by S. Ann Cole
Am I okay? Am. I. Okay? Is he serious with that question?!
“May I pass, please?” I politely ask.
“You’re okay?” he repeats.
“I’ll be okay when your big ass kneecaps are out of my way,” I snap at him.
A smile flirting with corners of his lips, he shifts his feet to give me pass. I ease past him, my thighs brushing his knees, and flounce off the deck to Muscles, jutting my hip out to the side as I look up at him. “I’m ready.”
Hazel eyes narrow on me, and he opens his mouth as if to say something but then nods instead and positions himself in that ‘half-way to the front, half-way to the back’ way he does whenever he’s in professional protection mode.
We’re not three steps off when I feel his presence, his big paw at the small of my back, his voice above my head as he tells Muscles, “You can call it a night, Muscles. I’ll see her home.”
Muscles’ ever-alert eyes shift between me and Noah. He glances out, does a sweep of the crowd, and then back over my head to Noah. “Boss, I don’t think—”
“We’ll be okay,” Noah cuts through in an indisputable tone.
Muscles’ gaze drops to me, and his face loses its hardness when he murmurs in a genuinely concerned voice, “Be safe, Lotty.” Then he’s gone.
Noah watches him leave with a frown, before bringing those curious eyes down to me, brows up. “Lotty?”
I shift out of his touch. With attitude. “That’s not my name?”
“Not for him.” He moves, his hand resettling at my lower back, and lightly presses, urging me forward.
“You’re not special, Mr. Van Der Wells,” I spit, moving through the crowd by his guide. “I’m Lotty for everyone.”
He chuckles, and I feel it down to my toes. “You’ve been so nice to me over the past week. I was really enjoying it. Now…” A sigh.
“I have to be nice to you. You write my paychecks.”
“You’re not being nice to me now,” he points out.
“Because you don’t deserve nice right now.”
He gives no rejoinder, and just guides me out of the joint.
“Where’s your ride?” I ask, looking around. Taxis loitering, smokers propped against brick walls, a cohort of chesty braggers telling each other how much everything they’re wearing costs, a gaggle of girls surrounding their friend as she pukes her guts out on the sidewalk…typical nighttime in New York.
Shrugging out of his chocolate-brown leather jacket, Noah places it around my shoulders. “I didn’t call it around. I was thinking we could walk for a bit?”
Tipping my chin up, I glare at him, jerking my shoulders to indicate the source of my annoyance. “Are you sure you don’t want to give me your pants, too?”
He begins walking. I have no choice but to follow. “You know, most women would consider the act of giving her their jacket chivalrous.”
“Chivalrous? What is this, the sixteenth century?”
“Lotty?”
“What?” I growl.
“Do you ever take a minute to shut up and just…be? Appreciate? Breathe?”
My mouth opens, about to snap something at him again, but I rethink, opting not to respond.
“That’s it,” he sooths after a count of a minute passes and nothing leaves my mouth. “Just use your eyes, your ears, and your nose. Appreciate. Give thanks. Breathe. Enjoy this walk with me.”
Much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I should learn to how shut it every once in a while and appreciate where I am. Things aren’t the best, but they’re definitely better. As Joyce Meyer would say “I’m not where I want to be, but thank God I’m not where I used to be.” Andrew is still out there searching for me, but I do feel safer. I’m constantly in a state of fear, worry, defense mode, or straight-up horniness. A wacky combination that is, but it’s the truth. So, taking his advice, I shove my hands through the arms of his jacket, and I’m instantly dwarfed.
Walking alongside him, I just breathe, be quiet, and appreciate.
Appreciate the caress of the cool night air on my cheeks. Appreciate the magnificence of the skyscrapers. The glitter of the lights. The noises that never cease in this city. Appreciate even the starless sky.
We amble on in comfortable silence for some fifteen minutes, when I’m startled from my placidness by Noah’s arm curling around my shoulder.
I look up at him, but he’s gazing straight ahead, as if hugging me is a normal thing.
Snuggling into his side, I inhale; take a moment to savor his scent, before exhaling. “I’m obsessed with your scent.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “I’m obsessed with your legs.”
“My legs?”
“Mmhm,” he confirms. “You have the most perfect pair of legs. Not too skinny, not too thick, slightly bowed, smooth and just…perfect. They’re perfect.”
I laugh. “Wow, you do sound obsessed.”
We stop at a four-way crossing, waiting for the lights to change, when Noah turns me into him. “Not just your legs. But you. You’re perfect.” His hand skims up my neck, up to my jaw, brushes over my cheekbone. “All of you is perfect, Lotty.” His thumb passes over my lips, coaxing its way between, slipping inside my mouth. “Even this…as infuriating as it is at times.”
I’m reeled into him, like there’s an invisible string attached between us, my back bowing as I tilt my head back, offering myself, inviting him to dip his head, close that breadth of space between us, and let our lips say hello.
His eyes, mere dark pools in the night, trace every inch of my face, searching, admiring, appreciating.
And then, the decision is made. His strong neck bends and his head begins to descend. My lips part in thirsty, eager anticipation. Unable to contain my readiness, I reach out and dig my fingers into his biceps for support.
He’s close now, so close I can feel his breath on my tongue. Just when it’s about to happen, just when I’m finally about to taste this delicious man, I hear a punch, a crack, and then a groan.
Noah and I jerk apart, heads whipping around, and it’s then we notice the two black Jaguars parked unsystematically on the curb just behind us, blocking in a nondescript Corolla, doors wide open, four masculine figures out in defense mode, headlights on, a man in a black hoodie struggling in Muscles’ grip. Another hard fist connects to his jaw. They scuffle. The man manages to get a knife out of his hood and swipes at Muscles.
Muscles jerks away to avoid getting slashed, effectively releasing him, and the man takes this opportunity to tear off down the street. As Muscles starts to chase after him, Mike shouts, “I’m on him, boss!” and sprints after him, dodging passersby and hurdling a fire hydrant.
Noah demands, “What the hell’s going on?”
Muscles turns to us, hands on his hips, breathing heavy. He points to the Corolla. “That car’s been trailing you since you left V. Followed him. Called for backup. You stopped, he stopped. Started getting out of the car. So we pounced him, didn’t wanna take any chances.”
Noah rubs his jaw, nodding, but the gesture reeks of sarcasm. “So, you created a scene on something you weren’t sure about.” More jaw rubbing. “You saw the show Lotty and Kiera put on at V, right? Did you pause to think it might not have been that dangerous, Muscles?”
Muscles’ eyes flick to me, then back to Noah. “Didn’t wanna take any chances.”
Noah stares on expressionlessly at Muscles. He’s pissed; just not showing it. Is he pissed about the thwarted kiss, or is he pissed that Noah might’ve possibly worsened my paranoia, seeing how it took such a long time for me to start leaving the apartment? I don’t know. Fact is, he’s pissed. “Didn’t I ask you to leave us?”
“Yeah,” Muscles replies, defiance anchoring the word. “But I didn’t feel comfortable with that idea. Not with Lotty’s ex—”
“Okayyyy,” I cut in, eyeballing Muscles. “No need to make this about me.”
What does he know? What does he know about Andrew? And how does he know what he knows? And why
hasn’t he told me what he knows? I can’t ask him anything here because I don’t want Noah to know whatever he knows.
“At the end of it all, we’re all safe. No one died. I didn’t get abducted for human trafficking because of my girl-on-girl display, and Muscles didn’t get slashed by a knife-wielding stalker. We get to live another day. Now, can we go home?”
“Wait.” Noah holds up a hand. “What’s this about your ex?”
Theatrically, I widen my eyes, donning a bewildered expression. “What ex? I don’t have an ex. I’m a nineteen-year-old virgin. Tight. Tight. So tight it’s illegal. Untouched, undefiled, unviolated. Pure-as-an-angel virgin. Ukubit. Uku-Ukubit. Anyone who tells you differently will be screwed in the ass with Lucifer’s fork, because they hath sinned. Now, can we go?”
The men stare at me.
Blink. Blink. Blink.
Someone blares a horn.
But I don’t dawdle, dawdling won’t be good right now. I hip-swing my way to the nearest Jaguar, open the back door, and fold in.
When I glance out and see more hand gestures and scowling faces and no-one making a move to get-a-going, I brace forward between the two front seats and jam the heel of my palm to the horn.
It blares, stridently so, and I don’t let up until all the men disperse.
Noah slides in the back with me, Muscles gets behind the wheel and peels off.
“You’re exasperating, you know that?” Noah growls at me, streetlights intermittently slipping in through the windows, shadowing across his heart-imploding incinerating features.
“Oh, I know,” I return.
“What the hell was that out there?” he flares. “Now they’re all going to try to get with you!”
Men, they sure can exaggerate.
“And what in the ever-loving hell is ukubit?”
My shoulders shrug. “I’m not sure. I heard it in a Jamaican song. I think, maybe, a really, really tight vagina?”
Noah stares at me, lips twitching, “You’re not normal, you know that?”
I nod. “I figured. My nipples get hard when I sneeze, and I can bend my legs around my neck, so I think that’s evidence enough that I’m—”
The remainder of my bullshit is swallowed by Noah when he moves in and covers my mouth with his.
I’m shocked at first, but when I realize I’m being given exactly what I’ve been craving all night, I surrender, parting my lips, letting his tongue thrust in, gripping his collar and meeting his fervency.
His strong hand finds my nape, cups it, and forces me closer. Malleable, I let him mold me to him, pressing my front to his, and he groans something deep in his throat, sending trembles through me.
All of a sudden, he breaks, stares at me, breath harsh and heavy. My hand comes up and touches the side of his face, abrading my soft palm with his stubble.
“Mr. Van Der Wells,” I breathe.
Hissing out a curse under his breath, he slams his mouth to mine again and drinks me ‘til I’m breathless.
His kiss finds freedom, his reservations are slashed at the throat, and his morals buried. I know now that he’s always wanted me. This kiss tells me so. In the way he lets it all unleash. In the way he holds me tight to him, as if he’s afraid I might slip through his fingers. In the way his heart pounds against my bosom. He’s been starved for me. All this time.
“Argghmmmm.” A harrumph comes from the driver’s seat, and we’re reminded then that we’re not alone.
My eyes flick up to the rearview mirror and connect with Muscles’. I shouldn’t be surprised by the hurt in them. But I am.
A thumb and an index finger takes my chin, twisting my face to meet lidded, lust-brimmed eyes. “It’s time, Lotty.”
One corner of my lip goes up in a seductive curve. “Damn right, it’s time. I don’t know why you’ve been torturing—”
“No,” he says, and the sudden seriousness of his tone has me sobering from my drunken lust. “I mean, it’s time for you to talk.”
FIFTEEN
I WALK OUT of the shower, pat-drying my face, and find Noah sitting on my bed, dicking around with not his phone, but my phone—the iPhone Muscles gave me. He’s changed into pajama bottoms and a plain T-shirt.
I throw the damp face-towel at him, but it doesn’t make the distance, falling in fluttering defeat to the sheets. “What are you snooping for? Sexts between me and tight-ass Muscles?”
His gaze sweeps up from the phone-screen to me. “Stop talking about him like that. I don’t like it.”
“And I don’t like you waltzing into my bedroom and sitting on my bed. I’m your employee. It makes me uncomfortable. Like something is expected of me. Sexual favors? Is that what you want? Because I’ll sue you for every penny you have, Mister. This is not right. There should be boundaries.”
Setting the phone down on the nightstand, he leans back on the headboard and cross his hands behind his head, the short sleeves of his T-shirt bunching down and revealing his pale, untanned inner biceps. I want to bite those biceps, then lick them, and then rub my tiny bud against them until I come.
“You’re going to be an amazing lawyer,” he tells me. “But your verbal-diarrhea won’t work on me tonight. Stop trying to get out of talking to me.”
Lip protruding, I turn my back to him and stomp off to the closet, letting my towel fall and pool at my feet as I choose a pajama set, and stew.
After decreeing in the car that it’s time for me to “talk,” I clammed up, twisted out of his arms, and scooted to the opposite side of the seat. I told him there was nothing to tell. He insisted there was. That I’m hiding something, or rather someone and he needed to know.
Staring out the car window, I’d stopped talking altogether and chewed on the inside of my cheeks until I tasted blood.
Before the car could come to a proper stop outside the building, I was out and hot-footing it inside, just so I wouldn’t have to ride the elevator up with him, or wince at another hurtful look from Muscles.
Teetering in my stilettos, I made it straight to the shower, a cold shower, because, regardless of him ruining the moment by trying to get me to share something I would rather keep hidden, I was still horny as a goat.
Only to walk out of the bathroom and find him on my bed, annoyingly hot and sexy and…just plain old annoying.
After taking my own sweet and precious little time donning my pajamas, I suck in a breath and pad back into the room.
He’s in the same place and position I left him in, hasn’t moved a muscle—well, that’s a lie, his legs are now stretched out on my bed, crossed at the ankles, hands behind his head, hot stare on me.
You know what, if he’s going to look at me like that… Flouncing up to the bed, I prop one knee up on the mattress, cross my arms under my breasts. “If I’m gonna have to relive the shittiest years of my life, then I’m gonna need a reward at the end.”
Wariness tugs up one of his brows, a dubious drag to his words as he asks, “What kind of reward?”
“Not quite sure yet. I’ll have something figured out by the end.” I jut out my chin. “We have a deal?”
Side to side his jaw works, eyes suspicious, as this gets mulled over. Finally, he sighs out, “Fine. But this better be something money can buy.”
I don’t answer, because he can’t possibly be serious. Has he already forgotten what happened in the back of the Jaguar, how he nearly made me combust with lust? Something money can buy? We’ll see about that. No way I’m giving something for nothing. I’m not a giver. Never have been. And I won’t start now.
I lift my other knee to the bed, and on all fours, crawl to the center. Noah, with cautious green eyes, watches my every move.
He’s so afraid of me, as though he’s forever waiting on that moment I pounce him and ravish him down to his very bones. And his fear of me turns me on.
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, I ask him to throw me a pillow. He does. I grab it and hug it to myself.
My life with Andrew is emba
rrassing, and I really don’t want to admit to Noah what a powerless, craven little cat I was with that twisted man. But he’s right, it’s time I talk. Muscles knows something, which means Andrew is close, or he’s already found me and is biding his time, machinating.
I mean, it’s not as if I’m in another country or county, I’m still in New York. Was only a matter of time before he found me. I need all the protection I can get, and Noah needs to know what from.
So, taking a deep breath, I open my mouth, and I tell him. Not in a verbal overflow, but in stutters, long pauses, sighs, and shaky breaths.
And he listened.
Clutching the pillow to my chest and ignoring the blood rushing in my ears, I drop my head and focus on the zig-zag patterns on the sheets. “I was scared for my Dad when he got locked up. I was scared for our survival when we lost all our money. I was scared for my mother when she was diagnosed with cancer. I have been scared many times. But I never knew what true fear felt like until Andrew.”
I drag in a shivering breath. “That first time, after getting past the initial shock of it, I tried to break up with him.” A humorless chuckle escapes. “Big mistake. I didn’t know there was no ‘breaking up’ with men like that. I learned that through another beat down, which left me with a broken finger, bruised ribs, and a black-eye. My blood ran. And when he was done, he apologized, told me he was sorry and that he loved me too much to let me go.
“He ran a hot bath, put me in the tub, and cleaned me up with so much gentleness and care; no one would believe those were the same hands that pummeled me until my blood ran. For as long as it took my busts and bruises to heal, he spent that time trying to make it up to me, with gifts or my favorite foods, or…sex. Very attentive sex. He was really good at that. Sex. The only good memory of my time with him.” I raise my lids and peek at Noah under my lashes.
By the granite hardness of features and the dark storm behind his green windows, I take it my compliment to my ex doesn’t amuse him. He’s pissed. But why does this reaction from him surprise me? Did I think he’d just sit here and nod through it and then get up and brush his hands and say, “Welp! That was an unfortunate relationship. Sorry to hear, dear. Now brew me some coffee.”
