by D. K. Combs
He was off limits.
Noah Whatever His Last Name Was, was bad news, and she didn’t need that in her life.
And now, it was time to establish that.
“Gladly,” he said, that perfect mouth kicking up at the side. She strengthened herself against that smile, against what it did to her, and gestured into her office.
“Oh, Ms. Thompson! Charles Harmon called and wanted me to ask if you’d gotten his packet in the mail—”
“Yes, Madeline, thank you.”
She couldn’t help the shortness of her tone, but seeing Noah leaning down like that, with Madeline sitting there almost expectantly… It left a sour taste in her mouth.
Bad, Bristol. Bad.
Noah isn’t yours. No being jealous!
She wanted to scoff at herself. Jealous? She hadn’t been jealous in years! There was nothing to be jealous of. Nope, not at all.
Noah strode toward her, his gate confident. She closed her eyes against the scent that wafted off him when he passed her, and his body heat had nearly the same effect.
She remembered how warm he was. How firm and muscled he was underneath all of the leather.
But it didn’t matter! She had business to take care of, and that was that. Nothing else. No “remembering”, no “dreaming” about him anymore. She had come to a very reasonable conclusion last night.
If she didn’t keep seeing the other men after she got off, then Noah should be no different. Yeah, he might be a tad hotter than the other guys. Yeah, he might be a tad rougher than the other guys. Yeah, he might make her wilder than the other guys—but all of that was beside the point.
He was starting to affect her workplace. Her personal life. He was invading parts of her head that were on strict reserve for other things. Instead of staying in the back of her mind like a light down the hall, it was like he had an LED light bar on the top of his head, charging down the dark tunnel of her mind.
When she turned to face him, the door closing soundly behind her, she found him leaning that amazing ass of his against the edge of her desk, thick arms crossed over his chest, his gaze right on hers—and he did not look like he was having a good time.
If anything, he looked downright pissed.
What the hell did he have to be pissed about?
She opened her mouth to speak, and at that exact same time, he pushed himself off her desk and strode toward her like a panther on the prowl. The words froze in her throat, and that was probably for the better because in the next second, he was taking her jaw in his hand, tilting her head back, and then taking her lips in a hard, demanding kiss.
At first, it was hard to forget—forget about her decision, forget about where she was, about what she wanted to talk about. And then he used his tongue, masterfully spreading her lips to taste her, and that’s when it got a little bit harder to remember.
She moaned against his lips, her arms instantly twining around his neck, fingers threading into his hair to hold him there. This son of a bitch had pushed her away in the car, and it wasn’t going to happen now, not in her office—
Bristol jerked away from him with a curse, practically ripping herself out of his arms.
“No,” she told herself, shaking her head. She put a hand to her mouth, lips burning from the sensation as she tried to hide the quick pants. “No, this is not happening in my office, okay? This is sacred territory. We do not ever do that here again.”
She cast him a glance, and found that he was basically...unaffected.
Besides the frown between his brow, he wasn’t reacting to their kiss at all.
Oh, wait—she knew why. He was a Kissing Kenny. He would kiss just about anyone and anything—including her assistant!
The thought had her demeanor changing. She wasn’t going to let him see how much he affected her, wasn’t going to let him see anything except for the professional facade she wore for business.
“Please,” she said, clearing her throat. “Have a seat. We are going to talk and settle things once and for all.”
He rolled his eyes, but sat nonetheless, reaching for the gray drink carrier. As she sat in her chair, fixing her skirt, he pulled out the two Styrofoam cups and handed one to her.
She stared at it, not touching it.
“What is in that?” she asked, sneering. She never took drinks from strangers—recurring ones or not.
“Coffee,” he said drolly. “What, are you too good for coffee? I’m sorry it isn’t imported from Columbia—”
She took it with a huff, then took a coaster from her stack by the phone and set it down, placing the hot cup on top of it. The scent wafted upward, hitting her nostrils. It actually smelled...amazing. Much better than the Starbucks beans she bought.
Gingerly, avoiding his eyes, she picked up the cup and took a sip.
She shuddered. Good coffee was like ambrosia to her, and this was...incredible. Holy god, was this incredible. She took another sip, the dark liquid piping hot and black, just the way she liked it.
“I figured you’d like it black,” he said. “It matches your soul.”
She paused, looking up at him through her lashes. “And there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Now,” she said, setting it back on the coaster even though she wanted to drink the whole cup, “I want to clear some things up with you.”
“You’ve said that. Go on.”
She frowned. If he managed to make it sound like he was in charge of the conversation, she was not going to be happy. Her office, her rules, her control. He was not allowed to direct the conversations!
“Let’s start from the beginning.”
He nodded like he was urging her forward, his face stoic. Always so stoic. She pursed her lips, then continued.
“Your conduct toward me has been nearly unforgivable, and yet I find myself reacting to you in places that are unseemly,” she started, turning her nose into the air. “This is unacceptable.”
“Sure, sure. Go on.”
She clenched her hands on her desk, and his eyes instantly went to them, body tensing.
“Ruining my date at the bar was—”
“It wasn’t a date,” he interrupted, eyes going back to hers.
“Well, it most definitely would have been, had you not—”
“No, it wouldn’t have been. A date is something you plan. That guy approached you out of nowhere and kept reaching into his pocket like a creep. That was not a date.”
She cleared her throat. Okay, so she hadn’t noticed the pocket thing—but that could mean anything! He might have been feeling his phone for a text vibration, or…or… Who knew. The fact that he had noticed when she hadn’t made her flush.
“Either way,” she continued. “You did not handle it correctly at all.”
“There’s really no way to ‘correctly’ handle that, so….” He waved her on, leaning into his seat. His legs stretched out in front of him, crossing at the ankles, arms loosely crossed over his chest. He was the epitome of a relaxed male in his domain—and that did not sit well with her. “Go ahead. Keep talking.”
Her eye twitched. There he went again, acting like he was in charge of the conversation.
“Fast forward to last night,” she said, giving him a hard eye. “I will not go into logistics, but that was completely uncalled for as well. For multiple reasons. One does not simply accost a female in the parking lot of her work. Furthermore, you cannot start something, and not finish it.”
He raised a brow.
“That’s what you’re mad about?”
“I am not mad at all,” she said pertly. “Simply sexually frustrated, all of which is your fault. So, in order to rectify this, I want to give us both some boundaries. For whatever reason, you have been popping up more and more in my life since the night at the theater, and in the event you don’t stop, I feel this will be beneficial to both of us.”
He nodded slowly, and she reached for the cup to take another sip. She would have to find out where he got this coffee, because she cou
ld live on it.
“I would first like to establish boundaries concerning where you can, and cannot, appear. You cannot appear at the following places: my work, the parking lot of my work, the gas station that is on the next block over from my work, my home, my grocery store, and most importantly, my bar.”
“Are there any places I am allowed at?” he asked, brow raised, bemused.
“Well, of course there is! Let me find it...oh, here,” she said, searching through her papers. She had been prepared for a lot of resistance, and she knew how easy it was for him to distract her. She’d written up the list last night over a glass of wine, and was actually quite proud of how well it had turned out. This list would definitely bring back some order to her life, she thought.
“Hold on, I know it’s on here somewhere…”
“You wrote it all out?” he asked, leaning forward.
She clutched the paper to her chest defensively. “Of course I did! You have a knack for distracting me. Excuse me if I wanted to be prepared.”
He sighed, then leaned back in his chair. “All right, tell me which places I am allowed at.”
“Well—ah, here. So, you can be at your home, obviously, and any gas station or grocery store within ten miles of you. I am assuming you live quite far from me, so this should not be an issue. Really, all I want you to do is stay away from my bar.”
“Your bar?”
“Yes, mine. I’ve been going there for the past five years. I have a personal claim on it, and you will not tarnish it for me—which is something I am not okay with.”
He frowned. “You’ve been going there for five years? For what?”
“For entertainment,” she said tartly. Her sexual business was her own. The last thing she needed was to be judged by this man. She had never cheated on someone, never slept with a man wearing a ring, and had always been safe about it. She was tested every six months, and on birth control.
It was a natural, basic human instinct to have sex, so if he found something wrong with her, he could screw off—that, and he was obviously not a virgin himself! Especially since he had been flirting with her assistant not even twenty-four hours after kissing her in the car.
If men could be womanizers, then women could be menimizers...or whatever they would be called.
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his business, and it never would be!
“Don’t you have family or something? Or a boyfriend in the last few years?”
She gave him a look, lips pursed. The last thing she was going to do was talk about her personal life with this man. Hell, she didn’t want to reflect on it, either.
He shook his head. “Fine, don’t tell me. But that’s a pretty shitty list.”
“I don’t care. I need to bring order back into my life, and this is how I will do it.”
“With a list,” he said drolly.
“Lists are very helpful—okay, now, stop with the judging. Right now. I’m not even finished with this yet.”
“Oh, great. I just love having a piece of paper dictate my life. Go on, continue. I am dying to hear how this ends.” Nothing in his voice attested to that, but she forged ahead anyway.
“Now, when we do happen to encounter each other at places that are not mentioned on the list, we will not do the following: hug, kiss, jump, hump, rub, or grind on each other. There will be no penetration with the following: finger, tongue, or penis. And, last but not least, the following holes will not be prodded—”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” he said, holding his hands up.
She frowned. “I’m not done with my list. I need to lay everything out in clear terms so that things like last night do not happen again.”
He stood, shaking his head. “Trust me, I can fill in the blanks.” He took a drink of his coffee, then set it down.
She stood as well, wiping her hands down the front of her skirt. Now that that was done and over with, she felt like a giant weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Her life could go back to normal, and— “Excuse me. What are you doing?”
He shrugged, coming around the desk. She backed up until her head was up against the pin board, the calendar's glossy paper crinkling behind her.
“I clearly remember saying not even ten seconds ago that there would be no rubbing or grinding.” She put her hands up, a feeble attempt at fending him off.
His head bent, and lips brushed against her temple, trailing lower.
Her heart thundered in her chest, anticipation coursing through her like a searing fire.
When his breath fell against her neck, she let her head fall back, let her neck become vulnerable.
That list didn’t mean shi—
He didn’t kiss her neck. No, he did something worse. He pulled back from her, but only far enough away that they weren’t touching. That didn’t mean he couldn’t stand so close that she felt the heat of his body, though.
“You know what?” he asked, staring down at her. She swallowed thickly, words caught in her throat with no chance of escaping. “Every single thing you put on that list? I’m going to make it my goal to do the exact opposite of it.”
“But—”
He shook his head at her, that simple action effectively silencing her.
Or was it her heart as it climbed up her throat that forced her into silence.
She didn’t know.
Didn’t care.
As his eyes bore into hers, the intent in them so dark and delicious she couldn’t look away—didn’t want to look away—she was glad the wall was there to support her.
Without it, her weak knees wouldn’t have been able to hold her up.
“Is your number on that?” he asked, looking down at the paper.
When she nodded, he took the paper from her hands, and it was as easy as taking candy from a baby.
Noah gave her one last look, and then pulled back from her completely, the warmth of his body leaving, making her cold.
“Enjoy the coffee.”
The sound of her beating heart was louder than that of the door closing behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
Noah fingered the paper in his pocket, debating bringing it out. It was like a piece of her, and like everything having to do with Bristol, it was hard to resist its pull. Thankfully, he had Chase to pull him out of it.
“Remember when we went to our first Giants game way back when?”
He forgot about the paper and went to Chase’s side. He was holding one of the many framed pictures his dad had left behind, cradling it in his hands. It was weird to see Chase get sentimental, but it happened every once in a while.
“Yeah. My dad wanted to go but he had to stay and work the shop, so we brought back one of those giant foam fingers,” Noah said, taking the picture from his hands. He peered down at it, then sighed, setting it down. “That was before his first heart attack.”
Chase silently moved onto the next one.
The two guys staring up at him from the glossy paper were both wearing Giants jerseys.
His dad had documented everything with pictures, up until he’d had a second heart attack that had left him in the hospital for the final time. It had been hard at first, keeping the pictures, but he knew how important they were to Chase and himself.
Through all the struggling, through all the failed relationships, heartbreak, whatever happened, his dad had been there for him. Taking down the pictures would be like taking down the last part of his dad he had.
“Sometimes,” Chase said, setting down that picture. “Sometimes, I just want to go back to those days, you know? Before my parents got divorced and screwed everything up. After my dad abandoned my mom and me, your dad just...took over, you know?”
Noah nodded, moving back from the pictures.
“What’s with the lamenting?” Noah asked, chuckling to lighten the mood.
“Nothing.” Chase still picked up one more, his voice distant, quiet. “Just shit going on with my mom right now. Makes me remember how good things use
d to be with just me, you, and your dad. All the times we screwed around together.”
“Want to talk about it?” Noah already knew the answer, but it didn’t hurt to ask.
“Nah, man.”
He didn’t like having these types of conversations. They opened him up to emotions he had buried a while ago, to emotions that were better left alone.
Chase must have caught on, because he set the last frame down, then flopped on the couch.
“You know, I can’t believe you’re doing this bet. Like, actually doing it,” Chase said, changing the subject. It was probably for the best. The last thing either of them needed was to think back on his dad. All it would do was invite a conversation that would leave both of them depressed.
“Well, what choice do I have? I want my damn bike. Winning this will be the easiest way to get it.”
“Speaking of bikes,” Chase asked, sitting down on the couch and kicking up a leg. “How’s your shop going? You stop in there today?”
He shrugged, sticking his hand back in his pocket, touching the paper. It wouldn’t be anything to just shoot her a quick text, to ask if she wanted to go out tonight. Or, shit, since she would probably shoot him down the second he asked, he could always just tell her to get ready.
For some reason, he knew that would go a lot better than asking. Despite how much she valued control, he could see the arousal in her eyes every time he took it. She would probably be more intrigued than pissed too.
Screw it.
“That’s funny.” He barely heard Chase in the background. He was too busy digging out the paper and his phone. Yeah, he was going to take her out tonight. It might be the worst decision he’d ever made, but who cared? He sure as hell didn’t. “I stopped by the shop earlier and they said you hadn’t been in since yesterday.”
He finished up the text, then hit send.
“Noah,” Chase snapped. When he looked at him, the blonde man was scowling. “You weren’t at the shop today, so where were you?”
“What? Oh—shit, no. I didn’t stop in there—I had an errand to run. I meant to stop in there, though.”
