Wade snorted into his beer can. “It’d feel more restrictive if he actually had one.”
“I socialize.” Noah passed one of the lasagna servings to Tilly, then shoved another down the length of the table toward his brother. “Poker with the guys, quiz nights at the pub, meals out with my mates.”
“Don’t forget endless cups of tea and bingo with the gray-hair brigade.” Wade snatched up the container and dumped the contents on the dinner plate in front of him. “Still, you probably have more of a social life than Luka and I do.”
“Luka?”
“His dog,” Noah supplied, peeling the lid off his plastic container.
Across the table wafted the delicious tomato-cheesy smell of lasagna. Her stomach rumbled but her ears pricked up. Maybe her fictional cop character could’ve had a more interesting job than a frontline officer. “That’s right—Noah mentioned you were a police dog handler.”
“My Luka’s more loyal than a girlfriend. Less hassle, too, most of the time.” Wade shot her a crooked smile and forked up a chunk of lasagna. “I’m coming up three years in the canine unit. We often get deployed with the Dunedin AOS guys on callouts, so I’m never really off duty either.”
Her mind went blank at the acronym. “I feel like an idiot, but what does AOS stand for?”
“Armed Offenders Squad,” Wade said around his mouthful of food. “Police tactical unit. Scary guys in black with big guns.”
A chill rippled down Tilly’s spine. As soon as Wade explained the term, she knew exactly who he meant. And his description pretty much exemplified what most of the public knew about them—including herself. They were the shadowy figures you sometimes saw on the evening news. You never saw faces beneath their black balaclavas and Kevlar helmets. Everything about their appearance and the way they moved was geared to intimidate. They were the kind of armed-to-the-teeth, highly trained officers you never wanted to tangle with, and seeing them at all meant only one thing—danger.
“You’re part of the AOS?” She couldn’t prevent a second head-to-toe scan of Noah’s brother, suddenly seeing him in a whole new light.
Wade chuckled. “Not me. Couldn’t get past the national selection course. Not tough enough, unlike—”
“Wade.” Noah’s voice was sharp enough to slice the untouched garlic bread on the table.
Wade shot an indecipherable yet somehow loaded glance at his brother, and fell silent.
“Pass the bread, would you?” Noah held out his hand, and with insolent slowness Wade picked up the foil-wrapped roll and slapped it into Noah’s palm.
Tilly’s gaze zip-zapped between the two men, tiny hairs rising on the back of her neck. “Unlike who?”
Noah’s jaw bunched as he sent another quelling look in his brother’s direction. “Unlike our dad. He was with the Auckland AOS during the eighties.”
“Oh. Wow.” She slid the lasagna onto her plate, her writer’s brain switching into overdrive with multiple questions.
What was the family dynamic like when the three brothers had such an imposing role model? Did the boys live in constant fear that something was going to happen to their dad? How about their mum? How on earth did she cope having a husband who frequently put himself in life-threatening situations?
She slid Noah a side-eye. He was ripping off pieces of garlic bread with focused attention. There was something about his father’s job that pushed his buttons, or else he just really liked garlic bread. His expression gave little away—she’d hate to play poker with him—but nevertheless, to say he wasn’t at ease was an understatement. Call it her writer’s spidey sense.
She picked up her fork, cocking her head. “Noah?”
He paused from removing the third section of bread from the long roll and met her gaze. “Yeah?”
“Tell me about growing up in your family.” When he said nothing, she offered a small smile. “Off the record.”
Another beat or two of terse hesitation passed, then he lifted a shoulder. “There’s nothing much to tell. We had a boringly normal upbringing with school and sports on Saturday mornings, like every other kid in the neighborhood. The only difference was Dad’s pager would often go off in the middle of the night so he wouldn’t be there at the breakfast table in the morning.”
“He was a no-show at rugby matches and birthday parties sometimes,” Wade added. “He missed Christmas Day altogether one year on a callout.”
“We got used to it, and in a kid’s self-centered way, we had mates and homework and sports to keep us occupied. Dad’s job wasn’t as interesting to me as one of my mates’ dad’s job. He owned a bakery and often brought home unsold lamingtons and donuts.”
“Oh, yeah.” Wade grinned at his brother around a forkful of lasagna. “We all thought Jason’s dad was the bomb. And those donuts…”
Men and food—if she didn’t steer the conversation away from their stomachs, they’d be off and running, leaving the topic of family in the dust. “But at some point you must’ve realized how dangerous your dad’s job was,” she said, directing her words to Noah.
The small smile that’d started to tilt up the corner of his mouth vanished. “We did.”
“Numero uno bone of contention between our parents.” Wade eyed the bowl of salad Tilly had made and with a heartfelt sigh, scooped out a few lettuce leaves. “It got to the point that after every callout there’d be fallout. Sometimes the cold shoulder…”
“Sometimes all-out war,” Noah finished for his brother.
He met Tilly’s gaze and she wondered if he could see in her eyes the hurt she felt for the young Daniels siblings being caught in the crossfire.
“And then one night an offender, who was as high as a kite, got off a lucky shot with his hunting rifle, and it hit Dad’s leg.” Noah’s mouth twisted into a humorless grin. “The offender was so freaked out at his weapon discharging and Dad hollering that he dropped the rifle. A dog took him down.”
“Evidently some of the guys gave him heaps while waiting for the medics to arrive,” Wade said. “Dad kept insisting it was ‘just a flesh wound.’ Tough old bugger.”
“Mum didn’t see it that way. She was pretty upset,” Noah said.
Tilly imagined that was quite the understatement. Her mind immediately conjured up an image of a dark-haired woman pacing the hospital floor, wringing her hands, counting the minutes until her husband came out of surgery. “What happened after the accident?”
“The mother of all showdowns,” Wade said.
At his brother’s response, Noah set down his fork, the scrape of metal on china excruciatingly loud in the sudden silence. “We weren’t privy to the actual fight this time, but we were old enough to figure out that Mum had issued Dad an ultimatum about the AOS. As it turned out, it was a moot point because Dad was one of the oldest guys in the squad and even though he didn’t want to admit it, he wasn’t as fit as he used to be. The metal pin in his leg and his age meant he’d never be at peak performance again, so he gracefully bowed out of the squad.”
Damn her writer’s brain. Now Tilly envisioned an older version of Noah working with a physical therapist to strengthen his bad leg, all the time with a giant pit hollowing out his belly, knowing that he might never recover, might never be the man he used to be. A blow to any male ego, but especially for a man who was obviously dedicated to his job.
“Did things get better between your parents then?” she asked.
“For a while,” Noah said, then shrugged. “But ultimately they couldn’t make it work and Mum left.”
“And you and your brothers?” she asked softly.
“Mark had already graduated from police college and was working at Auckland Central.” Noah picked up his fork again and speared a limp strand of spinach that had sneakily been included as a lasagna ingredient. “I was seventeen and Wade thirteen. Mum and Dad decided we were old enough to choose who we wanted to live with, and Wade picked Dad.”
He slid a sideways glance at his brother. “I figured Dad would l
eave me the hell alone and I could do as I pleased since he was always working, so I chose Dad, too.”
Tilly badly wanted to call BS on that, but not in front of Wade. She didn’t know much about Noah, but she’d stake her addiction to Erin’s muffins on the real reason he opted to live with his dad. That real reason, by the slight softening of his gaze, was more likely that he didn’t want Wade to lose his mother and both his big brothers.
Noah crinkled his nose at the spinach on his fork and shook it off, letting it drop to the side of his plate. “Why in God’s name would you ruin a good pasta dish with soggy green leaves?”
And…serious conversation over.
But, wow, once she’d managed to crowbar Noah’s locked-box persona open a crack, all sorts of interesting information had leaked out. She decided to let him off the hook—for now. “Maybe because it’ll make dessert taste sweeter.”
Both brothers sat up straighter in their chairs, for all the world looking like tracking dogs who’d caught the scent of prey.
“There’s dessert?” Noah said.
Tilly’s heart gave a little squeeze as the lines smoothed out on his forehead while others crinkled around his eyes and a genuine smile broke out across his face. It made him look like a kid again, and it suited him.
“Please say donuts, please say donuts,” Wade chanted, clenching his hands into fists on the tabletop.
“Sorry.” Tilly chuckled. “It’s only homemade chocolate cheesecake and whipped cream.” Her gaze shot across the table to Noah, partially, she suspected, to see if he approved.
“A perfect end to a perfect meal,” he said.
Oh yeah, he approved. Maybe underneath her veneer of cynicism she had a deep streak of romanticism, because she could have sworn his gaze said, you naked and a can of whipped cream is all I need for perfection.
Death by chocolate and a sinfully hot man feeding it to her. Oh myyyy. She was in way over her head with Noah Daniels.
Chapter 12
After Noah and Wade cleared away the dessert dishes—unsurprisingly, there was no leftover cheesecake to store—the three of them traipsed downstairs to the guest rooms. Tilly unlocked the room with the wooden shark sign above the door and hit the lights.
“This is…something.” Wade stared wide-eyed around at the shark-themed duvet cover, throw cushions, wall art, and even a shark-shaped table lamp that Tilly had decided was hideously gorgeous.
“Thought you’d like it.” Noah tossed his brother’s sports bag inside the door. “I’m sure you’ll get a better night’s sleep than on my couch.”
Wade snorted, crossing to the nightstand to turn on the shark lamp. “A good brother would’ve let me have his bed for a few nights, instead of kicking me out into a sharktopian nightmare—no offence.” He grinned at Tilly.
“None taken.” She dropped the keys onto a small table that held an electric kettle, mugs, and an assortment of tea and coffee sachets. “There are clean towels in the bathroom, but let the hot water run for about a minute before you enter the shower. I know this from experience.”
“Great.” Wade rubbed his hands together. “What’re we going to do now, bro?”
Noah folded his arms, arrowing a slitted glance down his nose. “You’re gonna stay here and get some beauty sleep. I’m going home.”
Wade’s gaze zip-zapped between her and Noah. “You’re going home, huh? Just keep in mind the floorboards in this house are old and they probably squeak like a bastard. I’m betting I’ll be able to hear every move Tilly makes up there.”
Tilly fisted her hands on her hips, willing the sudden prickle of heat spreading across her cheekbones to evaporate. “Well, ew. That’s not at all creepy and Norman Bates-ish.”
Wade laughed, sitting on the mattress edge and giving it a testing bounce. “Go on, then. I’ll just sit here and calculate how many sharks there are per square inch.”
“Have fun with that,” Noah said. “Later.”
“We’ll talk about Dad in the morning,” Wade called out, but Noah had already strolled away.
“Um. I hope you’ll be comfortable. ’Night.” Tilly sidled toward the door.
“Hey, Tilly?”
She turned back to him. He’d toed off his boots and sat relaxed, hands braced behind him on the bed. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re his…neighbor.” He shot her a devilish grin, looking in that moment so much like his big brother that her heart gave a little leap. “And I sleep like the dead.”
“Good to know.”
Her gaze flicked sideways to where Noah waited for her at the end of the path. She’d have better luck doing math equations with Wade than she would preventing the ripple of awareness lighting up each and every nerve ending as his gaze skimmed over her. Her feet felt as though they’d sunk into wet concrete, heavy and uncooperative. Yet her blood fizzed and sparked, lighting little bubbling bombs deep in her stomach at the thought of what came next. Another smoking-hot good-night kiss? Or maybe it wouldn’t be good night at all.
She slid the glass door shut and walked toward Noah. He didn’t speak as they rounded the corner together and climbed the steps to the back porch. It seemed like months ago that she’d first stood there with him in his police blues, her in only a towel.
Fun times.
“Thanks for letting him stay,” Noah said. “I know you’ve got your hands full sorting out Mary’s estate.”
“It’s no problem. And now I can just stomp on the floor if I need a big manly man to rescue me during the night.”
His eyes narrowed a fraction and suddenly his hands were on her waist. He swept her off her feet and set her butt on the porch railing, leaving her no choice but to cling onto him or else topple over the edge. It was as good an excuse as any to touch him, because she was at less of a risk with Noah holding her than she was from falling over her own feet.
“All right. Who told you?” he asked.
The mock glare aiming down at her didn’t scare her in the slightest. Arching her eyebrows, she released one anaconda-like grip on his biceps and slid her hand up to rest on his shoulder. “Oh. Do you mean the Easter Gala tomorrow?”
She stroked her index finger down the strong column of his throat, loving the feel of his warm smooth skin—since he’d taken the time to shave. She was rewarded by the rapid movement of his Adam’s apple and a sharp inhale.
“Where you’re planning to prove how manly you are in the Manly Man of the Year competition?”
Noah’s mouth twisted and he scrunched up his nose. The word adorable didn’t factor into just how hot the man was.
“It’s for a good cause.”
She chuckled. “There were no complaints from the women I overheard in the grocery store this afternoon. You’re the favorite to take the title this year, they reckon.”
She was tempted to mention their giggling discussion on the odds of him winning the one-handed bra-removal portion of the competition. Apparently it was always a hit with the crowd, but considering the blood pumping through her veins like wildfire, perhaps discretion was the better part of valor.
“God. I’d kinda forgotten about the whole thing with Wade showing up out of the blue.” He dipped his head, resting his forehead against hers. “That, and other distracting things.”
Cue a butterfly explosion in her stomach. She traced her fingers through the crisp hairs at the back of his neck, then threaded them into his hair. It was a silkier texture than she’d expected, and she reflexively clenched her fist. “You don’t strike me as a man who’s easily distracted.”
“Usually, I’m not.” He sucked in a deep breath. Her breasts smooshed oh-so-deliciously against his chest. “I’ve been told I need to get out and have more fun.”
“Tomorrow sounds fun.” Then again, so would him taking her right there and then for some on the porch rail sexy times.
“Lady, you’ve got a disturbing idea of what constitutes fun.” His hand stroked up her spine to splay his fingers across her upper back. “Public humilia
tion while competing isn’t fun.”
She wanted to purr like a cat and rub against him as his fingertips slowly worked their way across her shoulder blades. “It’s only humiliating if you lose.”
Noah dipped his head to nuzzle at the sensitive point where her ear met jaw. She arched her throat and whispered kisses seared along her skin, falling away when he paused close to her lips.
“I don’t lose,” he said.
Or at least that’s what she thought he said. Hard to tell over the thudding in her ears and a heart that revved like a drag car ready to race. Her eyelids fluttered shut, honing her remaining senses to an unbearably sharp level. The crisp evening air emphasized the warmth of Noah’s arms around her, the heat of his chest under a cotton layer acting like a radiating heat source—a muscular-shaped man-heater. A clean, woodsy scent curled into her nose from his skin. Either his shave gel, cologne, or just a pheromone-drenched sexy male smell that some men had.
Finally, when her heartbeat grew so thunderous it was about to knock her off the porch rail, Noah claimed her mouth.
He tempted her with a hint of the peppermint tea they’d had with dessert, delivered on the flicker of his tongue as he explored her mouth thoroughly. Oh, so thoroughly. But he kept his kisses lazily sweet, sensuously slow—and he kept his hands and legs inside his vehicle at all times.
Metaphorically speaking.
He broke off the kiss and eased back. Tilly let out a low moan which any male with any game could translate as don’t stop—do me! Speaking of public humiliation…
Big hands spanned her waist and he lifted her down from the railing. Humiliation part two: her knees wobbled like a newborn colt.
“I’m going now,” he said.
She got some small measure of satisfaction that his voice was gritty-rough and his tone uneven. Nice to know she wasn’t the only one losing her mind over what was meant to be a good-night kiss.
He cupped her jaw with one palm, stroking a thumb down her cheek. “I don’t want to, but I will. While Wade’s here.”
Bending The Rules: Stewart Island Book 10 Page 14
