by Amy Olle
Mina tumbled over the armrest, and Noah followed, covering her with his body. He divested her of the scanty sleep shirt. All was bared to him in an instant.
He rose up on his knees and parted her thighs. Hunger threatened to overtake him, intensified by the fact that she’d gone on the pill and he’d only recently gotten his first full feel of her.
He pressed his palm to the soft swell of her stomach. Huge doe eyes, guarded and uncertain, grabbed at his insides.
He watched her fight through her shyness, and then she offered her breasts up to him. With a tremor in his hands, he cupped her. His mouth followed the path forged by his hand, over the dips and valleys of her body.
He nestled between her thighs and licked inside her.
He was lost in Mina, her scent and sounds, and the outside world faded away. It took a moment for the sound to penetrate his sex-crazed skull.
He lifted his head. “Did you hear that?”
“Wh-what?” Her gasp held the agony of suspended gratification.
He cocked his head.
A series of sharp knocks reverberated through the carriage house.
Someone was at the door. Noah dropped his head to rest on Mina’s stomach.
A woman’s voice called out, muted through the door. “Mina, are you in there?”
“Oh, my God.” Her face drained of color. “It’s my mom.”
She squirmed out from under him and rolled to the floor in front of the couch. After a brief pause, she lurched to her feet, stumbled over a jumble of throw pillows, and dashed to the bedroom.
Noah pushed slowly to his feet.
He entered the bedroom as Mina stepped into a pair of jeans. Sans underwear.
She cast aside the sleep shirt and, arms crossed in front of her breasts, stalked the room until she found a bra. “You have to leave. Now.”
“I don’t think that’s an option.”
Another knock sounded at the door and Mina startled. “It’s my mom. I’m-I’m-I’m naked. And you’re—” Her eyes raked over his half-clothed body. “Oh, God.” She fumbled with the fastenings of the bra.
He pulled a T-shirt over his head and pushed his arms through the sleeves. He double-checked the zipper on his jeans and headed toward the bedroom door. “Get dressed. I’ll handle your mom.”
“No!” The panic in her voice reached a level of shrillness only dogs could pick out.
“Mina, I can’t leave without her seeing me.”
“Then... stay in here. I’ll get rid of her.”
“You’re half-dressed and she’s about to beat down the front door.”
She gaped at him, her mouth opening and closing without a sound.
“Hyperventilating won’t help.” He pulled opened the door. “Come out when you’re ready.”
“Wait!”
Noah waited. She stared up at him with panic-filled eyes.
Cold slithered up his spine.
“Are you embarrassed of me?” He regretted the hardened edge in his tone.
The panic evaporated with a blink of shock. “Never. Not even a little. It’s just—”
Mina startled at the pounding on the door.
Noah remained planted in the bedroom doorway. “It’s just what?”
Her dark blue eyes shimmered. “It’s her. I’m embarrassed of her.” Her voice wavered over the words.
His anger dissipated like dew beneath a dawning sun. “Don’t be. Not in front of me, at least. Now, what do I need to know?”
Mina swallowed. “She’s pretty intense.”
“Intense how?”
“Well... she’s... small.”
He lifted one eyebrow.
“And fussy.”
He let loose with a cocky smile. “Small, fussy women are my specialty.” He dropped a kiss on Mina’s forehead and turned.
Mina lurched forward and grabbed his arm. “Don’t go out there. Maybe she’ll go away.”
Another muffled plea from her mother sounded through the walls. “Honestly, Wilhelmina, I can hear you. Open the door.”
“Wilhelmina?”
“Shut up.”
He ate his smile. “Come out when you’re ready.” He closed the bedroom door behind him and crossed the small living space.
Amidst another series of thundering knocks, he swung open the front door.
And came face-to-face with Mina’s mother.
Chapter Twenty-Two
She was small, that much was true, attaining a scrap above five feet and with dark hair cut in a trendy, chin-length style that swung elegantly about her angelic face. She wore the cold-weather uniform of the posh and beautiful—fur and supple leather, with enough large pieces of jewelry to showcase her wealth.
She regarded him with cold eyes. One expertly arched brow lifted as she took in his unkempt hair and bare feet. “Where is my daughter?”
Noah fixed a smile on his face. “Mina is on her way out. I wanted to introduce myself.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m Noah Nolan. I’ve been working with Mina on the excavation project the last few months.”
She eyed his hand as if inspecting for germs. “I heard about you.”
Noah balled his hand into a fist and slipped it into his pocket. “Good things, I hope.”
Her tiny chin lifted. “Sorry to disappoint.”
His smile turned rueful. That was his cue to leave. He sidled closer to the counter and reached for his wallet and keys.
Behind him, the bedroom door opened, and Noah turned as Mina appeared.
Not Mina, exactly, but the prim princess who’d shown up at Shea’s house with his signed contract.
She’d pinned back her auburn hair and strung a pearl necklace around her slim neck, though her hot little body made blue jeans and a buttoned-up cardigan appear scandalously provocative.
Then he took one look at the pained, panicked expression on her face and knew he couldn’t leave her.
He dropped into a chair at the table and settled in to take advantage of the opportunity to be near her, and to observe.
“Look who’s here.” His tone dripped with mock delight.
Mina’s mother shot forward. “Tell me it’s not true.”
Mina shot an alarmed glance at Noah.
Mina’s mother raised a hand to her throat. “Are you”—she gulped—“a waitress?”
Mina’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Oh, yeah, that’s true.”
“She’s not half-bad, either.” Noah gave Mina a reassuring nod.
She flung a dark glare back at him. “Mom, this is Noah. Noah, my mom, Vivian.”
“Oh, we’re well acquainted,” Noah said.
Vivian’s gaze could freeze Lake Michigan in July. “Yes, Drew told me all about the archaeologist sniffing around my daughter’s door.”
“Did he?” Noah said. “That Drew is a real stand-up bloke, isn’t he?”
That elicited a genuine smile from Vivian. “Yes, he is.” She flung a scowl at Mina. “You need to patch things up with him before it’s too late.”
“I don’t want to patch things up.” Mina sidestepped Vivian, who hefted a grocery bag off the floor at her feet and plunked the heavy load onto the counter.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Mom, what are you doing here?”
Her mother’s sigh was pure exasperation. “I texted you last night and told you I’d be by today for lunch.”
“My phone battery must’ve died,” Mina mumbled and peeked inside the grocery bag.
Catlike hazel-green eyes alighted on Noah, full of suspicion. Her dainty mouth twisted into a thin line. Stiletto heels clicked over wood as she went into the kitchen. She pulled a wedge of cheese and a large ripe tomato from the bag and turned a critical eye on Mina.
“I brought salad,” she said. “Light, small meals will do wonders for you.”
Mina arranged her features into a placid expression, though there was no concealing the heat that burned her cheeks. “You came back from Florida to bring me lunch?”
Mina hedged. “Um, what were you waiting to hear?”
“Drew called me two weeks ago. I expected a call, a text. Something.”
“Drew called you? Why in the world is he calling you at all?”
Her mother shrugged and sliced open the bag of lettuce with a manicured fingernail. “We talk almost every day. He’s practically my son-in-law.”
“Um, no, he’s not.”
A wave of one delicate hand swept aside Mina’s words. “You’re missing the point.”
“Which is?”
Vivian withdrew a knife from the drawer and sliced into a red onion. “Drew’s wedding. There’s still time if we act quickly.”
“Drew’s getting married?”
Vivian paused in her attack on the onion and gaped at Mina. “I thought you might not know.” She resumed cutting. “No need to worry. Yet. This girl he’s picked is all wrong for him.”
Mina snuck a glance at Noah. “Maybe we can talk about this later?”
Vivian’s green eyes followed Mina’s gaze.
Noah smiled. “Don’t mind me. Pretend I’m not even here.”
“Done,” Vivian chirped.
“Mom.”
Vivian blinked innocently at Mina. “What?”
“Be nice, please.”
“I’m always nice.”
Mina snorted.
“Do you want my help or not?” Vivian asked.
“Not.”
Vivian ignored Mina and her nose wrinkled as if she’d swallowed a bug. “She’s a Howard. I think her name is Francine. Drew gains nothing from the match. She’s not very attractive, the poor girl, and she’s downright heavy.” Vivian executed a flourish with the knife. “She’s even heavier than you.”
Mina took the verbal blow without flinching. Indeed, she gave no indication whatsoever that she registered the assault. Which told Noah she’d grown accustomed to such put-downs long ago.
“Mom, Drew cheated on me.”
“How long are you going to punish him for that?”
Noah’s stomach turned over.
“A lot longer than six months,” Mina said. “I was thinking, like, forever.”
“You have to understand something about Drew,” Vivian said. “Jeremy’s death hit him hard. He struggles with it still.”
The color leached from Mina’s face.
“It’s true he made a mistake with you, but he’s not a bad man,” Vivian said. “He’s hurting.”
Shadow chased all animation from Mina’s face. “Jeremy’s been dead more than a decade.”
“You never get over something like that.” Vivian tilted her head to one side, studying Mina, then reached out and touched her daughter’s chin. “You need to stop holding these grudges, dear. Bitterness ages you.”
Mina jerked her chin away.
Lunch preparations resumed in silence. That was, until Vivian sniped at Mina about her cheap knives and cramped, odd living quarters.
While Mina made a salad, Vivian prepared the chicken Noah knew Mina wouldn’t eat. Placing the pan in the oven, Vivian commented that the lack of animal protein in Mina’s diet depleted her energy reserves, which was the reason she overindulged in carbs and couldn’t lose weight.
Noah wanted to stab out his right eye, or punch a kitten, rather than listen to another word of wisdom from Mina’s mother.
His temper, ignited as a tiny spark at the first lash of Vivian’s sharp tongue, grew to a quiet burn as the warm, witty woman he’d been sharing a bed with for the last few weeks disappeared before his eyes.
Replaced by someone he didn’t recognize.
Noah tried to capture Mina’s attention, to shoot her an encouraging smile or a knowing, conspiratorial eye roll in hopes of lightening her mood, but he never connected, and Mina continued to withdraw by degrees. The more Vivian quibbled, the more she retreated into herself. By the time the chicken was cooked, Mina was distant and uncommunicative.
“Has Audrey’s daughter left town?” Vivian cut into a wedge of cheese.
Mina pulled a small stack of plates from the cupboard. “Yes. She was only here for a few days. She said she might be back soon.”
“Did she say how her mother is doing? I haven’t heard a peep from Audrey in years.”
Noah might’ve pointed out bitterness aged Vivian, as well, but decided staying silent was the best course of action.
Arms suspended in midair, Mina froze a moment. Then she continued in her movements and withdrew three glasses.
Several seconds ticked by before she managed a response. “Mom, Audrey died.”
The only sound was the soft clip of the knife as it sliced through cheese and struck the butcher-block cutting board.
“How?” Vivian asked.
“Cancer.”
A neat pile of thinly cut slices materialized. “When?”
“A couple of months ago.”
Vivian meticulously transferred the cheese slices to a platter and added an assortment of crackers and fruit to the arrangement. She tinkered with the placement of each hors d’oeuvre a moment before she carried the platter to the table and set it calmly down. Then, with a flash of movement, she plucked her purse off the counter and careened toward the front door.
“Mom...?” Mina took a step forward and then stopped.
The wood-framed chair creaked under Noah’s weight as he stood, but Vivian passed through the door and traveled halfway down the porch stairs before he could pull it open for her.
Mina stood immobile, as if caught in a web. Then she was in motion.
She plucked the salad and glasses off the table and dumped everything on the kitchen counter with careless regard. Noah collected their plates, but before he could deliver them to the kitchen, she breezed past him in retreat to the bedroom.
He found her sitting at the end of her bed, bent over to lace up her sneakers. Her hair hung in unruly waves about her shoulders, and she wore one of her men’s dress shirts.
“I warned you,” she said without looking up.
“You were right. Your mother is small.”
She flashed him that damn fake smile. The one hiding a wounded heart. Then she risked eye contact, but her nerve quickly deserted her and her gaze slid away.
She surged to her feet. “I’m behind schedule and need to spend the rest of the day at the house.”
She tried to push past him at the doorway, but Noah held his ground. “Was it hard, growing up without your dad?”
Mina shrugged. “I lived in a mansion—two mansions—and went to the best schools. I was given anything and everything I wanted. What’s not to like?”
The truth was that’s what he’d always thought. He’d seen the money and the prestige and made assumptions, but he was beginning to wonder about the reality of life inside those mansion walls.
“Does she always talk to you like that?”
She flushed. “I’ve learned to ignore her.”
Disappointment slashed through him that she fought so hard not to share her inner world with him. With anyone, he suspected. He tried to tell himself he understood. He wasn’t exactly an open book.
“Hard to ignore some of that stuff.”
“I know what I am. Her saying it doesn’t change anything.”
The pounding in his chest reached his skull. “What the hell does that mean?”
A weary sigh shuddered through her. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.” She pushed past him.
He touched her elbow.
She whipped around, her eyes bright with emotion. “I’m aware she’s not perfect, but she’s my mom. She was twenty-five years old when my dad died. She had a five-year-old, no job, and no place to live. I can’t imagine what it was like for her.”
His heart lodged in his throat. He tried to swallow, but his throat wouldn’t work.
“I don’t blame her,” she said. “I just wish things had been different.”
He’d always thought their
lives were so different. She the daughter of wealth and privilege, he the son of misfortune. But they were both children of dysfunction, their parents lost, fractured souls, and while he’d turned rebellious and defiant, she strove to appease, and to please.
She was far stronger than he was.
She pulled her arm free from his grip. “I have a ton of work to do and don’t know when I’ll finish up for the day. I understand if you don’t want to wait around.”
“Are you asking me to leave?”
He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay and banish the haunted shadows from her face. Her happiness mattered to him. A lot. Which sucked, because that meant he was vulnerable. The one thing he didn’t want to be.
The spot in the center of his chest started to ache and he rubbed at it.
From the doorway, she sliced him with a cool stare that didn’t quite manage to mask the panic in her eyes. “Do whatever you want. No pressure, remember?”
With that, she disappeared through the carriage house door.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mina entered the house through the back door to a trail of muddy footprints stalking across her pristine hardwood floors.
Grumbling, she snagged a bucket off the stoop and retraced her steps across the lawn to fill it with water from the spigot at the carriage house. She lugged the pail back to the house while the contents sloshed and her breath grew labored from exertion.
At the doorstep, her grip on the handle slipped, and the bucket landed with a hard bang. Cold water slopped over the rim to soak her sneaker. She propped the door open with her hip and stretched to drag the bucket closer.
“Need some help with that?” a male voice asked.
Ass in the air, Mina bolted upright. “Oh, hey, Tyler. I think I got it now.”
He bit into an apple and held the door while she wrestled the bucket over the doorjamb.
“What’s that for?”
Hands on her knees, Mina wheezed for air. “I was getting some water so I can clean up this mud.”
“Why don’t you just use the faucet?”
She straightened. “What?”
He crossed to the sink in the mudroom and cranked the nozzle. Water—glorious, beautiful water—streamed from the tap.
