by Snow, Nicole
What the hell is wrong with me?
There are no answers. My cock just pulses as she stretches on her toes, bringing those lips closer to mine, her eyes darting back and forth. The poor girl must be wondering if I'm having some kind of seizure.
At last, I jerk away. Then I let go of her arm, curling a hand around her hip, pulling her closer.
I lick my lips as they almost touch hers, anticipating everything I shouldn't want.
Another lightning bolt sears my blood as the palm of her hand, warm and soft, touches my bare chest.
“Um, Noah?” she whispers softly.
“Yeah?” I answer, so damn ready to kiss her, it hurts.
“There's a man handcuffed in your...your kitchen.”
My dick deflates. Right as the terror swells in her eyes.
Harkness.
Fuck!
5
Two Truths and a Lie (Mindy)
I don’t know if I should run or bury my head in his chest.
His sexy, manly, dark-inked chest that would be heaven just to rest my cheek against. Except, now I know it might not just be a huge mistake, but a fatal one.
Noah Bernard isn't the picture perfect guardian angel I thought.
Mother would say run. Run fast, Mindy, faster than you’ve ever run in your life.
But it's like my feet are glued to the floor. I'm in shock. Speechless.
I never should've looked away from those smoldering blue eyes. Then I wouldn't have seen the man. The one waving at me with his only free hand. The balding man with beer bottle glasses, handcuffed to the post separating the living room from the kitchen.
Run? Holy hell, I never should've come here.
I wish I'd stayed in Martha’s apartment, waiting for him to call.
Better yet, I wish I'd never come to Reno.
Then I wouldn’t be standing here, paralyzed by one surprise after the next. Fantasy turning into a complete sideshow.
I'd let him invade my mind, melting over the past twenty-four hours with all kinds of ideas worthy of a schoolgirl crush. He’s strong. Bold. Unforgettable. My palm, where it’s touching his chest, is still on fire, but I can’t pull it away.
A split second ago, I didn't want to. Now, I'm too scared.
He bites his bottom lip, searching for words.
We both know it. If I hadn’t noticed the other man, his prisoner, we'd be all dueling tongues and hurried breaths this very instant.
There's no doubt whatsoever. I’d seen it on his face. He’d been ready to kiss me. I’d been about to let him.
Then Mr. Handcuffs showed up. Just like a bad movie.
“You do know there's a man handcuffed in your kitchen, don’t you?” I have no clue why I feel inclined to ask that stupid question. Maybe because I’m hoping the other man is an illusion. A figment of my imagination. A hallucination from the firestorm Old Noah put into my blood.
This new man, the one I'm looking at now, I'm not sure I want to meet.
“Yeah.” Noah takes a step backward. “I know, darlin'.”
My hand falls to my side and I'm lost on what to say next. So I go for the obvious. “Why?”
“Did I hear you mention a divorce?” the man asks. “I know a very good divorce lawyer. I could call him right now, except for these handcuffs.”
Noah spins around, facing the man. “You, shut up.”
I have to close my eyes for a moment, to catch my bearings, hoping I'm once again seeing things.
Nope. No ghost.
He's still there.
I open my eyes and take a second glance at Noah’s waist.
Nope again. I’m not seeing things.
That's really a gun tucked in the back of his britches. I take a step closer. “You said you weren’t a cop.”
“I’m not a cop,” Noah says.
“Good one! He’s no cop.” Mr. Handcuffs chuckles bitterly. “Don't you know you've got yourself a mercenary, lady?”
“Mercenary?” My mind ramps a hundred miles an hour.
Holy crapola. Finally, an explanation. Just not the kind I wanted.
But really, who carries a gun like that? Such confidence, stuffed into his pants.
It’s a 9 mm. Probably a Glock. My mind snaps and the filter on my mouth flips off.
“Jesus. Did you call my mother, or did she call you? Hired you to watch me, maybe? Or was it Charlie?” I wouldn’t put that past either one of them. “Was it him?”
“Calm down,” Noah answers.
Terrible choice of words. Why haven't men figured out telling any raging woman to calm down does the opposite?
Next thing I know, I slam my hands into his chest. “You're a private eye? A detective? A –”
“Mindy...” I'm not sure if it's him saying my name, or the two huge hands closing around my wrist shockingly fast that make me stop, breathe, and look at him again.
“He’s not that kind of detective,” Handcuffs says. “Too boring. He’s the bounty hunter type.”
Another dozen thoughts spin through my mind. “Bounty hunter? Is that even legal?”
“Who is she?” Handcuffs asks again, his smile growing bigger. “I like her.”
“None of your business, asshole,” Noah presses me closer to his chest and then pulls me across the living room.
I know where we're going. The bedroom I’d escaped from yesterday morning. I try to tug out of his hold, but he's too strong. “What the hell's going on here?”
He keeps pulling me toward the bedroom.
I dig my heels into the carpet, like a cat who knows it's about to take a trip to the vet. “Noah, answer me!”
“I will,” he says. “Just not in front of him.”
I’m nervous, but not scared. I can’t say why. Maybe I don’t believe Noah would hurt me.
An insane assumption, considering everything else. But there it is. Even when he's in full control, he's gentle, his thumbs lightly sliding across my skin.
If he wanted to do damage, he’s already had his chance. He let me escape. He came to my apartment and left. He isn't ramming me up against a wall right this second.
None of this makes even a fraction of sense.
We step into the bedroom and he closes the door behind us. Not about to let my confusion show, I ask him point-blank, “Is he right? Are you a bounty hunter?”
“Yeah.”
I search his vivid blue eyes. There's no hint he's lying.
He walks across the room, pulling aside the curtain, while I wait for more.
Whatever else he is, he's patient. Annoyingly good at playing up the suspense, or maybe it's just his nature.
I can't ignore the questions rattling my brain any longer. “What does that really mean? Who do you hunt?”
I'm not clueless. I’ve heard of bounty hunters before, know there are shows about them, but I’ve never personally known one.
I don’t want to admit a small secret piece of me is a bit excited by what he is.
Or maybe it's just him. Alone. Sans the rough and tumble profession.
My heart's been racing since the second he opened the door. Before then, actually. The idea of seeing him again was enthralling. Equal parts amazing and ridiculous, but what other words fit my life?
“How'd you get here, anyway?” he says finally.
I’m so flipping out of sorts I'm slow to realize what he asked. “What do you think? I drove.”
“Drove? What car? Where'd you park?”
He’s turned, looking dead at me, and I can barely keep my eyes from focusing on the fact his shirt is still unbuttoned. Too bad his magnetism is drowned out by fear again.
There's too much urgency in his voice. Too many hurried questions.
At least I know for sure we were drugged. Nothing else explains why I wouldn't have taken full advantage of this beast-man, before I knew the beast part might be more than a metaphor.
Before I knew there might be very real consequences to digging too deep into places I shouldn't.
&nb
sp; “The parking's not for visitors. Residents only,” he says, clearing his throat. A poor excuse.
“Lucky you, I parked in the visitor lot.” I fold my arms, glaring. I try to clear away the thoughts of who would want to drug me, and why, just to show him I'm no pushover.
He turns to the window again, still obsessed. “The blue Chevy?”
I sigh, my mind still racing. Whatever happened to us, it had to begin with him.
No one would want to drug me for no reason. Not even two-timing Charlie. I have nothing anyone would want. Standing, I cross the room, and look out the window over his shoulder. “Yes. The Impala. Get a nice, long look yet?”
“Did anyone see you?”
For Christ's sake, I think to myself, barely containing the urge to send my palm flying across his face.
“Don't know.” My heart skips a beat. “Why? Is someone watching you? Watching this place?”
“Probably.”
His frankness surprises me. It's weird, scary, and entrancing all at once. A heaping mystery.
“Noah...what have you done? Who are you hunting? Is that why we're in this mess?”
He lets out a long sigh, closing his eyes for a second, and then lets the curtain fall back in place. “It’s not who I’m hunting, darlin'. It’s who I’m hunting for.”
Great. Even when he throws me a bone, it's like I'm talking to Edgar Allan Poe.
So many questions in my head, I don’t even know where to start. He isn't helping.
I’ve never been involved in a mystery before, and I'm not sure I want to be. “That guy in your kitchen...he’s the one you were hired to find?”
His face is serious as he looks at me and nods.
A tiny shiver tickles my spine. “What happens after you find them? Where does Handcuffs go?”
“Job's done,” he says solemnly. “I turn him over. Get paid. Wash my hands.”
“Oh. Right.” Wrong, actually. I can't compute any of this, but don’t know what to say.
No joke. I’m in over my head here.
He runs a hand through his hair, then flashes one of those adorable cockeyed grins. “Breathe, Lucky. You don’t have a fucking clue what’s going on, and it's okay.”
Grin or not, that ticks me off. Even while my heart skips a beat.
It's anything but okay.
It's equally infuriating and enticing how he sees through me so easily. “Whatever. Maybe I don’t have a clue about bounty hunting...” Needing to justify my intelligence, I add, “But I know I was drugged, Noah. That’s the only explanation. That’s why I’m here. Someone drugged us both, and we need to find out who and why.”
“I know who.” His face darkens, a thunderhead veil rippling through his blue eyes.
“I'm waiting.” I bite my tongue as soon as it's out.
Whatever this is, the look on his face says it won't be easy.
“His name's Cesare Lucient. Mr. Fuckface, to me, and the name doesn't fit half the evil shit he's done.”
The man's real name means nothing to me, although it clearly does to him. His eyes narrow and his jaw tightens. I glance toward the door, unsure why my heartbeat ramps up.
“Is that him?” I whisper. “The guy handcuffed in your kitchen?”
“No. That’s Michael Harkness. He was one of Cesare’s accountants before he got too greedy and started skimming more than his fair share off the top.”
“Top of what?” I'm genuinely confused.
He shrugs, yet his expression goes back to being serious. Brooding. “Everything. Lucient has his hands in every honey hole of the Nevada black market. Illegal gambling. Drugs. People. Harkness was in deep with the money laundering side of the operation. Apparently, the easy six figs he was making off Lucient's payroll wasn't enough. He'd rather risk his life than give up gambling.”
His tone is so somber, I have to swallow a lump forming in my throat before I can ask, “So this Cesare guy hired you to find him? Harkness?”
He nods.
The foreboding in his eyes makes me swallow again.
“Jesus.” When able, I ask, “What's next for him? When you said Lucient's into 'people,' do you mean...”
I can't bring myself to say it. I think he's talking about human trafficking, but parts of me don't even want to know.
This is deep. Dark. Frightening.
Scarier than anything I’ve ever known.
Turning, Noah takes my hand, and despite, or maybe because of the seriousness of the situation, my insides flutter.
Ridiculous! I tell myself. He's talking life and death, and you're going all tipsy every time this lion-man touches you.
“Mindy, listen, and listen good. You need to go back to your apartment and forget that you ever saw Harkness.” The fierce animal spark in his eyes says he's not messing around.
Holy Hannah.
I nod blankly, then shake my head as my senses return. I slip out of his grasp and turn away.
“What do you mean 'forget?' Like how I forgot the other night? Is that why I was drugged? Because I saw something I shouldn’t have?”
He’s shaking his head, but I need more. I need real answers.
Slowly, I face him again, sizing him up, finding the courage to lock on to his piercing blue eyes.
“Are you the one who drugged me, Noah?” I ask. “Have you...have you been lying to me this entire time?”
“Hell no. I'm not a psychopath,” he says quietly. “Why do you think you were drugged? You didn’t say anything about it yesterday.”
His thumb rubs the inside of my wrist, soothing the storm between us, making it hard to think. “I-I hadn’t had time to think it over then. But last night, I still wasn't feeling quite right. Started searching symptoms. Remembered a few shows I used to watch, and that time an old friend told me about a horror-date. She barely got away after some asshole slipped her something nasty.”
Slowly, he nods.
I can’t pull my eyes off his. There's something about him that's like gravity. Magnetic. Unforgettable. Even when we're in the thick of talking about an underworld mystery I never asked for.
He’s looking at me like he did before. In the living room. I shake my head and glance away.
“Last night, it was just a weird suspicion. A funny feeling something wasn't right. But I know now, for sure.”
“How do you know?”
I can’t stop myself from meeting his gaze again. “Because I wouldn't have married a stranger in a million years, no matter how good-looking he is. Not in my right mind. The few times I've gotten snarling drunk, I'd just crash out and sleep. I don't go gallivanting off with strangers, and I'm pretty dang sure I'd have laughed myself into a coma if I were drunk and waiting for an Elvis impersonator to do the vows.” I take a breath, just to make sure I still can, and then finish, “And just...because I know I wouldn’t have simply walked away the next morning.”
His grin returns. That swoon-me-over adorable grin, and my heart does a flipping cartwheel at the sight of it.
It's cheesy, absurd, and all kinds of wrong, but it happens. Noah has this magic way of forcing the unthinkable, no matter what we're staring at head on. I can't decide if I love it or hate it.
“You didn’t walk.” His eyes leave mine long enough to glance at my lips. “You crawled, Lucky. Hauled your sweet ass out of my room on hands and knees. Trust me. I saw.”
There's magma in my veins.
I have to bite my bottom lip. It’s quivering. Still wants to be kissed by him, after all this. Remembers better than my own brain what that last kiss felt like. Heaven.
“Crawled, walked. What’s the difference?”
“Plenty from my vantage point.”
“You watched me?” I know he did, but getting the question out is how I avoid choking.
His grin grows and his eyes literally glow. “Maybe.”
I can’t stop myself from stepping closer. “No maybes. Either you did or you didn’t.”
“Why do you want to know?”
> “Why don’t you want to tell me?”
“Touché.”
Oh, I could get into this. Sparring with him. It’s exhilarating.
I lift a brow and fight to keep my own grin in check. “Did you?”
My heart leaps into my throat as he pulls me in close. His eyes are sparkling. I feel the heat of his body, wanton and almost impossible to resist. Mine, too.
I’m as hot as a super volcano. Under as much pressure, too. This man is dangerous in so many ways.
A big, hulking dagger to my heart, my mind, and all my better senses.
If I want to self-destruct, Noah Bernard is the crazy, beautiful way it happens.
“Just answer!” I whimper, pulling at his shoulders.
“What if I did?” he asks. “You really think hearing about how hard I got with my eyes glued to your perfect little ass helps anything, Lucky?”
Damned if I know.
Being this close to him has clearly caused my brain to stop working. My ears, too.
All I can hear is the drum of my swelling heart.
All I can think about is how incredible he smells.
How wonderful it is being this close to him.
How insane it is that it overwhelms a darkness I can't fathom.
It should be scarier how I just can't pull my eyes off his face. Off those entrancing blue eyes and perfectly kissable lips.
Mine are trembling so hard.
Remembering for the thousandth time how delicious he'd tasted. I can’t remember kissing him with my mind, but my body knows different.
It wants what it never forgot.
I decide to end this torture. I do what comes naturally.
I stretch on my toes and kiss him.
Plant my lips against his.
Thoroughly.
Fully.
At first, I moved my lips slowly, with the softest pressure, but when he tugs me up against him, I wrap my arms around his neck and go in for all seven heavens.
His arms lock around me. One of his hands combs through my hair and the other grasps my hip, fusing our bodies together, tighter by the nano-second. He grunts soft pleasure in my mouth, takes control, owns my tongue in swift, teasing whirls that take away what's left of my sanity.
The volcano inside me erupts. Loudly. Wildly. Completely.
