by Natalie Wrye
Noah’s eyes flutter closed, and he leans back, rotating to sit straight. His back is taut, his demeanor stone cold and anger radiates off the muscular body beneath his suit like an avalanche of ice. I say nothing.
Suddenly he speaks up. “I’ll tell you what…” He looks straight out the window, over the driver’s shoulder, his jaw ticking quietly. “If you promise to return the watch in the next day or so, we can forget this entire debacle never happened.”
My breath hitches in my throat, my tongue numb as I chance a glance at his face again. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” He nods to himself. “And then I won’t have your arse thrown in jail.”
My heart stops. Every part of my body tightens at the thought of jail, the notion of going to prison pounding into my system like an unwelcome guest. I never considered this possibility.
I scratch out the single word. “Jail?”
Noah remains seated straight. “Yes, jail. That’s where robbers usually go when they’re caught. Robbers…like you, Sophia.”
I want to deny it. To argue against the label.
But he’s right.
I pretended I was normal. That I was beyond my past.
That I could forget.
And for a second, with a man like Noah showering me with his attention at a lonely bar, I imagined that I could.
That I could forget I was just some basic waitress, barely able to afford her rent, begging someone to buy her art.
Noah being back, for however long, in my life was just another reminder that I wasn’t. That I probably never will be.
And that prospect stings more than any insult, remark or label.
I sigh, sinking into the luxurious leather seat beneath me. I swallow. “Can I have some time to think about your little deal?” My words grow biting. “Or are you driving me to Manhattan County right now?”
A shadow of a smile pulls on Noah’s full lips. “No, I’m taking you home.”
I blink. “But the driver doesn’t know where I live…”
“Of course he does.” The shadow of a smile becomes full-fledged. “Nancy was kind enough to tell me where back at the gallery. So, Caesar knows exactly where you live…” He sits farther up, inclining closer to the driver’s front seat, and I remind myself to murder Nancy when I have the chance. “Don’t you, Caesar?”
“Sure I do, sir.”
My heart sinks into my stomach. The town car navigates through the slush, and several tense miles later, we arrive at the corner outside of my tiny Manhattan two-bedroom apartment.
I thank the driver quietly, opening the back door, ready to step out into the rain. Before Noah stops me.
His hand lands on mine in my lap, and a flame ignites inside my chest, threatening to consume. For a few emotion-filled seconds, nothing happens. He just stares.
His ocean deep eyes are searching as they scan my face, and the memory of his dark countenance above mine, scanning my body floods me with such embarrassment that I flush, hoping he can’t see the effect on me.
He shows no sign that he does. His voice is a hush across my skin.
“I have your note, Sophia. Don’t forget. And unless you return my watch to me, so will the police. And your boss, Nancy. And every newspaper that will listen in New York City. My thoughts?” His sapphire eyes darken. “It’s better in my hands than any of theirs.”
I lick my suddenly dry lips, needing the moisture now more than ever. “How do I find you?”
“I’ll come to you.” The words almost seem to have a hidden meaning, but then he backs off, sliding back into his own seat, his shoulders straight. “I’ll see you soon.”
Chapter 11
NOAH
I can’t sleep that night. I don’t even know why I try.
The second Caesar and I dropped Sophia off at her apartment, a flame ignited inside my body that won’t stop fucking burning.
By the time I make it to my apartment, I’m in full inferno mode. The smell of her lilac perfume is still on my clothes, and every time I close my eyes, I can see her in the red dress from the art auction, all slender taut skin and curves.
The skirt of that sexy number held a slit clear up to her thigh and every time she moved, every time she swayed or talked or nodded, I swear that slit slid up another inch until I could only think of what was underneath.
And the “underneath” is what I can’t get out of my head right now.
I plunk down on my bed’s edge, reaching for the nightstand. Removing my little black book for numbers of past flings, I start dialing the first one I can find. But that’s a bust.
I just need to get Sophia out of my head. She is a thief, not someone I need in my life even if we feel a spark.
It’s just that…a spark.
Except all the women I’ve known in New York are taken—married or crazy. Or maybe both.
By the time I’ve made it a quarter through my rolodex of numbers, I’m wiped…and out of luck. I fall back, still in my suit, the back of my head meeting the mattress with a thunk as I slam backwards on the black bed spread.
I glance up at the ceiling, taking in the cream paint, the coffered ceilings.
The smell of cedar and something indiscernible reaches my nostrils, and I inhale, relaxing for the first time all night.
Being back in my family-inherited apartment feels strangely good, despite it all.
Even with the city of New York staring at me from its steel heights outside these huge windows, I cock my head to the side and enjoy the views outside the glass.
It’s been so long since I’ve enjoyed them at all.
In fact… I’d considered selling this apartment years ago, and now in the throes of blue balls agony, I am glad that I didn’t; I know I would miss this sight whenever I was forced to come back to this city.
My body weight feels exaggeratedly heavy as I try to stand to my feet after several silent seconds. Schlepping to my bathroom, I wring the tie from my neck, shrug out of my blazer.
Deciding on a hot shower before I even hit the doors, I fling my clothes to the floor in a heart’s beat.
When I’m under the water, I grab for the soap, the steam only soothing my frayed nerves but so far the slow and inevitable thoughts of Sophia invades my space, system and mind.
Fuck my brain for betraying me right now.
But I can’t do a damn thing as my body joins the mutiny and my hands decide to have a mind of their own. They reach beneath the water, producing suds, and soon suds, bubbles and all, are wrapped around my thickening length, soaking me to my base.
I can’t stop the desire rocking through me. From my dick’s spongy tip all the way to my tightened balls.
My cock is suddenly capable of saluting the flag, and I grab it as it raises skyward, squeezing it tight. Two-handing its stiffness, I think of Little Miss Somerset, remembering the feral smell of her slightly salty-slicked skin.
I’m two seconds from stroking myself into oblivion when my cell phones rings, ripping me out of my fantasy. Hitting the handle, I turn the water off.
I step out of the hot shower—soaked and all—when I reach the bedroom, hair dripping down my shoulders as I reach for the now-lit phone.
I don’t recognize the number on the screen, but I answer it anyway, hoping it’s my fix for the night.
I’m only too shocked to find out it’s not.
In fact, it’s the last number on earth I thought would be calling me and her voice is soft. It’s almost unrecognizable at this volume, but with her silky gasps still in my head, realization dawns on me, and I draw the cell phone closer, nearly imprinting the damn thing into my skin.
My wet face soaks the screen, and I don’t care. I wet my lips despite the water still there.
“Sophia?”
“Yeah…” She hesitates as if she doesn’t want to admit it. “Are you up?”
“No, I’m sleep-talking.”
“Were you reading?”
“Depends on what you consider
reading.”
“Was it Stephen King?”
I exhale. “Sure. His novel, Misery. And you were the source material.” My voice is a huff, and I try to think, but my brain’s still muddled. Muddled with the thoughts of her.
I knew something was wrong with me. But I didn’t think it was this wrong.
Because only a fool would bed a woman who stole from him. Or even think about it. And I’m choking that fool inside me by the neck when Sophia speaks up again, this sentence clearer—stronger than the last. She shouts out suddenly.
“Helloooo? Noah?” She breathes quietly on the other end. “Did I lose you?”
“I would hope not.” I feign normalcy. I sit, dripping wet, on the corner of my bed, my mind swirling with a thousand different thoughts. I start with the first. “What are you calling me for, Miss Somerset? I gave you my number before we left for emergencies.” I wait. “So, what, do you have something for me? Because if you haven’t, then…”
“I have.” She interrupts. “I just have one condition. And I think you need to hear it.” She sighs. “Can we meet now?”
The red digits on my nightstand clock barely blink, reading two AM. I don’t even know why I’m considering it, but losing my father’s watch to Sophia has a way of screwing up my plans, and I decide to go for it, the twist in my gut just a subtle reminder of the danger I’m getting myself in every time I say “yes” to this girl, my heart hammering a million beats per minute.
I exhale out loud. “Alright. Where?”
Within twenty minutes, I’m dressed, hair still wet, t-shirt soaked underneath my coat as I head out into the frigid December air.
My faded jeans hang loosely on my hips and beneath the denim, I wear nothing, not wanting to waste another minute getting to Sophia.
The address she gives me is suspicious. It’s in the Bronx.
But I’m armed this time. Not with any weapons. But with the knowledge that I can’t trust this girl, no matter what she says.
Sophia Somerset is only an asset at this point in my life.
With my brothers, with the night at the bar, and everything surrounding it, I now know that the last week or so in New York has only softened my hard-earned instincts.
Grandfather Quinn’s deathbed words ring truer than ever:
“Only trust yourself.”
And “myself” is telling me that I only need Sophia to return my father’s watch. My plans to return to Sydney haven’t changed. And after closing up the claim on my inheritance, that’s exactly what I plan to do.
I don’t need another reminder of all that I’ve lost here. Here in a city that’s loyal to no one.
I shake off those thoughts the moment the street signs announce my arrival.
Arriving to the Bronx address with not a minute to spare, the cab I ride in saddles up to the curb at exactly three o’clock, the rain having reduced down to a drizzle.
I stare at the front door of the building where I’ve been dropped off, red flags rising as I step over the soaked sidewalk, the light from the shop in front of me beckoning me in.
I resist. Until I see her face.
Sophia stands just inside on the tiled floor of the pizza shop now settled in front of me. Her makeup’s wiped clean, a smile on her face.
She laughs across the counter to an elderly man, her head thrown back, and without my permission, my eyes lock on her.
I watch her from the window.
Tight denim jeans over her hips, a Yankees jersey on her back, she looks younger than ever. Carefree. But her clean babyface is no match for the body beneath it.
Through the facade of angel-like innocence and all, that curvy, slim figure betrays her, showing the truth of her undeniable womanhood. Tapping her knuckles against the metal counter, she widens the smile on her pretty face, glancing over—right at me—her gaze clashing with mine in the window.
That smile she had for the older man slides off her face.
My throat threatens to close as I reach for the door. Throwing the wooden slab aside to the sound of an alerting bell overhead, I step inside the tiny pizza shop called Giani’s, as shown in the sign outside.
And I keep walking until I’m right in front of her, my attention entirely on her, my skin buzzing as she does nothing but blink back.
I speak up first.
“Fancy digs.”
She shrugs. “I was hungry. Figured this might be the best place to come.”
I could tell her all about “coming.” Or “late-night cravings.” Especially the ones I was just having.
But I turn instead to the man behind the counter, my eyes scanning the brick ovens behind him, smelling of my favorite item in the world. My mouth waters for an entirely different reason this time.
I glance down at the employee, the old man full of life.
“So, what’s good to eat here?”
“In a word?” He spouts, his Bronx accent thicker than oatmeal. “Everything.” He glances behind him at the ovens. “Just choose your poison.”
Suddenly Sophia, stepping around me, interjects.
“He’ll take the special. Same as me. With all the fixings.”
I start to refute her. But the smell of her lilac and vanilla scent envelope me, rendering me silent.
Taking my wallet out of my still-wet jeans, I slap my credit card on the table.
“I’ll pay for the lady’s meal. And mine.”
It’s the least I can do after the plans I have for Sophia.
I know, in my own way, that the little thief will pay me back.
With interest.
I motion towards a small table in the back and Sophia follows, slipping into a seat across from me, her hazel eyes bright, her teeth sunk into her pink bottom lip.
I concentration on ignoring both.
“Seems you recovered those tequila-lost brain cells fast,” I accuse. “So…?”
She cocks a brow. “So…”
“You do have the watch, then.”
“Not in my possession right now. But like I told you earlier, I know where it is. Or at least the place holding it.”
I shrug, acting more casual than I feel. “It’s a start. So when can you get it to me?”
“First…” she starts off, shifting in her seat. The nerves are apparent by the blush in her cheeks. She bows her head. “I’d just like to apologize.” The jersey on her small shoulders slides just a bit as she wriggles on the lightly worn leather of her seat, showing a hint of her bare collar. She swallows thickly, and I stop myself from scanning the rest of her smooth skin. I watch her inhale.
“You didn’t deserve it, I know.” She bites out. “And…your watch wasn’t mine to take. I was short on rent. Being evicted,” she stumbles over her words, pressing her lips together. She closes her eyes for a second. “It was sudden. But that’s no excuse. I stole from you.” Her amber-green eyes gloss. “And I am sorry. Sorry about it all.”
But I’m not interested in her excuses. Or apologies.
What Sophia Somerset did to me three nights ago was just another reminder that people aren’t to be trusted.
Not your friends, most of the time. Definitely not your family. (My own father had clearly shown that.) And certainly not strangers.
On a desperate night, I forgot that. Forgot myself.
I won’t again.
“It’s fine.” I cluck out with a nod. “Then you can get it when they open up shop today, yes?”
“I should be able to.” She pulls that delicate neck of hers pin straight, clearing her throat. “That was first. And secondly, I…”
My brain goes into overdrive, my patience snapped. I’m sitting there, somehow letting Sophia control the conversation and whatever reticence was left in me, whatever restraint that kept the bear in my body on hold is let out of its cage—ready for destruction.
I hold up my hand. “I have to be honest with you, Miss Somerset. I’m not interested in your ‘seconds.’”
I allow my eyes to burn into hers, my words
never stopping.
“You’re a criminal, Little Bear,” I throw the days-old nickname at her. “And no amount of little apology, no amount of tiny retribution you think will be worth it can even the score of what you did to me. What you’ve allowed to be done…” I trail off, finally sinking the nail home, the temptation to touch her stronger than ever.
I resist, sitting even straighter. I fold my hands over the table. “Now, you want to tell me what this condition is, so I can say ‘no’ to it?”
She exhales, her small paint-stained fingers dropping into her lap, out of sight. My eyes follow them as her pink lips purse—blush-colored and perfect in every way.
My gaze travels back to her face as she speaks, her voice almost meek as she talks.
“Since I sold the watch to get cash for my rent because I was so behind…” She blinks—apologetic. “Not like you should care, but… I might have to buy it back for the price I sold it.”
I lean closer. “Which was?”
“Fifty thousand dollars.”
I close my eyes, reining in the rage.
Fifty thousand dollars. For a diamond-studded watch worth ten times as much. I lick my lips. “Alright. And?”
“I might need your help convincing the pawnshop guy to give it back to me for less than he sold it to me.”
“I see.” I knock my thumbs together across the table, my eyes set on her face. “Anything else?”
“Actually,” she begins. She’s gotta be fucking kidding me. “I just need a promise from you after we do the convincing. A promise that you’ll destroy that note.”
“Destroy the evidence that you robbed me?”
She lifts her tiny chin. “Yes.”
“Destroy the evidence that you slept in a generous man’s bed, took advantage of him.” My stare slants. “Deceived, lied and cheated for your own purposes?”
I watch her throat work with a swallow. She clears her throat. “Yes.”
“So, let me get this straight: You need me. To come with you. To buy back a watch by convincing a pawnshop owner to sell it for less than what it was sold? And then you want me to pretend like it never happened afterwards?”
She nods once, her eyes brimming with willful strength even now. “Yes.”
