the audience even now, watching her, fantasizing about her, wanting to hurt her.
Huge eyes flew to Noah’s face. His jaw was locked, his features an impenetrable mask.
“I’m here.” The words throbbed through her, firm, reassuring. “I’m watching. I’ve got you.”
It was everything she’d needed to hear. “I’ll be quick.”
“Don’t fall.” One side of his lips quirked, and her heart skipped a beat.
She opened her mouth to respond tartly then remembered her necklace. “Shoot.” She unclipped it hurriedly, handing it over to him. “Can you mind this?”
She didn’t have time to hear his reply.
“Go, go, go,” Elvira urged, appearing as if from nowhere.
Max jerked her eyes away from Noah’s face and focused on the runway and the walk she had to do. She waited for the music cue then took her step. She’d done this before. She knew what it entailed. A thousand flashes, like torches being shone in her face, murmured voices, more flashes, loud music, blood pounding through her body and finally it was over. It was ninety seconds at most, but the most electric, jolting ninety seconds Max could imagine. At some fashion shows, the crowds gave standing ovations, but not in Paris. Here it was all so tres chic, but there was muted applause, and that was saying something.
She stepped back into the tent, then the second she saw Noah, expelled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, before moving close enough to him that if anyone were to reach for her he could stop them, his arms would move quickly, blocking them, holding her, keeping her safe.
She was desperate to get out of the tent, away from the people, hundreds of people she didn’t know, any one of whom could wish her ill.
“I just need to get changed,” she said quickly, quietly, so he leaned closer to hear and she was hit with a wave of desire radiating from the pit of her stomach through all her nerve endings.
“You were phenomenal,” Elvira squeezed Max’s arm and she flinched at the unexpected contact.
“Thank you,” she recovered quickly.
“Sticking around for the after party?”
Max wanted to be in her apartment, away from the throng of celebrities, the noise, the lights, the attention, the risk, but she also wanted to run as hard as she could from fear, from allowing anyone to taunt and control her. She glanced at Noah; his face gave nothing away.
“Not tonight.”
“What? Everyone’s hoping to see you there.”
She winced. “I need an early night.”
“Come for one drink,” Elvira persisted, but Max shook her head.
“Another time. You’ve done a great job.”
“Thanks, babe. I’m so glad you could take part. I’ll email you about Fashion week, yeah?”
Max lifted one shoulder noncommittally. Charity events were fine, but fashion week was where she drew a line. “We’ll see.” She kissed Elvira’s cheeks, then turned back to Noah. Speculation glinted in his eyes.
“Two minutes.”
He handed over her necklace and her heart skipped a beat.
When she emerged from the change room she was back
in her own clothes, a pair of leather pants and a silk blouse over a black lace bra, and she had to give Noah points for willpower when his eyes didn’t drop – even for a second – to trace the outline of her breasts. Had she worn the provocative outfit deliberately to stir a reaction? Absolutely. Was she disappointed that it had been an abject failure? More than she cared to admit.
“Your car’s out back,” Noah said, putting a hand just above the curve of her bottom, guiding her back to a side entrance of the tent.
“Not out front?”
His eyes probed hers. “No. Unless you want more photos?”
She shook her head. “It’s just how this normally works.”
“These aren’t normal times.”
Would they ever be again?
She didn’t ask the question; she wouldn’t give in to fear.
He opened the door for her, but instead of moving to the front passenger seat, he opened the driver door, spoke some words in French – he spoke the language? – then took the seat behind the wheel.
“What are you doing?” She leaned forward in the car.
“Driving. Buckle up.”
She frowned. “But why?”
His eyes met hers in the rearvision mirror. “Control.”
Goosebumps lifted all over her skin. It was the single word that most completely encompassed how she felt when she was with Noah. He was in control at all times.
She did as he said, relaxing back into the seat and doing up her belt as a click sounded to show that he’d locked the doors.
“My apartment is just off of the rue de –,”
“I know where it is.”
“Of course you do.” She wished she were sitting in the front seat, beside him, closer, more able to speak like equals rather than a strange employer/employee dynamic. But that’s what they were, she reminded herself quickly, even if he wasn’t technically being paid.
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”
His eyes flicked to hers in the rearvision mirror, despite the fact he was navigating the busy intersection of the Place de Varsovie, with traffic streaming from all sides.
“Fashion shows aren’t really my scene.”
She suppressed a smile at the derisive tone. “You don’t approve?”
He turned left, away from the madness of the streets. She noticed the route was different to that which her driver usually took, but wasn’t worried. She trusted him.
“I don’t disapprove,” he responded laconically. “But if you’re asking if I’d be lining up to spend my spare time in that environment then the answer is no.”
“And what do you do in your spare time?”
From her vantage point, she could see the way his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“Work.”
She pouted. “That’s work. I mean for fun.”
“Are the two mutually exclusive?”
“So that’s your social life?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re not saying anything,” she responded with a lift of one brow. “In fact, you’re doing an excellent job of dodging whatever question I ask.”
She saw the way his face shifted, a smile instantaneous then just as swiftly removed. “Did you have fun tonight?” He asked instead, turning it back on her.
“It was work for me too.”
“Charity work?”
“Same same,” she lifted a shoulder. “I committed to coming. It’s an important cause. But I’m glad it’s over.”
“You were a natural out there.”
She pulled her lips to one side, thinking of how hard she’d had to work to become good at that – looking confident and assured, to parlay her looks into an advantage rather than something she wanted to downplay and minimize as much as she could.
“Turn left here,” she said, nodding.
He didn’t. She frowned. “You know where you’re going, right?”
“Haven’t we covered this?”
“Then why are you heading right around Paris? My apartment’s in that arrondisement?”
He didn’t answer and something like fear trickled through her veins. “You’re worried we’re being followed.”
“No.”
She spun in her seat, looking behind the car. “What is it? Which car?”
He made a gruff sound of amusement. “You’re being paranoid.”
“No, you’re being paranoid, if you’re taking me on a joyride just for the sake of it.”
“No one is following us.” He said it with complete confidence, so she knew he’d been scoping the surrounding cars to be sure of that fact. “But it’s good practice to choose different routes than one might expect. Predictability is the enemy of proper security.”
She eased back in her seat, somewhat mollified. “I see.”
They were quiet for the rest of the drive, but it wasn’t a comfortable silence. How could it be when every second that passed stretched Max’s nerves almost to breaking point? She was aware of his every movement, of the way he filled out the car, she was aware of the way her body responded, wanting him, needing him, wishing she could touch him again then remembering with a burst of embarrassment how that had gone the night before.
No more drinking around Noah Storm, rule number one.
No more imagining him naked, rule number two.
He pulled the car up out the front of the exclusive building, coming around to open her door. Habit kept her in her seat, waiting for him, and as she stepped out, into the circle of his arms, she had to fight an impulse to lean in, to brush their bodies together. She was losing her mind. What had happened to her rules?
Two doormen stood just inside the foyer, and as she approached, one opened the glass doors, the other tipped his hat.
“Mademoiselle Fortescue, good evening.”
She smiled in response, waiting for Noah, who took one last look around then stepped with her into the building. He handed the keys to the doorman, clearly au fait with protocols in apartments like this.
“The place was built in the thirties,” she murmured, “but unlike a lot of old apartment buildings in Paris, the lifts were redone sometime in the late nineties. Thank God. My flat’s on the seventh floor, and on the handful of times I’ve had to use the steps it’s a workout, believe me.”
She was babbling.
“Anyway,” she forced her voice to resemble something crisp and cool, gesturing to the bank of lifts.
One came almost as soon as he pressed the button and Max stepped into it without thinking, without preparing, more to the point, for how close she would be to Noah in this tiny cubicle – all the space the building would allow for.
They were shoulder to shoulder, and Max barely breathed as the lift ascended, wanting to reach for him, to touch him.
The doors pinged open into a well-lit corridor that had three doors coming off it.
“Do you know the other occupants?”
“Not well. We’re not here often.” She angled her face to his. “Why? Do you think one of them has been secretly following me?”
His lips compressed. “I like to cover all bases.”
Control. The word burst into her mind and she knew it answered her question. He was chasing down every possibility because he wanted – needed – control over this situation.
“The woman next door is in her eighties. She’s lived here for a long time. Seems nice enough. The other door is, I believe, a corporate apartment like ours.”
“Your company owns the flat?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, Fortescue Inc is basically just Gray and me. We share a lot of property.”
“Right.”
“You guys don’t talk about this stuff?”
“Not generally, no.”
She wondered about their friendship – she’d heard Noah’s name from time to time, but not often, and they definitely didn’t move in the same social circles, so far as she knew.
She flicked on lights as she entered, tossing her handbag onto a chair
then heading into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine, before she remembered rule number one and switched to soda water. “Want one?”
He dipped his head in silent agreement; she retrieved another bottle. She should have put it on the kitchen bench, but impulsiveness drew her across the room, her hand pushing the bottle towards him at close range, so that when he took it, his fingers curled around hers and something inside of her jolted, hard.
Pleasure began to build, to spin, anticipation throbbing low in her abdomen. She wasn’t drunk now, not even close, so she knew the decisions she was making were all powered by her own wants, her own desires.
“Why did you push me away last night?”
A muscle jerked low in his jaw, as though he were grinding his teeth.
“When?”
“Don’t do that,” she murmured, swaying forward, the water forgotten, his nearness all she could focus on. “Don’t act as if you don’t know what I’m talking about. If you’re not attracted to me, that’s fine. Just say it. My ego’s not so fragile…”
It wasn’t about ego though, so much as a thousand and one precious hopes, hopes that had formed deep in her soul since the moment they met, hopes she couldn’t untangle from her real self now, hopes that were taking over completely.
“Being attracted to you is not an option.”
“What does that even mean?”
He made a low, growling sound but when he spoke his voice was soft, patient. “I’m here to keep you safe, not take you to bed. No matter how…fascinating…I find that idea, it would be completely inappropriate.”
Stars shone behind her eyes. She heard what he was saying, but she clung to his admission, that he was as fascinated by the idea of being with her as she was with him.
“Do you think my apartment’s not safe?”
She looked around, then turned back to him, using the movement as an excuse to get even closer, so now their bodies were held together, her face tilted a little to stare up at him.
“You have no idea what you’re doing, Max.”
“Don’t I?” Her smile was impish. “How can you know that?”
Never Mine: The Rich List Book 1 Page 5
