Friendship on Fire

by Joss Wood

  “After Mom’s death, I needed a lot of money very quickly. Blake offered me more than I needed, but the catch was that I had to stay engaged to Morgan for two years, enough time to get her mentally healthy.”

  Well, hell. Jules was trying to make sense of his words, this new information, when she saw their client, a champagne glass in one hand and delight in her eyes, approaching them. “I’m here! Let the party begin. Come, come, there are people I want you to meet! Oh, Julia, you look delightful! Come, come...”

  Eight

  Noah...

  Jules—why did people assume her full name was Julia?—looked sensational, and that was a huge, irritating problem since Noah had this uncontrollable desire to pull her from the room, find a private space and rip that very delightful, extremely frivolous dress from her amazing body.

  He didn’t know if her blush-pink-and-black lace dress was designer or not—he so didn’t care—but it suited her perfectly, being both quirky and sophisticated. She’d pulled her hair up into a sleek ponytail high on the back of her head and her makeup was flawless, with her face looking like she wasn’t wearing any at all.

  His childhood friend, gangly and gawky, was gone and the sexy woman she’d morphed into made all his blood run south. Grown-up Jules was sunshine and hurricane, calm seas and storm surges, the beauty of a tropical sunset and the tumult of the Arctic Ocean.

  Like the many seas he’d sailed, she was both captivating and fascinating, with the power to both soothe his soul and rip it in two. Excitement pumped through his body and he felt alive. Rediscovering Jules was like setting off across the Atlantic Ocean, not sure what type of sea or weather conditions he’d encounter but damn excited to find out.

  Noah allowed himself the delight of watching Jules, long legged and sexy, as she followed in Paris’s wake. He hadn’t seen her since she left his office ten days ago and it was nine days, twenty-three hours and thirty minutes too long. He’d spent most of that time with half his mind on his work and the rest dreaming, lost in memories of how she felt, tasted, smelled.

  There was action in his pants and Noah thought it would be a very good idea if he stopped imagining her naked so he didn’t embarrass himself. He knew of a quick way to deflate his junk, so he scanned the room, looking for Blake. He needed to speak to Morgan’s father, make it very clear to him, so that he could explain it to his daughter, that he’d rather swim in shark-infested waters than hook up with Morgan again. He was sorry that she was a little rocky, slightly unstable, but she was no longer his problem.

  Jules smiled and his heart flip-flopped. Damn Paris and her ill-timed interruption.

  What was going through Jules’s head? Did she hear and understand that he’d needed the money, that he hadn’t had another option? That he did what he needed to do because he was between the devil and the Bermuda Triangle? But if she did think that he was a money-grabbing moron, then it was no one’s fault but his own.

  He wasn’t good at opening up, exposing his underbelly. Communicating wasn’t his strong point; he preferred action to words. Even his brothers didn’t know the extent of Ethan’s treachery. They didn’t know about his many affairs, the incredible amounts of money he spent on girls just hitting their twenties.

  He’d kept that from them, thinking that they didn’t need to be burdened with that knowledge. In hindsight, he should’ve gone to Callie and Ray, asked for their help, their advice.

  But looking back, he hadn’t asked for help, shared what was going on because if he had, they would’ve seen how hurt he was, how out of control and messed up he’d felt. And if he’d fallen apart back then, he didn’t think he would have recovered. And maybe that was another reason why he’d been prepared to accept Ivan’s offer, since it had given him the option to run away, to put some distance between him and his mom’s death, Ethan’s betrayal, the need kissing Jules had evoked.

  When he was sailing, he had to be fully present—his crew’s safety was his responsibility—and he had to compartmentalize. Standing back from the situation, from the emotions, had allowed him to function and had become an ingrained habit.

  He was finding that difficult to do with Jules now. She was constantly on his mind and not always in a sexual way. He found himself wondering about the weirdest things—did she still make her own granola, refuse to eat olives, make those face masks with oatmeal and honey?—and fought the impulse to connect with her during the day, just to hear her voice, see her smile.

  And he wanted her back in his arms, naked and glorious, more than he needed his heart to pump blood through his body.

  Noah rubbed the space between the collar of his shirt and his hair and caught Jules’s concerned frown, the “Are you okay?” flashing in her eyes. She was worried about him, and her thoughtful expression suggested that she was still mulling over their conversation. There was no way Jules would leave that subject alone; she wouldn’t be satisfied with the little he’d told her. She’d have questions...lots of questions.

  He was still debating whether to answer them or not. He wanted to, for the first time in, well, forever, he wanted someone else’s perspective, another opinion. No, hell...

  He wanted Jules’s perspective, her opinion. Wanted it but didn’t want to want it...

  This was why globe hopping, dropping in and out of people’s lives was so much easier. Noah did up his jacket button, pushed his shoulders back and centered himself. Introspection could wait for later, right now he needed to socialize, to earn his crust of bread. And that meant discussing boats and sailing, recounting the highlights of his career and listening to amateur sailors as they tried to sound like they knew what they were doing.

  Noah had played the game long enough. He understood the value of networking; it was extremely likely that a number of Paris’s friends might have a spare fifty million for a new boat and he wanted them to think of him to design their vessel. Yeah, okay, designing an expensive yacht had been more fun than he’d expected. Building and designing boats, all types of boats, was his passion and rubbing elbows with potential clients was crucial for his business.

  So get your head in the game, Lockwood.

  Noah squared his shoulders, looked around the room to find Jules and saw her staring at the back of a silver-haired man, her eyes wide with distress. Noah instinctively made his way across the room, determined to reach her. Keeping his eyes on her, he was nearly at her side when a low voice calling his name halted him in his tracks.

  No wonder Jules looked distraught. He didn’t even need to look at the man’s face, he knew exactly who’d caused his heart to stop, his blood to freeze. What the hell was his stepfather doing back in Boston? Just before leaving Cape Town, he’d checked to see where Ethan was and had been told that he was in Cannes. That he intended to remain there for the foreseeable future.

  His stepfather, because he was a contrary ass, was exactly where Noah didn’t want him to be: in Boston, breathing the same air he was.

  Noah’s fists clenched and he searched for and then connected with Jules’s sympathetic gaze. She didn’t know how or why he was at odds with Ethan but her loyalty was first and foremost to him. Her support was a hit of smooth, warm brandy after a freezing day on the water.

  “Keep cool,” Jules mouthed, holding out her hand. Noah gripped her fingers and nodded, grounding himself before turning around to face his stepfather.

  “Ethan.”

  It seemed to Noah that the whole room was holding its breath, waiting to see how this encounter played out. Then he remembered that no one outside of his brothers knew of his war with Ethan. Noah was used to keeping his own counsel and Ethan wouldn’t tell anyone that his stepson had instituted legal proceedings against him. The world only saw what Ethan allowed them to see, and that was the veneer of a charming, rich man-about-town.

  His hid his snake oil salesman persona well.

  “Hello, son.”

 

Noah gritted his teeth. He’d once loved Ethan calling him son, loved the fact that blood and genes didn’t matter to him so the son felt like a hit of acid. Funny how having his and his brothers’ inheritance stolen tended to sour the adoration.

  It took everything Noah had to shake Ethan’s hand, to pull his mouth into something that vaguely resembled a smile.

  “I thought you were in the South of France.”

  Ethan whipped a glass off a passing tray and smiled, his blue eyes the color of frost on a winter’s morning. “I’ve been back for a month or so.” Ethan sipped at his drink, not breaking eye contact with Noah. “As you know, I’ve put Lockwood Estate on the market.”

  Noah tightened his grip on Jules’s hand. It was the only thing keeping him from planting his fist into his stepdad’s face. “And as you know, I’m enforcing the clause that you have to offer it to us first, less twenty percent of the market value.”

  “My lawyer informed me. I find it tiresome having to wait.” Ethan smiled the smile he stole from a shark. “If you don’t manage to buy it within the prescribed time period, I’ll still sell it to you.”

  “What’s the catch?” Because there would be one, there always was.

  “The marina. Give me the marina and twenty million and you can have the estate and all your mother’s crap.”

  His mother’s crap being the Lockwood furniture, the paintings, the silver. God, he wondered if there was anything left. Her jewelry, her collection of Meissen figurines?

  He was going to kill him, he really was. While the house had sentimental value, the marina was a valuable asset and one that could easily be sold. And that was why Ethan wanted it. Yes, the estate was bigger and more valuable, but it would be harder to unload. Ethan was doing what he did best, making life easier for himself. Jerk.

  Ethan was exploiting Noah’s love for Lockwood land and his family’s legacy. It was a deal he could never, would never, agree to. Partly because he was done being exploited by his stepfather but also because Levi was now a full partner in the marina and wouldn’t allow such a half-ass arrangement.

  “Out of the question,” Noah replied.

  “Pity. I’d rather go broke than let you have the estate.”

  “Please, you’re far too materialistic and vain for that,” Noah replied, his harsh growl coming from deep within his throat. Red mist was forming in front of his eyes, and he was moments from losing it.

  Punching Ethan would so be worth the assault charge...

  “I have a plan B and if my life turns out the way I’m planning it to, I might take the estate off the market anyway. No matter what happens, I refuse to put another cent toward your mother’s house. I’d rather watch it fall apart, board by board.”

  It was an empty threat, one that was verbalized purely to needle him since Noah knew the maintenance of the Lockwood house was paid for out of the profits from the country club and its facilities. There was no way the management company would allow the magnificent home to fall apart on the grounds of such an exclusive estate.

  Noah tensed but Jules squeezing his hand kept his inscrutable expression in place. But, damn, it was hard.

  Pulling her hand from his, Jules stepped between him and Ethan and smiled. Noah’s protective instinct wanted her behind him but the quick shake of her head kept him from moving. She smiled but her eyes were deep-freeze cold. When she spoke, her voice held an edge he’d never heard before. Tough, compelling, hard-ass. “Uncle Ethan, it’s been a long time.”

  Ethan’s smile turned oily; the old man loved the attention of a pretty woman. The younger the better. That love of attention emptied his bank accounts faster than water ran from a tap. “I know that I should remember you, but forgive me, pretty lady—” Pretty lady? Gag. “—I don’t... Wait! Jules Brogan?”

  Jules nodded. “Hello.”

  Ethan flushed and ran a finger around the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Not sorry enough to come to his funeral, though.”

  Ethan pouted. “Noah wasn’t there either.”

  Typical Ethan, always trying to flip the tables and shift blame. “Noah was, if I recall, crossing the Indian Ocean at the time. What was your excuse for not being there for my mom, to support her when she lost the man who was your neighbor and friend for more than twenty years? The same woman who cooked for you and your boys for months before and after Bethann died, who took in your boys when they were on school breaks, who was more their parent than you were?”

  “Uh...”

  Noah wanted to smile at Ethan’s red face, at the hunted look in his eyes. He saw Jules open her mouth to blast him again but seeing Paris approaching them, he gripped the back of her neck. Jules looked up at him and he shook his head, gently inclining his head in Paris’s direction. Their hostess and client held a PhD in gossip and he didn’t want them to star in her melodramatic account of their run-in with Ethan.

  Noah’s eyebrows flew up when Paris wound her arms around Ethan’s neck before dropping a kiss on his temple. She grinned. “Surprise! My sweetie told me he hadn’t spoken to you for a while, that you’d had a tiny falling-out so I thought this would be a perfect occasion for you two to kiss and make up!” Paris’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Ethan told me that he taught you to sail, Noah, and he’s kindly offered to guide me through the process of designing and buying a yacht.”

  Noah’s heart plummeted to the floor and nausea climbed up in his throat. Noah looked at Ethan and saw the malice in his eyes, revenge-filled amusement touching his mouth.

  “Darling!” Paris said, dropping a kiss on Ethan’s lips. “There is music so we must dance.”

  Ethan raised his glass to Noah and invisible fingers encircled Noah’s neck and started to squeeze. “We’ll speak soon...son.”

  Noah hauled in shallow breaths as they walked away, dimly hearing Jules’s calling his name.

  When he finally pulled his eyes to her face, he clocked her distress and concern. “Noah, are you okay?”

  Noah shook his head. “Nope. Basically, what I am is screwed.”

  Jules...

  Jules was still reeling from the unexpected encounter with Ethan—and she could only imagine how Noah felt. They’d left the soiree as soon as they could and the drive back to Lockwood was silent. Without a word, Noah opened her car door, escorted her to her front door and, in the dim shadows on the porch, stared down at her with enigmatic eyes.

  She had a million questions for him, a need to dig and delve, to understand the past, but it was late and clarity wasn’t what she most wanted from Noah right now. No, this wasn’t about what she wanted but what she needed to give him...

  A couple of times at Whip she’d looked his way and while he seemed to be talking, having a good time, she’d sensed that it was all one damn good performance. He played the game well but she could tell that Noah was played out, mentally and emotionally. For the first time she appreciated how hard it was for him to return to Boston and to face his past.

  Jules glanced across the road to Lockwood House, looking hard and menacing under the cloudy sky. He’d come home to buy his inheritance back but dealing with his past had to be harder than he imagined. She’d assumed that his spat with Ethan had been just that, a spat, an old bull, young bull thing, something that would blow over. She hadn’t really noticed that Eli and Ben didn’t speak about their stepfather much; he was always out of the country, and because he was a sailor and yachtsman, she’d assumed that Noah had more contact with Ethan than they did.

  That was a mistake. Noah loathed Ethan, and Ethan returned his antipathy.

  Something fundamentally destructive had occurred to cause such unhappiness...

  Noah placed a hand on the door above her head and looked down at her, his face as hard as the house over the road. “It’s been a long and crappy evening, Ju, I don’t want to talk about it or answer any questions.”

  “Fair enough,” Jules replied, placing her hands flat against the wooden front door behind her. Arching her chest, she looked up at him, deliberately lowering her eyes. She knew what Noah wanted and it was the one thing she could give him, what she wanted—no, needed—as much as he did. To step out of their complicated lives and feel.

  Warm skin, wet lips, heat...

  Noah’s voice was low but rough. “I want you. But you know that already.”

  “I do.” Jules nodded, hooking her hand around the back of his neck. “And I want you, too. Take me to bed, No. Take me away to a place where our passion is the only truth.”

  “Nothing changes, Jules. As soon as I buy Lockwood, I’m still leaving,” Noah stated quietly, still looming over her.

  His blunt statement hurt, of course it did, but it didn’t distract her from wanting what they both craved. “Kiss me, Noah.”

  Judging by his hard eyes and tense body, Jules expected to be hurtled to mindlessness by hard and fast sex. So his soft kiss, the tenderness in his touch, surprised her.

  Noah bent his knees, placed an arm beneath her bottom and lifted her so that her mouth was aligned with his. Her feet dangled off the floor, but it didn’t matter because Noah was holding her, exploring her mouth, seemingly desperate to taste her. Her breasts pushed into his chest and she shifted her knee, brushing against his erection.

  Yum...

  Noah allowed Jules to slide to the floor, silently demanding the key to the door. She licked her lips and shook her head, her brain stuttering. Noah released a frustrated sigh, reached for her clutch bag and flipped it open. His fingers delved inside and he withdrew the key, handing the bag back to her and stabbing the lock all in one fluid movement.

  Impressive, since she wasn’t sure how to spell her name. “How can you think, act? All I can think about is how wonderful you make me feel.”

  Noah gripped her wrist and jerked her inside. “I’m motivated. I’ve been imagining ripping that dress off you all evening.”

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