by Naima Simone
Giving him a tight smile, she pivoted and marched for the door, desperate to escape the room before she did something stupid…like allow the tears stinging her eyes to fall. Damn it! She’d been teased, bullied, and sneered at more times than she could remember, much less count. Yet none of those mean girls or leering guys who assumed she was an easy fuck just because of her last name had been able to drag one tear from her.
Only Aiden possessed that power. Because for some insane, inexplicable reason, she actually cared what he thought of her, even knowing he couldn’t see past her father or brother to the real her. Even knowing he probably still blamed her for aiding and abetting her father’s larceny.
Damn him.
“Noelle, we’re not finished. Don’t you walk out that door.”
Like hell she wouldn’t. She was a grown-ass woman. Self-sufficient. Mature.
So she did the only thing a grown-ass, self-sufficient, mature woman could do in her situation…
She flipped him off and walked out.
Chapter Four
Dawn is God’s way of saying I love you.
That had been one of his mother’s favorite sayings. Aiden snorted, staring out his home’s library window at the gray-and-purple sky as it reluctantly gave way to pink- and orange-tinged clouds. After witnessing his second dawn in two days without sleep, it felt less like I love you and more Screw you. Pressing his thumb and finger to his eyes, he rubbed, but nothing could ease the grit-and-sandpaper sensation that had set up behind his lids around hour thirty-five.
Damn it, guilt was a bastard. And a merciless one at that.
This early on a Sunday, he should be lying in bed, possibly with a cup of coffee, possibly still asleep, possibly wrapped around the warm, curvy length of a woman.
By right, the only thing stirring this morning should be his dick as he slid into slick, tight, feminine heat. Instead, he sat in his office chair, staring at the same view he’d been studying since late Friday night after returning home from the auction, his only company an emergency bottle of Jack Daniels, anger, and guilt. The worse fucking ménage in history.
Anger, because a pixie with long, wild black hair and pale-blue eyes had invaded his life, hauling a shitload of baggage along with her. Baggage that, until two days ago, he’d believed he’d successfully divorced himself from, if not forgotten. And guilt, because in spite of the pain, the grief, and her demands, he couldn’t deny his body’s reaction to her. Six fucking years since he’d last stroked her golden skin, kissed that made-for-sin mouth. Six years since her slick, tight flesh had squeezed the hell out of his fingers, almost sending him head over ass into orgasm with her. The pull shouldn’t be so strong, so visceral. Especially since they’d only crossed that physical line once. But that didn’t stop his cock from hardening like a rock and pressing against his zipper so he could count the number of metallic teeth imprinted there.
He closed his eyes, and as if his brain was just waiting for that moment, memories flooded him, unchecked. And he was too tired or drunk—possibly both—to shut them down.
His mother had started dating Frank Rana when Aiden was sixteen and Noelle eleven. The two of them didn’t move in with Caroline until two years later, when Aiden left the house for college. Over the years, his disgust for Frank’s laziness grew. While Aiden viewed Frank’s daughter as an added burden on his mother, he didn’t mistreat her, because she couldn’t help who and what her father was. But the quiet girl with the blue eyes that seemed too big and old for her face always unsettled him. And as she grew older, the feeling strengthened. Because the time came when he couldn’t ignore her any longer. Not when the slightly awkward girl blossomed into a sultry beauty who stunned and drew him.
Though he tried to stay away, when he received a call from her at one o’clock in the morning one November night, he hadn’t hesitated to go to her. Home from college for Thanksgiving break during her sophomore year, she had gone to a house party, and the girl she’d rode with was drunk and refused to leave. The tremble in her voice when she’d asked him to come pick her up had echoed in his head the entire time he drove to the house. And when he’d stalked into the house and saw her standing in a dark corner, a plastered asshole touching her face, he’d barely restrained himself from kicking the guy’s ass before escorting her out.
That night had been the start of a friendship and close bond. One that had been theirs alone. For the first time, he came to know the intelligent, gifted, funny woman who hid behind a shield of shyness. And for the first time, he allowed her in, lowering his guard and sharing parts of himself that only Lucas had been privy to. But after a few months, their relationship changed. He started to glimpse the same desire that always simmered inside him in her eyes. A tension that hadn’t existed between them before sprung up, imbuing every word, movement—hell, breath—with a sexual awareness that he fought…until he didn’t. Until the one night her innocence no longer restrained him. He’d eventually recovered his control, but not before he had her stripped naked, her cries caressing his ears, her sex clenching his fingers…
And then Caroline had gone into the hospital. Cancer. Stage four. Two months to live. The words had hammered him, driving nail after nail of guilt into him. While he’d been consumed with Noelle, his mother had been ill, dying, and he hadn’t noticed any of the signs. The woman who had sacrificed everything for him—college, a man who wanted her to have an abortion rather than have her son, her youth—didn’t get to live, see her son walk down the aisle, hold her future grandchildren. And there Aiden had been…with Noelle, reaching for a happiness that should’ve been his mother’s. She’d earned it, damn it. She deserved it.
He opened his eyes, snapping the connection to the past. Exhaling, he dragged his palm down his face, echoes of pain pulsing in his chest. He’d distanced himself from Noelle after his mother had entered the hospital. Because when he thought about Noelle, he couldn’t separate his overwhelming guilt from his need. The two were inextricably entwined, and wanting her shamed him. And then the robbery…
Then, the distance had become a clean break.
But now his mother’s will—and it was her will, whether she’d legally recorded it or not—bound him to her.
His cell phone chirped three times behind him, the discreet chime he’d set Friday night before leaving for the auction. It replaced his usual ringtone—“Bella’s Lullaby” from Twilight—which never failed to gain a derisive snort from Lucas. Fuck it. The song was pretty.
Turning, he snatched up the phone from his desk and swiped the answer button without bothering to glance down at the screen. No need to. Only one person had the balls to call this early.
“It’s six thirty in the damn morning.”
“And you can tell time. Congratulations,” Lucas replied, his tone as dry as the dark alcohol in the glass tumbler on Aiden’s desk.
Aiden grunted. “It’s too early, and I’m not nearly drunk enough for your charm.” Unfortunately, the oblivion he’d been chasing in the bottle of whiskey had proven as elusive as the “sure thing” Frank Rana used to brag about before hitting up Aiden’s mother for money. The only “sure thing” that could be counted on with Frank was booze and broken promises.
Damn. He slammed that particular door shut. And laid the blame for it creaking open right at Noelle’s feet.
“It’s not like you were asleep. Hell, have you even been to bed? You sound like shit,” Lucas said, the blunt assessment a prime example of why Aiden was considered the more affable of the two.
“Your concern is seriously underwhelming,” Aiden drawled. “As much as I’m enjoying this call, what do you want?”
“Are you okay?”
Aiden closed his eyes. And there was the good and bad thing about having a friend who’d known you since childhood—they knew you so damn well you couldn’t bullshit them.
“No,” Aiden admitted. “Fuck no.”
A beat of silence passed between them, but they didn’t rush to fill it with a question o
r an explanation. Because neither was needed. Lucas had been there when Frank Rana and his children had come into Aiden’s life, had witnessed the devastation they’d waged and the wreckage they’d left behind. Lucas even knew about Aiden and Noelle’s budding relationship. His friend understood the effect of Noelle’s reappearance in his life.
“What does she want?” Lucas asked.
“For me to pay her graduate-school tuition.” He gave his friend the abridged version of his conversation with Noelle, including her one-fingered salute when she’d left him in the conference room.
Lucas snorted. “You probably deserved that.”
Yeah, probably. He’d been harsh, cutting. More so than he usually was with other people, both in business and his personal life. But everything about her got to him like a red flag waving in front of a bull. From the untamed waves of dark hair to the too-old-for-a-twenty-five-year-old eyes, the wide, carnal, unsmiling mouth to the petite, delicate frame that made him feel like a damn bruiser. She got under his skin.
“What are you going to do?” Lucas posed the question that had been plaguing Aiden since falling into the office chair Friday night.
“I don’t know.” Aiden sighed, rubbing his palm over the back of his neck. “I just don’t know. Goddamn it,” he swore, low and hot, surging to his feet. He paced to the window. For once, the mesmerizing view of the glass-smooth waters of Boston Harbor didn’t calm him. “From the moment Frank came into our lives, all he did was take. For seven years, he lived off my mother and, later, me. When she became sick, I paid the bills, paid off the house. Not that I cared; I wanted to do that for her. But you would think, as a man, he would’ve had some scrap of pride making him want to care for the woman he was supposed to love. But he was selfish, a user, to the end. Still, that wasn’t enough. And Tony…” Rage at just the thought of Tony Rana swirled inside his chest like a simmering volcano one rumble short of erupting.
“Noelle isn’t her father,” Lucas murmured. “Or her brother.”
Aiden released a bark of laughter, the sharp edges of it abrading his throat. “You do know how hypocritical you sound, right?” Only a year ago, he’d warned Lucas against punishing Sydney for the sins of her father. Not that he’d heeded that warning.
“And you remember what you told me then? That I should leave Sydney out of my plans for revenge against Jason? That she was innocent? I should’ve listened to you. It would’ve saved her—and me—a lot of unnecessary pain.”
“Excuse me?” Aiden said, pouring exaggerated shock into his voice. “Could you repeat that? You should’ve what?” His chuckle at Lucas’s grunt faded, as did the quick burst of humor. He sighed, tunneling his fingers through his hair. Raw frustration and…and helplessness rose inside him like a swelling wave. Huge and too out of control to be ridden out. “I thought that part of my life was over. After Peyton, I swore I wouldn’t give the Ranas one more thing to tear away from me. And now I have to invite them back into my life? I don’t know if I can.”
Lucas sighed. “You think I don’t understand bitterness? Hate, even? Aiden, you, more than anyone, know I wrote that damn book. But it’s not them, just Noelle.” He paused. “Caroline talked to me about her, too.”
“What?” Aiden rasped, shock streaking through him like an electrical current. “You never mentioned…”
“There didn’t seem to be a need when Noelle wouldn’t accept your help after the funeral,” Lucas explained, his tone solemn. “Caroline told me about the money she wanted to leave Noelle. She didn’t know about you two—how close you’d become. But she did know how you felt about Frank. She didn’t blame you; you were her son, and she recognized the issue you had with him. But in case you couldn’t fulfill her request, she asked me to.”
God, that stung. Aiden flattened his palm against the window, bowing his head. He clenched his jaw as if the action could contain the pain and shame brewing inside him.
“Aiden,” Lucas murmured.
“No,” Aiden interrupted, his voice a hoarse, almost unrecognizable replica of itself. “Give me a minute.”
Love.
How many times had he questioned his mother about why she stayed—why she allowed Frank to stay? And her answer had always been the same: I love him. And her eyes, the same green eyes she’d bequeathed to Aiden, had been so sad, as if stating, I know you don’t understand. The hell he didn’t understand. Experience had taught him one valuable, irreversible lesson: Love was an excuse. A fucked-up excuse to use someone. For a person to remain in a relationship that demeaned them because being alone was too damn scary. An excuse to lie, to cheat…to devastate.
His mother had claimed to love Frank…or had she been more in love with who she wished he could’ve been?
Aiden had loved Peyton. And it had blinded him to her instability, her emotional problems, her betrayal.
He hated the word.
“She didn’t ask me to hurt you or force you into anything, Aiden,” Lucas said. “But she truly cared for Noelle like she was her own child. She didn’t ensure Frank was provided for—she didn’t mention him at all. Her concern was for Noelle. And she entrusted you—us—with her care. And as much as I understand why you would wash your hands of all this, it’s what Caroline wanted. So if you won’t do it for Noelle—for Caroline—then I will.”
Aiden swallowed the acidic retort that scalded his throat. Not because Lucas didn’t deserve his vitriol—although he didn’t. No. What halted it—halted him—was the image of his mother. Or rather, images.
Caroline walking him to school, her coat flapping in the wind, her blond curls blowing around her face…her hand strong around his smaller one. Promising without words that she would never let anyone harm him.
Caroline turning to the front door, a smile easing the tired lines of her face as Aiden walked into the house. That smile, full of joy at seeing him, had always been there, greeting him, no matter how stressful or wearying her day at the nursing home had been.
Caroline clapping and cheering as he walked across the high-school stage, her eyes fierce with pride.
Caroline whispering her love and gratefulness for him as a son in her paper-thin voice, even as the cancer ate at her body and spirit.
Goddamn it. He drew his fist back, slamming it toward the glass but, at the last minute, slowing and letting it fall against the window with a dull thud.
He would do it.
He would grant Caroline’s last request of him because she’d never failed to be there for him. She’d never abandoned him, and he would do the same for her.
“I’ll do it,” he whispered to Lucas before ending the call and staring sightlessly out at the ever-brightening sky.
He’d do it…
And afterward, he would once more be Rana-free.
Chapter Five
Well, fuck a duck.
Noelle sank to the black kitchen stool that had come furnished with the Allston apartment. When she’d answered the Craigslist ad to share a two-bedroom place, she’d eagerly plunked down her half of the security deposit and the first month’s rent. The convenient location, near busy Commonwealth and Brighton Avenues and only blocks away from Boston University and the rattletrap subway system locally known as “the T,” had seemed ideal. And the three-level brick building boasted all the amenities a grad-school student needed: twenty-four-hour emergency maintenance, parking, and most importantly, a laundry room.
And when she’d arrived four days earlier and met Chancey, her new roommate, she’d been content with her decision.
Everything had been perfect.
Except for the two inches of water that now covered the living room and seeped out into the hall. The same murky, reeking pool also drowned the bathroom and second bedroom—her room.
Noelle chuckled, catching the slightly hysterical edge to the low burst of laughter and not giving a damn.
Jesus Christ. Exhaling, she studied the russet stains steadily widening across the ceiling like a dirty Rorschach test. Over the couc
h hovered an amoeba. Near the window pranced two dancing bears. And right in the center…a vagina. Yep. Definitely a vagina.
“What the fuck are we supposed to do now?” Chancey bellowed into the surprisingly calm superintendent’s face. In the time they’d been roommates, Noelle had learned the volume of the short brunette’s thickly accented voice was stuck somewhere between booming and bellowing. How such a small body could contain that much sound without combusting had to be one of the mysteries of the universe. An even bigger enigma? The woman was a librarian.
The super, a stocky, quiet man, lifted a beefy shoulder in a casual shrug. Apparently, Chancey had been a tenant for three years, so he was probably used to her histrionics. “Not much you can do,” he mused, scratching a red patch on the side of his neck. “I have a call in to maintenance now to unclog Mrs. Leonard’s toilet and sinks, and I don’t know how long it’ll be before they respond. Don’t know what the hell the woman was thinking, stuffing so much shit in them. Well,” he chuckled, “not shit…”
“It smells like shit, John,” Chancey snapped.
Noelle snorted. Big mistake. Damn, the odor.
“See?” Her roommate jabbed a finger in Noelle’s direction. “Look at her. She’s gagging. We’re all gagging. Because we’re all standing in a cesspool of what-the-fuck-is-it.” She waved her expressive, delicate hands, gesturing toward the water lapping at the soles of her flowered rain boots and the super’s waders. “Where are we supposed to go?”
“Well…”
“I swear to God, if you say well one more time, I’m going to lose it.”
Both Noelle and John’s eyebrows arched high. If “losing it” was worse than this…
“Now, Chancey.” John held up his hands, palms up. “Like I said, I have a call in to maintenance. We’ll have to fix Mrs. Leonard’s plumbing and get her apartment and yours cleaned up and repainted. That could take a couple of weeks. At least.” When the brunette’s mouth parted, most likely to pour out another profanity-laden reply—the girl had a mouth that would make seasoned sailors go “Damn!”—John popped up a hand. “It’s the best I can do. I didn’t cause this mess. We all have to deal with it.”
