by M. Leighton
I slide the movie into the DVD player and turn to him as it boots up. “I’m going to go change. I’ll be right back.”
He nods, quiet as always, and I hurry to my bedroom, which is in the same condition I left it this morning—a mess.
I notice one of Simone’s slinky nighties at the foot of the bed. I grab it as I pass, rolling my eyes. She was obviously in here, probably rifling through my closet in search of something she’s lost and can’t seem to find. Why she checks in my room, I have no idea. It’s not like we have the same taste in clothes. She dresses in one of two ways—like a stripper, which she is right next door to as an exotic dancer, or like a rock band groupie. Torn jeans, ripped shirts and bare feet coupled with rumpled hair. Those are the only times I see her without one of her wigs in place.
I toss the nightie in the hamper and shuck my uniform, slipping on a pair of shorts and a plain white tee. I take a quick sec to freshen my makeup and unbind my hair before rejoining Noah in the living room.
When I appear at his side, he glances over at me, his eyes skimming my legs in what I hope is an appreciative manner. I walk a lot, so if I had to pick one feature to be fairly confident about, it would be my legs.
Now I’m glad I put on shorts.
I settle, cross-legged, onto my pillow and take up my carton and a pair of chopsticks. Noah’s eyes are still on me. I can feel them as well as see him facing me from the corner of my eye. I cast him a sidelong glance before I put the first bite in my mouth.
I pause.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“You’re staring.”
“I am?”
“You are.”
“Does it bother you?”
I chuckle. “Uhhh, well, a little. Especially while I’m eating. With chopsticks no less.”
“Why? Are you messy?”
I giggle, turning to face him fully. “No! It just…” I shrug. “I don’t know. It just makes me self-conscious.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“And why is that?”
“Because you’re beautiful. Anyone with eyes would want to look at you.”
Another blush. Damn this fair skin!
“Not while I’m eating,” I say mildly, deflecting.
“While you’re doing anything. Especially anything with that mouth.”
That mouth drops open a little, warmth exploding through me like a lava bomb. The heat of increasing pleasure and sudden desire course through me, making my head light and my lungs stiff.
“Boy, you really know how to put a girl at a loss,” I say breathily, totally out of my league with this man.
Noah grins and shrugs then turns his attention back to his food, easily abandoning the subject. I think it’s very considerate of him to cut me some slack when I admit to feeling a bit…inadequate. I’m just not used to this sort of banter with a man, and certainly not this man. To see this side of him, to feel those hungry eyes on me when they’ve been mostly lost for the last few months… It’s both exhilarating and overwhelming.
Noah was formidable before. But like this? Holy cow! He’s almost overpowering.
But in the best possible way.
I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be overpowered by.
“Now who’s staring?” Noah asks, not even looking in my direction.
I’m still watching him, even though he turned away.
I give him a wry grin. “Sorry.”
Having found the remote control, Noah hits play and the movie begins to roll. As I eat, I can’t help noticing how adept he is with his chopsticks. He deftly picks through his order and gets it to his mouth without spilling a drop. Me? I’m a little less…accomplished.
As the movie plays, I become more engrossed with it. I never get tired of this movie, having rented it at least two dozen times since I’ve been in Chicago. I’d be better off buying it I guess, but I never think to go in search of it until I want to watch it.
The more absorbed I get in the movie, the clumsier I get with my chopsticks. I’m hauling a big piece of chicken to my mouth when one stick slips, dumping the Kung Pao onto my crisp, clean, white shirt. Before I can get to it, Noah reaches over and plucks it from my chest with his chopsticks and plops it in his mouth.
I watch him as he chews and he watches me back. For the hundredth time, I wish I was more like Simone, that I was better in these situations.
“I-I don’t even know your last name,” I mutter out of the blue, totally discombobulated.
“Williamson,” he supplies without missing a beat, not taking his eyes off mine. “My name is Noah Williamson.”
I nod. That sounds about right. The name suits him perfectly. I don’t really know why. Maybe because now I feel like I know a little something else about this mysterious man.
One step at a time, Poppy. One tiny step at a time.
Happy, I smile and resume my messy eating, resisting the temptation to spill more food so that he’ll eat it from me. That was kinda hot, a very…intimate thing to do.
When we’re through, Noah piles boxes and napkins and used chopsticks back onto the tray.
“I’ll get that. I—”
“No,” he injects quickly. “I’ve got it. You’ve worked all day. Sit and enjoy the movie. I’ll be right back.”
“Let me pause it,” I say, reaching for the remote.
“Don’t bother. I’ve seen it before.”
My heart melts another degree. A man who has seen Casablanca .
He might just be perfect.
I scoot up onto the sofa and become completely immersed in the movie. Even so, I sense Noah’s return. It’s as if every nerve sort of hums when he brushes past me, pausing to slip a refilled wine glass in my hand.
I hadn’t even seen him collect mine.
“Thank you,” I tell him. As usual, he nods, choosing to sit up on the couch as well.
He’s close. So close I can smell his soap. So close I can feel his body heat warming my bare arm and leg. So close if I move my knee a little to the right, I feel the denim of his jeans.
Suddenly the movie isn’t as interesting as it was, as it usually is. Suddenly, all I can think about is touching Noah, and Noah touching me.
I fidget, shifting ever so slightly toward him, willing him to put his arm around me, hold my hand, brush my leg. Something.
And he does.
Perceptive as always, Noah seems to sense what I need, what I’m getting at, and he reaches for my free hand, taking it in his much bigger one and setting it on his thigh.
My heart patters happily and I hide my twitching lips behind a sip of wine. The red coats my tongue and makes my head feel weightless.
After several seconds, Noah starts to toy with my fingers, rubbing each one with the pad of his thumb, bending them and unbending them around his.
He lifts my hand off his leg and brings it to his mouth, pressing the back of it to his lips then he sets it back on his thigh, as though the small action didn’t just turn my stomach—hell, my whole world—inside out.
He continues to watch the movie, for all appearances, completely focused on it. But not me. I’m facing the television, but I’m not paying the slightest bit of attention to it. All I can think about, all I can hear and see and feel is Noah.
Noah Williamson.
He’s sitting beside me like he didn’t bring me to a shuddering mess in the stairwell not fifty feet from where we’re sitting. He’s sitting beside me like he didn’t basically offer to shower with me last night. He’s sitting beside me like we’re on a chaste first date, not two adults wildly attracted to one another.
And it’s driving.
Me.
Crazy.
“I wish I could read your mind right now,” he declares, his voice barely loud enough to hear over the movie.
But I hear it.
My every sense is attuned only to him.
“Why is that?”
God, I can hardly breathe without groaning. I want him, no need him to turn
and kiss me, to pull me into his arms and press me as close to him as he can get me. I need to feel his skin on mine, his lips on mine, his fire blazing with mine.
“Because your breathing is shallow, and I’m pretty sure it’s not because of Humphrey Bogart.”
He can hear that?
I might die of embarrassment. How the hell?
I scramble for some pithy explanation, but I can’t find one. My brain is on Noah duty, not intelligent response duty.
“What are you thinking about, Poppy?”
“You,” I whisper, too caught up to think of a decent lie.
Slowly, purposefully, Noah turns his head and pins me with those intense eyes of his. Like they were that night in the stairwell, they’re almost black, the pupil so huge it nearly swallows the blue iris.
“And you’re thinking of me, aren’t you?” I feel bold, as well. Too turned on to worry about saving face at the moment.
That look…I know it. I’ve seen it before. Felt it before. And unless I’m mistaken…
“Hell yes,” he murmurs.
“Care to tell me what?”
One brow cocks up for just a second before it levels. “I was just thinking how much I’d like to take those clothes off you and spread you out on these pillow.” He kicks at one of the huge pillows with the toe of his shoe.
My mouth is drier than the wine. “And do what with me?”
“Everything I can think of,” he confesses. “And that’s a lot. ”
I lick my parched lips. “What’s stopping you?”
“I…” His pause is like a needle to the tight, tenuous balloon of my confidence, puncturing it without mercy.
I shake my head and pull my hand away from his. “I’m sorry. I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Can I plead being too tired?”
I rub the space between my eyes, wishing he’d just vanish and leave me alone with my humiliation.
How many times is this going to happen with him?
Strong fingers cup my jaw and force me to face him. “I’d like nothing more than that. I just…I don’t want to move too fast. Risk ruining a good thing.”
How gentlemanly of him—to try and let me down easy. Unfortunately, that’s even more mortifying.
“I understand,” I assure him with a smile, gulping down what’s left of my pride.
His brow creases. “No, I don’t think you do.”
I turn back toward the television, willing him now to disappear. “No, I totally do.”
Noah reaches for my hand again, only this time he presses it to the very impressive bulge between his legs. “No, I really don’t think you do,” he reiterates.
I can’t deny that it pleases me to know he’s as turned on as I am. “Then what’s the problem?”
He sighs. “You. Me. This. All of it. I’m trying to go slow. It’s been a long time since… It’s just been a long time and I don’t want to mess things up with you because of my personal shit.”
“How will this,” I ask, indicating his erection with a light squeeze of my hand that causes him to jump against my palm, “mess things up?”
“Things change after sex. You know that as well as I do. And I…I like you, Poppy. I don’t want to give in to this too soon. I want the time to be right. For both of us.”
I can’t stop the groan that escapes my throat as I lean my head back against the couch cushion. “I get it. I really do.” And I do. I’m sure he’s right. He’s obviously got some serious baggage, and it’s probably unwise for me to go headfirst into something with him before I even know what it is. But damn, is it hard! “I just have one question.”
“What’s that?”
I raise my head and look over at him. “Can women get blue balls?”
I’m rewarded with a short bark of genuine laughter. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Good because I’m not a fan of cold showers.”
“But you’re a fan of stairwells,” he says, turning to reach for me. “Maybe I can help you save some water.”
Before I can even ask what he means, Noah is hauling me over onto his lap and crushing my mouth to his. My legs automatically straddle his hips and the contact between my ache and his hardness is almost more than I can bear.
Again.
His lips and tongue devour me. His hands and words incinerate me.
“H-h-how is this going to help me?” I huff around where our lips are connected.
“Let me show you,” he replies, one hand coming to the back of my head to hold me to him while the other skims down to my hip and onto my bare thigh.
Within a minute and a half, I’m practically mindless, panting with the magic he so quickly weaves over me.
Yeah, Noah is one talented man. There’s no question.
12
Noah
L eaving Poppy is getting harder and harder. So is taking it slow and worrying about setbacks and consequences and what ifs. But it has to be done this way. It just has to.
I’ve seen her every evening for the last two weeks and my patience is wearing thin. I know Poppy’s is, too, but it’s for the best. She doesn’t know it, but it is.
She doesn’t know the dangers.
I do.
I’ve seen them up close and personal. And, in her case, I myself could even be a danger to her. She doesn’t see it, but it’s true. And that haunts me. I’ve been the cause of devastation to everyone I’ve ever loved. I don’t want to hurt Poppy, or bring someone else into her life that might. That’s why I have to take this slow and stick to the shadows.
She asked me to come over after work tonight. It’s probably not a good idea since I’m riding so close to the edge lately. It’s getting harder to control myself, but I’m going anyway because it’s also getting harder to stay away from her.
I knock on the door. I still do, no matter how many times she tells me to come in when I get here. I tell her just as many times that she should keep the door locked until she knows it’s me. She insists that I’ll protect her from any “panty robbers.” The problem is, she has no idea what else is out there, guys that would make her “panty robbers” look like kindergartners.
If only those petty criminals were the kind people needed to worry about… But that’s not the case. Sometimes even trained FBI agents barely survive.
The knob rattles just before the door swings open. My smile dies on my lips when I see Simone rather than Poppy.
Her grin is smug. Knowing.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she practically meows.
“No. I just don’t come to see you. I come to see your roommate. There’s a difference.”
She shrugs, unconcerned.
“Come in. She’ll be here soon.”
Biting my tongue, I follow Simone inside and close the door behind me. She’s wearing a dressing gown of some sort, black but sheer, and beneath it, all I see is skin and a thong.
She walks slowly, deliberately in front of me, pausing when she gets to the kitchen. There, she hops up on the counter, her legs dangling out in front of me, and she leans back.
The recessed light behind her shines down like a halo around her head and chest, the bright ray dipping into the V neck of her robe and making the covering virtually transparent. Her breasts are outlined as though she’s wearing nothing at all, her pert nipples standing out in sharp relief.
My glance was no more than a heartbeat, but the instant I realize that I’m looking, I flick my eyes back up to hers.
She’s smiling. The cat that ate the canary. Or maybe the cat that thinks she’s trapped one.
I noticed. I did exactly what she wanted me to do and she’s happy about it.
“Like what you see?”
She arches her back, her plump flesh straining against the gauze that so ineffectively conceals her.
I inhale, slowly. “You’re a beautiful woman, Simone. I’m a man. I have eyes. But this,” I raise a hand and pass it between us, “us, isn’t going to happen.”
Her smile only widens. “
We’ll see about that.” She sits up, her delicate brow puckering prettily. “In fact, I even have a little something to offer as proof.”
She glances around the countertop. Behind her, across by the sink, beside the refrigerator. She must not find whatever she’s looking for.
She slithers down to her feet and wiggles around me to the dining room table, where she snatches something from the corner. A phone. Her red-tipped nails fly across the screen until she finds what she’s looking for.
With heavy-lidded eyes, she walks back to me, thrusting the phone at me, holding it inches from my face. There, big as life, is the backlit LED video of Simone on top of me in Poppy’s bed, sucking my dick.
I reach for the phone, but she’s already dancing lightly away from me, her laugh a happy trill through the air. “Ah ah ah! No touchy! At least not yet. But you will, handsome Noah. You will.”
I bite back the fury that’s twirling through my gut. “Sorry, Simone, but if you think that’s going to happen, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“No. I won’t be,” she responds confidently. “I always get my man. Always.”
With a wink, she turns toward her bedroom, tossing over her shoulder, “Poppy won’t be here for a while. You can stay and wait if you’d like.”
I stand, rooted to the spot, my brain still running frantically over my options. Should I take the phone forcibly? I could, but that could end badly. Should I just let it ride? Pretend it doesn’t bother me? Even though it does?
Probably.
I think disinterest is the best way to thwart someone like Simone.
As I stare after her, I can’t imagine what in burning hell is going through her mind.
From the open door to her bedroom, I see her pass in front of a mirror. She pauses there, her kohl-lined eyes meeting mine, and she laughs again. This time it’s a husky sound.
It takes me a few seconds to realize why.
She’s completely nude. She’s beautiful, dangerously beautiful, and overtly sexual. It’s a potent combination and she damn well knows it.
I turn away.
“Tell Poppy I stopped by.”
I walk out the door, the high-pitched tinkle of her laughter following me down the hall.
