by Anna DePalo
She met his thrusts, riding the building pressure until their bodies were damp and sweaty, and still she clung to him.
And then, all at once, she went tumbling over the edge, calling his name as she spiraled into a universe of pure sensation.
He gave a hoarse groan, strained, thrust and seemed to follow her into a realm of exploding stars as he collapsed on top of her.
Nine
Kayla woke up the next morning feeling blissfully used, deliciously achy and thoroughly loved. Only the last gave her pause.
Love?
Sitting up, she looked over at Noah, still asleep, sprawled across most of the bed, the sheet riding low on his chest.
Yes, she loved Noah. Not because he’d just given her the best night of her life, though that element definitely couldn’t be dismissed lightly. Rather, he’d scaled the ramparts even as she’d been manning the fortress of her heart. Underneath the surface of the carefree-playboy image was a guy who continued to surprise and challenge her. He was fantastically smart, teasingly funny and touchingly thoughtful.
That last quality had been on display when she’d run into Bentley Mathison. She’d been feeling vulnerable and weepy, and Noah had been right there to lend comfort and support.
She watched now as he stirred, his lashes flickering as he shifted.
“Hi,” she said when he opened his eyes. It seemed like such an insignificant thing to say when her heart felt full to bursting with momentous news: I love you.
He smiled slowly and reached for her. “Hi yourself.”
Laughing, she attempted to wiggle away even as he pulled her down next to him and proceeded to kiss her thoroughly.
Coming up for air, she glanced over at the alarm clock on the night table. Eleven. “We’re sleeping the day away,” she protested.
“Really?” he growled against her neck. “I can’t think of a better way to spend it.”
It wasn’t until much later that they got out of bed.
While Noah showered and shaved, she padded into the living room area of the hotel suite in a bathrobe, intent on getting herself some orange juice from the small refrigerator there. She was feeling ravenously hungry.
Passing a console table on the way to the fridge, she glanced down and noticed a couple of legal-sized envelopes. Her eyes skimmed the writing on the top one: it was marked private and addressed to Noah from the registrar of companies in the Cayman Islands.
She paused, her pulse picking up. Despite herself, she inched aside the top-most envelope with her finger and read the writing on the one beneath it: it was addressed to Noah from a law firm on Grand Cayman.
Her mind raced back to what Ed had said to her about rumors of a mysterious offshore company connected to Noah. A story like that could practically guarantee you the job you want.
The private letters beckoned and mocked her.
She jumped when the phone rang. She picked it up from the console table next to her. “Hello?”
A tinkling laugh sounded at the other end. “Well, well. I’d heard the rumor but, I confess, I wasn’t quite sure I believed it.”
Kayla recognized the voice instantly. “What do you want, Sybil?”
She knew her voice sounded brusque, but she didn’t care. The puffy little cloud she’d been walking on since waking up was suddenly seeming less buoyant and she couldn’t help feeling annoyed at Sybil’s intrusion.
“Now, now,” Sybil responded, “no need to get touchy.”
Kayla guessed that Sybil had called the front desk and asked for Noah Whittaker’s room. What rotten luck that she just happened to be the one picking up.
“I called,” Sybil continued, “only to confirm what I’d heard through the grapevine—you and our adorable Noah are having a romantic interlude in a tropical paradise. How delightful!” At Kayla’s stony silence, Sybil laughed. “I don’t want to intrude. I wish you only the best, Kayla dear.” Her voice lowered confidingly. “But then I’m sure you’re in good hands. Noah has a reputation as a fantastic lover.”
Annoyed, Kayla responded, “Is there a purpose to this call, Sybil—other than to bandy about absurd conjectures, I mean?”
When Sybil’s voice sounded again, it was cooler and overlaid with false hurt. “Kayla, darling, I’m just surprised, that’s all, that you’re in the Caymans with Noah. It was the last thing any of us expected, given what he let slip.”
“Oh, and what would that be?” The minute the question was out of her mouth, she hated herself for asking.
“Why just that you’re his latest fling, dear! You know, I’d said to myself, wouldn’t it be delicious if Noah wound up promising a happily-ever-after to his old nemesis in the press? But, no—” Sybil sighed “—Noah corrected me right away. He just laughed and insisted that the day he got serious about you would be the day he’d call himself to feed me details about his private life.” Sybil’s tinkling laugh sounded again. “Can you believe what a naughty boy he is?”
Kayla felt numb. She wanted to laugh along with Sybil. She wanted to be blasé. Yes, wasn’t it all too funny? she wanted to say. Instead, a dull ache was growing in the region of her heart. “I’m sorry, Sybil. I have to go,” she said, then hung up.
When she’d replaced the receiver, she stood staring at the phone for a minute. She was a fool. A veritable paragon of naiveté.
She began to move around the room—opening the fridge, drinking some orange juice and looking out the window at the bright sunshine—but without taking anything in.
She’d been riding a wave of bliss this morning, spinning fantasies and imagining herself in love, when what she ought to have been doing was asking someone to smack some sense into her.
She and Noah had struck a bargain and, other than for fantastic sex, he hadn’t strayed from that deal. Sure, she’d thought something more meaningful was developing between them, but hadn’t she also learned that dreamers were losers in the game of love?
She’d heard the story of her mother’s youthful indiscretion countless times, yet she’d gone ahead and more or less committed the same mistake herself: fooling herself into believing some wealthy and well-connected guy was interested in her for more than a fling. Her mother had gotten a hard lesson in rejection from Kayla’s biological father, and she’d now set herself up for the same thing from Noah.
Hadn’t she learned anything from her family history? From her biological father’s failure even to acknowledge her?
It appeared not. She was a glutton for rejection.
Coming to a stop again next to the console table, she looked down at the correspondence she’d discovered minutes ago.
She was an even bigger fool for hesitating to read it. Didn’t she want to be a hard-nosed journalist? What journalist worth her press pass would turn away from an opportunity like this?
Certainly not one who was going to be dumped after a casual affair. Certainly not her.
Drawing forth the sheets from the first envelope, she told herself that once she knew enough, she’d confront Noah.
The contents of the first envelope included copies of a memorandum and articles of association for a company called Medford. Noah Whittaker was listed as the sole shareholder.
She moved to the second envelope and scanned the contents of a cover letter addressed to Noah. The letter advised that an annual return had been filed for Medford and that disbursements to the tune of thousands of dollars had been funneled to the intended beneficiaries.
Perplexed, she scanned the correspondence again, trying to piece together more of the puzzle, when a low sound alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone.
Raising her head, she found herself staring straight into Noah’s frowning face.
Noah couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt as good as this morning. Last night with Kayla had been great. No, more than great. They’d made love, fallen asleep and made love again…and again. It had been fantastic.
Which was why, as he emerged from the bedroom, he had a hard time pro
cessing the image that confronted him: namely, Kayla looking guilty as hell, holding a sheet of paper and standing next to the console table where, he now recalled, he’d absentmindedly left sensitive correspondence yesterday.
Damn. He felt his smile vanish.
“What are you doing?” he asked, having already formed an opinion but hoping to have it contradicted.
Kayla’s chin came up. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” She held the paper out to him. “What is this?”
He felt his lips tighten as he moved toward her. “You went through my mail? You were snooping?”
How many times had he had to deal with invasions of his privacy? Photographers who’d put their high-powered lenses right up to the windshield of his car? Reporters who’d go into restaurants he’d just left and bribe other diners into divulging what he’d eaten and what he’d said?
“I’m a gossip columnist, remember?” she responded coolly. “Prying is my job.”
What the heck was wrong with her? She was a far cry from the warm and willing woman that he’d held in his arms last night. In fact, she was acting like those colleagues of hers in the press who were the bane of his existence. She’d been the bane of his existence until recently.
“What the heck is that supposed to mean?” he asked, pulling the paper out of her hand. Glancing down and realizing it was the letter from his lawyer, he forced himself to tamp down on his temper. No one was supposed to know about Medford and his involvement with it. He’d gone to great lengths to ensure that.
“What do you think it means, Noah?” she demanded.
“Did you expect me to set aside my journalist’s instincts just because you arranged to have a little fun in the sun with me?”
He went stony. He’d had women slap him with less sting. “Right. Excuse me for thinking your career ambition might come second to loyalty to friends—or lovers.”
She laughed cynically. “Loyalty? And what would you know about that?”
He reached across her and grabbed the rest of the correspondence off the table. “Enough to think you’d be satisfied with our bargain and the news story that I’d fed you,” he bit back. “Obviously, I was wrong.”
She folded her arms. “And I suppose your concept of loyalty is flexible enough to encompass a love’em-and-leave’em philosophy?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sybil LaBreck just called,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“Yeah?” He thought for a second. “How the heck does she know we’re down here?”
“We gossip columnists have our ways.”
“You don’t say.”
She nodded. “Sybil seemed quite happy to have the rumors of our romantic idyll confirmed by my picking up the phone in the hotel suite that’s booked under your name. She was just—how did she put it?—surprised.” She added, her voice dripping acid, “After all, you’d told her that the day you got serious about me would be the day that you called her yourself with a story for her column.”
He had some vague recollection of running into Sybil at the Charlesbank Association charity event. She’d been irritating and had asked probing questions. She’d hinted that she suspected he and Kayla were really having an affair and not just attempting to bury the hatchet for appearance’s sake. He recalled saying something dismissive in order to get rid of her. And now, it seemed, that something was coming back to haunt him.
Still, he wasn’t going to try to explain to Kayla that the comment had been made half-jokingly in an attempt to make Sybil go away. Because what counted was that Kayla hadn’t trusted him.
She hadn’t trusted him enough to give him a chance to explain what he’d said to Sybil. If she’d trusted him, she wouldn’t have sneaked into his private correspondence.
It was clear that she valued getting a story more than any feelings for him. And, given his experience with the press, he was ten kinds of sucker for ever thinking otherwise. Even if they’d made the earth move last night.
He held up the correspondence that he clutched in his hand and demanded, “You want to know what these papers are about?” When she made no reply, he continued, “I’ll tell you—the worst ten seconds of my life.”
She looked taken aback.
“That’s right,” he said. “The racing accident I’d give anything to undo.”
She shook her head. “But those papers refer to a company called Medford.”
“Right. The company that I formed for the sole purpose of supporting Jack’s family since the accident.”
“But that’s a good thing…”
It gave him perverse satisfaction to see she seemed perplexed. “What? Are you disappointed you haven’t discovered another scandal connected to me? Did you think I didn’t know there’d been rumors—despite doing my best to keep Medford under wraps—that I was involved with a mysterious company in the Caymans?”
“But why create an offshore company? Why try to hide the fact that you’re doing something good because…?”
He arched a brow. “Because, instead, people might believe I’m doing something bad? Is that what you were going to say?” He shrugged. “I didn’t want Jack’s family to know who was helping them.”
“But why?”
She was pressing him for answers that he wasn’t prepared to give. She had a journalist’s doggedness all right and at the moment he was finding it damn irritating. “I just preferred it that way,” he said, adding sarcastically, “is that okay with you?”
She unfolded her arms and looked shocked. “You still carry an enormous amount of guilt about the accident, don’t you? Do you blame yourself?”
“What is this? Pop psychology 101?” he snapped.
He could swear a flash of hurt crossed her face. Well, that made two of them with open wounds.
“I was just asking.”
“No, you were asking and snooping.” The betrayal cut like a knife. She was prepared to sell him out for a moment’s glory in the newspaper and a shot at a better job. Hell.
He turned his back on her abruptly.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To pack,” he said curtly, not looking at her. Today was supposed to be their last day in the Caymans anyway. Might as well pack it in early. “It was fun while it lasted, honey, but now it’s over.”
Noah shoved his hands in his pockets and paced to the windows of his office, where he stared out unseeingly.
Surly. That described him to a T lately.
After the debacle with Kayla in the Caymans, he’d been mad as hell. He should have stayed mad as hell. Instead, he’d started to invent reasons to see her point of view. Had started to think maybe he was partly to blame.
Which was crazy. Just as crazy as the fact that he’d trusted a reporter to begin with. He needed his head examined.
To top it off, Sybil LaBreck was hot on their trail again. Her most recent headline, just after his return from the Caymans, had shouted: Is Noah Whittaker Finally Getting Paired Off? Sybil went on to detail his and Kayla’s getaway in the Caymans despite his recent denials that anything romantic was going on.
He thought back to his face-off with Kayla in the Caymans. If he hadn’t been so pissed off, he might have tried explaining to her about his comment to Sybil. At the time he’d tossed off the remark, all he’d wanted was to throw Sybil off the scent—because he’d already started lusting after Kayla intensely.
And the sex, when it had happened, had been incredible. Hotter and steamier than he’d fantasized. It had been good. They’d been good.
His mind went to the question that had been chewing at him more and more: was it fair of him to have expected Kayla to check her reporter’s instincts at the door of their hotel suite?
That was precisely what he’d expected, he realized. Because of the sex, because he’d started wanting and needing her and because she’d gotten under his skin.
But, even if he had a right to be angry because she hadn’t trusted him more, he�
�d been the one to leave the Medford correspondence lying around. And—he could now concede, putting himself in her shoes—Sybil’s call had led her to believe he was an untrustworthy jerk.
“Troubles?”
He turned from the window and saw Matt standing in the open doorway to his office. “No more than usual.”
Matt came in, shutting the door behind him. “Yeah, well you haven’t been your usual self lately, and people have started to notice.”
He shrugged as Matt sat on a corner of his desk. “We all have a bad week occasionally.”
“Yeah, and yours happened to coincide with your return from the Caymans with Kayla Jones. Don’t think people didn’t notice.”
“So, let people notice.”
Matt shook his head resignedly. “Stashing a sexy reporter in your hotel room during a firm trip to the Caribbean?” Amusement darkened his brother’s eyes.
“Probably a first even for you.”
“I’m usually not that stupid.” Or gullible.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Matt drawled.
“You’ve got a well-known weakness for hourglass blondes.”
“Did you just come in here for a comedy break? Because, if that’s the case, I don’t have the time. I’ve got deadlines.” Deadlines he didn’t give a damn about at the moment and couldn’t seem to get focused on trying to meet anyway. He walked over to his desk and started shuffling paper.
Matt hopped off and turned to face him. “Want to tell me about it?”
“In a word? No.” Then he added, because he couldn’t let it go at that, “She’s all wrong for me.”
Matt shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
Noah’s head jerked up and he asked incredulously, “Doesn’t matter?”
“Yup, you’ve got it bad, little brother. Resistance is futile.”
“Yeah, right.”
Matt sauntered toward the door, turning back when his hand was on the knob. “Call me when you’re ready to acknowledge the power of the force—the female force, that is. In the meantime, stop trying to wipe the floor with everyone who crosses your path around here.”
