“It does, doesn’t it? Not too sweet. Not too pretty. Plenty spicy.”
Noah’s glance toward Monica was filled with an admiration that warmed her to her bones.
“You should do it, Monica.”
“I’m afraid to tell your mom. She’ll be angry with me for leaving the gallery.”
“She’ll support this idea,” he said softly.
“Will you—would you mind looking at the space with me?”
“Sure.”
They headed over together. Monica already had the key with her. She’d picked it up from Bram Weinstein, Accord’s resident real estate agent.
Once inside the empty shop, they stood and tried to imagine something other than the contents that had been there all of their lives.
Dust motes floated in sunlight that streamed through the front windows.
“How long ago did Al open the cigar store?”
“My dad thinks close to fifty years ago.”
“No wonder he’s ready to retire.”
“It will be hard on him, though. What will he do with his time? His wife died ten years ago. His children have scattered to the four corners of the earth.”
When Noah didn’t respond, she glanced his way.
He watched her with a quiet, arrested sort of expression.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You are truly a kind person, aren’t you?”
“I try to be. I don’t know why you always thought I was cold.”
He stepped toward her, then moved closer, the room so quiet Monica swore she could hear dust motes hit the floor.
“You never talked to me.”
When she’d been trying to avoid him? She wouldn’t have thought that would matter to him. Just to be certain they were on the same page, she asked, “When?”
“In high school.”
He’d surprised her. That long ago? That wasn’t the answer she’d expected. “High school? I was mean to you in high school?”
“God, no. Mean would have been an improvement.”
There was something worse than mean? “I don’t understand.”
“You didn’t see me. I didn’t exist for you.”
So untrue. “Oh, I saw you, but I was intimidated by you. You were too smart.” She twisted her fingers together. “And I wasn’t.”
“You know that’s not true. You do understand how smart you are, right?”
She shook her head. “Maybe now, but back then you had such strong opinions about everything, and I didn’t know how to have an opinion. I was—”
She bit her lip. God. She’d almost said it out loud. She’d almost shared her nightmare.
He stepped closer still, until she could feel heat radiating from him and could practically count the gold streaks in his green eyes. “Tell me.”
She shook her head.
He pressed against her, compelling her to share. “Please.” So gently spoken, so unlike his normal take-charge personality. He looked like the same man, smelled like him, but something had shifted with that soft plea. “Please.”
“I was empty.” There. It was out in the open.
“What do you mean?”
“There was a huge gaping hole inside of me.” Like one of those zero-gravity spaces, the room held them still and aloft, drawing things out of her easily. “There was something missing. That’s why Billy was so special to me. He filled all of my empty spaces with his personality.”
“Yeah, Billy sure filled a room.” No sarcasm. Affection.
“He banished the silence from my life.”
“Poor Monica.”
She tried to point at his face, but he stood too close to her. “If you say ‘poor little rich girl,’ I’ll clock you.”
“No. That wasn’t what I meant. It’s awful that you felt alone. Bravo for Billy. If I’d known I would have seen you differently.”
Cinnamon. If I developed cologne for Noah, I would add cinnamon. It would enhance his natural scent. He’d liked it on her. She would like it on him.
“And now?” he asked.
“Now I feel better. I spent much of my time alone while growing up, even though my dad was the furthest thing from a neglectful father. And I’m learning to be on my own now in a different way—to be content with my solitude.”
He nodded, as though he already knew that. “I’ve seen a change in you this summer.”
“For a long time, I’ve been looking for something to fill the void inside of myself, without relying on someone else to do it. One thing I’ve always wanted is to own my own business, but I couldn’t find a direction. I finally have. I love these ideas, Noah. I want to make them work.”
His eyes filled with admiration, like hot sun bathing a beach, and she basked in it. “You’ll make it work, Monica.”
He came to within an inch of her and she held her breath. He was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes. She felt his breath on her ear.
“Where is it?”
She understood what he wanted and turned around, undid the top two buttons of her blouse and slid it down her shoulders.
She felt his nose on her right shoulder and smiled. Close, but no cigar. He trailed his lips, moist and hot, across the top of her back until he reached her left shoulder. Bingo.
He kissed her there, leaving his lips to burn into her like a brand. She leaned her head back against him.
“Noah,” she breathed.
His good hand came to her shoulder and the fingers of his broken wrist grazed her arm. He pressed her away from him. “Not here. Not now.”
Not no. Another time and another place. Yes. Soon.
They stepped out of the empty storefront together, Monica trying her hardest to be neutral when all she wanted was to throw him on the ground and have her way with him.
When she tried to lock the door, the key wouldn’t fit properly. Her hands were shaking. Noah took it from her and managed to lock the door even though his hands weren’t much more steady than hers...and that was gratifying.
They walked down Main Street without touching, he to his truck to drive to the farm and Monica to walk to her apartment. She had a huge smile on her face.
Where on earth should she spray her perfume in the morning?
* * *
MARCIE WANDERED INTO the bar and found an empty table near the back of the room. Midweek, it wasn’t hard to do.
All she wanted was a place to nurse a cold beer and think. Coming here, to this town, while the right thing to do, wasn’t turning out as she’d thought. Her dad was a good man, especially since he’d stopped drinking.
She liked their conversations. But her relationship with her sister puzzled her. She couldn’t break through the woman’s shell.
An hour ago, their father had dropped a bombshell on her. He was going to bankroll a business for Monica. Marcie wanted the same relationship with her father that Monica had, but how could that be? She hadn’t grown up with him as her daddy.
She waited for the waitress to make her way over, feeling more than a little lonely in this bar, this town, where she didn’t fit in.
“May I join you?” That refined, melodious, masculine voice stroked her spine. Without turning, she knew who it was. John Spade.
“I’d prefer to be alone.”
He sat down anyway, across from her. She suspected the man did whatever he wanted in life. That his was the only company she could tolerate tonight didn’t matter. He peeved her off just because everything in her life seemed to be going wrong, and she didn’t know how to fix it.
In each hand, he carried a Corona with a wedge of lime in the neck. “I took the liberty of ordering you a drink.”
She liked it. She didn’t tell him so, and he chuckled, fully aware that she was holdi
ng back.
He clinked his bottle against hers and took a long swig. “So?”
“So what?”
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“No.”
“Why not? Sometimes it helps to talk things out.”
While she might need to confide in someone, she didn’t want it to be with this man who unsettled her so.
“Talk,” he said.
Her urge to tell overcame her reticence. So she told him about her father bankrolling Monica’s business.
“I heard about that.”
“How do you know already? My impression was it was only just decided today at lunch.”
“True, but Monica stopped in to mention it to me. She’ll probably need my services soon.”
“What kind of services?”
“Lawyerly services that are none of your business. She’s a client.” He snagged a waitress and ordered a couple of plates of fries with curried mayo dip. “What’s your problem with it? It sounds like a good idea for a shop.”
“That’s none of your business.”
He studied her for a long time before he said, “It’s the money, isn’t it? You feel slighted. You want your share.”
“What if the shop fails? All of that money will go down the drain. There won’t be much left when our father dies.” That sounded so cold she could have bitten off her tongue for saying it. She needed to keep that kind of stuff to herself. What was it about him?
She felt alone in this town. Maybe all she needed was a friend, but John?
The fries came and they ate in silence. The curried mayo was good. She might like it better than ketchup.
“You need to understand that Monica isn’t going away just because you have a new stake in this game.” He shoved his second empty bottle of beer aside. “You missed out on a lot of advantages growing up, and I’m betting your dad is feeling guilty right now. But don’t try to take advantage of that.”
Anger spurted inside of her. “As if I would.”
“I would if I were you.”
He paid the bill and gestured for her to precede him out the door. She buttoned her sweater even though the evening was balmy. John touched the small of her back and sent a chill up her body.
“Don’t envy Monica. Your dad is pleased as punch that you’re home. There is enough love and money for both of you. Let your relationship with her grow naturally. Give Monica time. This is as big a change for her as it is for you.”
She didn’t like that he understood her so well. He saw into her too deeply and read her insecurities so clearly.
He kissed her, quick and hard, using his tongue to breach the sealed seam of her lips.
She gave in too easily, drinking in every last drop of the kiss.
He pulled back. His breath fanned her face.
“Things will work out, Marcie. Trust me.” He walked away, his parting glance too knowing. “See you around.”
She grasped the two sides of her sweater and held them tightly, still battling the delicious chill he’d set in her.
She didn’t jump into bed with a man just because he was a good kisser. Okay, a great kisser.
She walked home, still puzzling what to do about John Spade.
* * *
MONICA DRESSED WITH care and, in a surprising move, sprayed her perfume on the farthest spot on her body from her core.
Somehow it seemed fitting today. Whatever was going to happen between her and Noah would happen sooner rather than later, but she wanted him to work for it.
Anticipation was making her hornier than she’d ever been in her life. Horny was a word she’d never used to describe herself before, and she liked it.
She drove out to the farm.
Noah stood in the yard, angry and potent and dark.
“Where is it today?” Not a nice request, but a demand.
She sauntered past him to the veranda, reveling in the intensity she brought out in him.
On the top step she turned around and slowly slipped off one of the backless sandals she wore. She wrapped her fingers around the newel post for balance then held her bare foot a few inches away from her body, toward Noah, beckoning him.
She’d sprayed the inside of her ankle, but Noah misunderstood. He grasped her foot, his thumb on the inside of her arch, teasing her with the hard rasp of a callus.
He bent forward, eyes watching her with passion and possession, just before he closed them and licked her arch. His propensity for licking would be the death of her. It just about sent her off her feet. She locked the leg that was holding her up and gripped the newel post. Another of the shivers that only Noah seemed to engender in her wracked her body.
These days, all she seemed to do around Noah was shiver. She should write a novel. The Summer of Shivery Passions. To Shiver or Not to—
Oh. He did it again before straightening. She launched herself at him. Unprepared, he caught her with his good arm, but fell back onto the dirt of the yard with her on top of him.
For a silent, pregnant pause they stared at each other before Monica took his mouth with her own. He wanted to do passion? Take that, mister. He wanted to do possession? Yeah, she could do that.
She ravaged his mouth. He opened to her and she feasted with her tongue. He tasted like coffee and toast and...tofu? Whatever. He tasted great. She could drink from his cup of passion all the livelong day.
His long-fingered hand, and those rough, callused thumbs, grasped her waist, rose to caress her, the thumb of his unbroken arm grazing the side of her breast before resting in her bare armpit.
Armpit. Such an unsexy word, but when Noah touched her there, she moaned. More.
He rolled her onto her back, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. They sparred for control, by turns taking and ceding. Noah’s long muscled thigh slid between her legs, pressing hard against Monica’s pubis, setting up a bittersweet pain that built every time she pressed back against him.
Delicious. Delectable. Thrilling.
She ripped off the elastic that held his ponytail and shoved her fingers through his hair. A man shouldn’t have hair so soft, so sensual and full.
Every part of him appealed to her—his character, his honesty and integrity, and that gorgeous body doing strange things to hers, especially his thigh. He ground against her. Who knew a thigh could be so sexy, could elicit such a pull, an attraction, such an...orgasm?
It built with an unstoppable power of its own, bursting over her like falling stars. Sweet sexy manna from heaven.
She breathed heavily, came down slowly.
The world, life, sanity, returned.
A breeze ruffled leaves in the oak nearby. Her avian friends who lived in the tree sang their melodies. Noah chuckled low in his chest.
He hadn’t even put his hands on her and she had come.
Embarrassed, she fought to get out of his grasp, but he was strong, even with only one functioning arm.
“Hey.” He used a soothing voice, but it still rang with amusement. “Stop fighting me. I want to savor this. You were awesome.”
Awesome? “I made a fool of myself.”
“Look at me.” All amusement had fled.
When she refused, he cradled her chin in his palm and gently raised it until she had no choice but to meet his eye.
“That was beautiful.”
When he knew she didn’t believe him, he went on, “I’m serious. Having Monica Accord fall apart so sweetly in my arms was the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced.”
She felt him hard against her thigh. “You were turned on, too?”
He nudged her gently with his erection. “Oh, yeah. I want to experience more of you. If that’s what happens when we’re both fully clothed, I don’t think I can survive you with our cl
othes off. I would die a happy man, though.”
He sighed and she laughed. He’d managed to ease her embarrassment. She snuggled against him. She wanted more, too.
Someone clearing a throat nearby shocked Monica. She felt Noah jump, too. They turned at the sound.
Marcie stood behind them, in front of their dad’s car. In the midst of their passion, when the world had receded, they hadn’t heard her drive up. A low groan issued from Monica. How much had Marcie seen?
Monica peeked at her. Marcie looked chagrined.
“I’m sorry. I thought you came here to farm. To work off some kind of community service sentence.”
Noah stiffened in her arms then stood, helping Monica to her feet with a restrained anger she could feel through his palm.
“What are you doing here?” He sounded like a god tossing thunderbolts to earth.
“Our dad sent me to find Monica.” She spoke to Monica. “He wants to see both of us. I checked at the gallery first but was told you weren’t working today. I thought I might find you here.”
Monica pulled herself together, brushing dirt from her pants. “Give me a minute. I’ll see you back in town.”
“I can wait.”
“No need,” she said, a hint of steel in her voice. “I know where my father lives.”
“I’ll wait,” Marcie spoke stubbornly.
Noah bent close and spoke to her low and fiercely. “Tonight. Here. I’ll make dinner. Seven o’clock?”
Monica nodded, understanding the full implication. They needed to finish what they’d started this morning.
She went to her car and drove away. She checked her rearview mirror. Marcie’s car was on the road behind her.
She couldn’t possibly be more disconcerted about Marcie catching her rolling around in the dirt with Noah.
* * *
MARCIE FOLLOWED MONICA back into town, trying to wash the images of Noah and Monica from her mind. She’d caught them lying on the ground in each other’s arms, smiling and talking intimately.
Who knows why they were outside instead of inside in bed, but it was obvious they’d been fooling around.
If Marcie had been low before, now she was downright sick with envy.
Monica had so much. She’d been raised with money in a town that respected her family. The house she’d grown up in was gorgeous. Her bedroom was beautiful.
Safe in Noah's Arms Page 20
