by Bishop, Ally
He squeezes me tightly. “No. I may be struggling with accepting being an adult. But it doesn’t mean I don’t need to step up and act like one. Now, your turn. Why haven’t I ever seen this book?”
I inhale him, the familiar scent of laundry detergent and Noah settling my nerves. While the boy that was always shorter than me is long gone, the heart of him remains. “Because I made this book thinking that it would be a memory piece, you know? A way to document everything you’d done. But I realized, even when I was nineteen and still stupid, that it was a gift that I would want, but not something you would have valued at the time. The leather jacket, on the other hand—”
He releases me and chuckles. “That jacket saw a lot of action. Remember that redhead our freshman year—”
I clap my hand over his mouth. “I don’t want to know.”
He grins behind my hand, his gaze devilish.
“Nonetheless,” I say as I drop my hand cautiously, “that’s what you wanted. Not a time capsule made by an amateur scrapbooker.”
“I think it’s sweet. But you’re right. I probably wouldn’t have appreciated it then.” He reaches behind me and flips the album closed. “Can I hang onto it now? I’m sure there’s some photos in there I haven’t seen.
“And definitely some you won’t want to show a woman until the third or fourth date.” I pause. “Not that there’s any risk of that with you.”
He makes a face at me, then stands and picks up the book. “You never know.” He checks his phone for the time. “I’m going to grab a haircut before we have to get packed up for tonight, okay? Be back in an hour.”
He’s at the door before I finally speak up. “Noah, wait.” I push up from the bed, so I can look in his eyes when he responds to me. “I don’t want you to feel trapped. If this is just about what I want, and you don’t really want to be a part of Elementary, I can find someone to do your work. Seriously. It’s not worth you being unhappy.”
He faces me, his gaze clear. “I’m part of this, Ella. We’ve both put in crazy hours and given up pieces of our lives to make this successful. And while spreadsheets and business plans might not have been my first choice for a career, I’m good at them, and when I’m in the zone, I love doing it. Just let me deal with whatever it is that has me in a funk. And I promise you: no more blackouts or crazy drinking.”
I nod. It’s the truth, at least as far as he can see it right now. Whether it will be enough over time...I don’t know.
CHAPTER 7
GETAWAY
The party goes on much longer than intended, but the results are astounding. Two people ask for business cards and schedule meet-and-greets with us to go over our event options, and Noah is, of course, complimented over and over again for his role. All of the actors are, but Noah’s performance is of the highest caliber. Maybe I’m only noticing because of our conversation earlier, but he really is amazing. His timing, the small nuances of emotion he adds to both serious and funny moments, his ease of covering small flubs on occasion. The man can improv like no one I’ve ever seen.
I’m quiet on the way home, and when my phone buzzes with a text message, Noah glances at me from the driver’s seat of our van. “Mystery man or wrong number? Who might it be, dear sister?”
I stick my tongue out at him but don’t look. “Clearly a wrong number because no one who knows me would message me this late at night.”
We drop the actors off at their subway stop, then make our way home. The upside to Brooklyn is that street parking is often free; the downside is that makes the spots highly competitive, so Noah lets me out at our door. While he circles the block, I slip inside our apartment to check my phone in private.
I couldn’t stop thinking about you all day. And I already miss that little sigh you make when I’m inside you.
Despite the heat rising in my face, my insides melt. And I do something I’ve never done before: I sext.
Hm. Well, your cock was a lovely surprise this morning.
If my cheeks weren’t already flaming from his message, they would be now.
Any chance I can offer a repeat performance tomorrow? Surely last night deserves an encore.
I bite the inside of my lip, start to respond, but then shove my phone in the bowl of apples on the table when Noah comes in the door. I pretend as though I’ve been cleaning up in the kitchen.
“I’m going to bed—I’m beat.”
“I bet,” I say nonchalantly. “You were great tonight. Really.”
He grins, his handsome face haggard with exhaustion. “Thanks. I have my moments.” But the topic is too sensitive to feel comfortable, and he disappears upstairs.
I dig my phone out of the fruit bowl.
What were you thinking?
It’s seconds before he responds.
What if I picked you up in the morning and surprised you with our destination? Would you be able to stay overnight?
I snort. Who wouldn’t want to be whisked away to a mysterious location for hot sex? Of course, there is a tiny voice in my head that reminds me that I don’t know Ian all that well. But I ignore it in favor of my sex drive, which seems to be in overdrive the last few days.
I could probably arrange that. What time?
Ian shows up in a small Audi, shiny and dark. It’s long before my brother will be awake, so I take the moment to enjoy our kiss on the sidewalk, the feel of Ian’s strong arms around me enough to make me want to drag him into the house and tackle him on the couch. But the supple leather and seat heaters beckon, and I’m toasty as we head out of the city.
“Do I get to know where we’re going?”
He flashes me a smile. “When we get there.” He reaches over and takes my hand, our fingers meshing easily.
I can’t get over how natural this feels. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way with anyone so quickly. And I keep reminding myself, I don’t really know him. And what about his illustrious reputation in the gossip news about being a playboy? I’m pretty sure it’s Mick Jeffries who’s the player, but if we’re known by our friends…
“So tell me about you.”
I chuckle. “I was about to ask the same question.”
“We have an hour. You first.”
I wore leggings and a long tunic sweater, and the warmth of the leather seeps into my thighs. “I think I’ve told you everything.” I ponder for a moment. “I love cupcakes, but I don’t like cake.”
He laughs and squeezes my fingers. “That’s definitely important to know.”
“Your turn. One thing you love, and one thing you don’t.”
He ponders, then answers. “Early mornings, and alarms. I love the sunrise, but I hate the abominable beeping of my clock.” He mock shivers.
I nod in agreement. “One of my favorite things to get rid of when Noah and I started doing Elementary full-time.”
“I’m very jealous.”
“I love coffee, but I hate sweet creamers.”
His grin turns bashful. “Glad I didn’t add any to your coffee on Thursday evening.”
“Let me guess: you love it?”
“Yep. The sweeter, the better.”
“Ew! That’s it. Take me home. I can’t date you,” I tease, crossing my arms.
He laughs but taps my knee with a finger. “Let’s see if you can make sense out of this one: I love horses—my stepfather has a small horse farm—but I’ve never been on one.”
“Scared?”
“Cautious. And to be fair, I was in every sport I could be growing up so there wasn’t much time. He’s determined that I’ll ride one of his, but I’ve managed to evade his offers thus far.”
I grin and pat his hand with my free one. “I promise: it’s not that scary. I practically grew up on horseback.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I, like many other little girls, wanted my very own horse. So I took lessons for years, then worked at the farm in exchange for riding time when I was a teenager and we couldn’t afford lessons anymore.”
He’s quiet for a few moments. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Of course.”
“I get the impression that after your parents passed away, you and your brother didn’t have much else beyond each other. I might have just interpreted it that way—“
“No, you’re right.” I stare out the window as the highway rushes by, feeling like a vacuum is sucking the pleasure out of the air. “We didn’t, really. My mother’s parents filed for custody of us, rather than letting us go to our godparents, which had been our parents’ wishes. Blood is thicker than water in the courts, and our grandparents won.” I chew my lip for a moment before continuing. “They aren’t bad people, and it’s not like we were abused. But our mom didn’t want us with them because, just as they were with her, they aren’t loving people. They made sure we had clothes and food, but Noah and I shared their basement. Anything we wanted, we had to earn the money for and buy. And on one hand, that’s a good lesson for kids. But there was no affection towards us, ever. To this day, we don’t hear from them unless something is wrong, and even then…if we don’t contact them, it’s rare that they’ll reach out. And we get blamed for not being more attentive every time we do try to talk to them.”
He doesn’t interrupt, and I continue after a breath. “Our parents weren’t perfect—they argued a lot, in large part because they were both hot-headed, passionate people. Our mom was an art teacher at a community college, and our father was in marketing as a graphic designer. The two of them could go at it for hours.” I shake my head at a particularly intense memory. “But they loved us, and each other, and even when they did argue, it was more…I don’t know, more focused on the issue they disagreed over. Never about each other. They took us to see our grandparents on holidays only, and even then, it was for short visits. My mother hated going to see them.” I shake my head to clear it. “Anyway, they weren’t awful, and we weren’t horribly damaged from it. But they weren’t great, either, and I sound ungrateful when I say that.”
He releases my hand and lays his palm on my knee. “No, you don’t. It’s honest, and you are, perhaps, a bit fairer than you should be. I have a friend—Casey—who had parents like that. They were in the same social circles as my own, but for some reason, they always thought throwing money at him would substitute for affection. And as he could tell you, it doesn’t.”
Something in his tone suggests it didn’t end well. “What happened to him?”
“He tried taking his life twice when we were in high school, so he actually moved in with my family for a while. But for Casey, it’s never enough. He made another attempt in college.”
“Oh my God, I’m sorry.” I trace his knuckles, wishing I could say something more comforting, but lacking the words.
He lifts a shoulder. “He’s better now. Most days, at least. And he’s a good guy—most days at least—no thanks to his parents.”
We don’t say anything for a few minutes, and then he speaks. “I love yogurt, but I hate it frozen.”
His return to our game brings a smile to my face. “Frozen yogurt is a total cop out. Ice cream all the way.”
We’re nearing our destination when the road signs start to give him away.
“Connecticut, eh?”
He grins. “My aunt recently opened a bed and breakfast in downtown Greenwich, and I thought it might make for a nice night away.” He waits a beat and then admits, “Plus, it’s the only place I could get last minute reservations.”
“Is this the aunt from Italy?” I ask as we take the next exit.
“No, that’s my dad’s sister. This is Aunt Ray, my mom’s sister.”
And when we pull up to a large Victorian home, a couple of streets back from South Beach Avenue, my breath catches. Though winter’s barren landscape washes out the massive white facade, the beauty of the old architecture shines through.
“Holy buckets, this place is incredible.”
He nods as he pulls into the small lot. “I thought you might like it.”
When he opens my door, I step into his arms, enjoying the warmth of his mouth against the dire chill of the air. Then he retrieves our overnight bags from the trunk and takes my hand.
The interior is both quaint and luxurious, with period furniture that has been reupholstered with modern fabric and prints. I say as much to Ian.
“Aunt Rheanna wouldn’t accept less. She’s always had an eye for antiques, but to the annoyance of collectors, she likes to change things up and make them her own. My mother was thrilled when she finally decided to follow her dream and open this place. It’s the perfect fit for her skills.”
“Did Jesus finally send a good-looking man into my hotel?” A tall brunette glides towards us, her loose-fitting clothes and green, horn-rimmed glasses clue me in that it might be Rheanna. On a lesser woman, she might look a bit like a caricature. But his aunt has a way about her that is both elegant and confident.
“Hey, Aunt Ray.” Ian hugs the woman, and she kisses his cheek, leaving behind lipstick.
“It’s about time you got around to stopping in here.” She steps back and sweeps her gaze over me. “And who is this lovely girl beside you?”
My cheeks heat with her compliment.
“Aunt Ray, this is Ella Storm,” Ian introduces, slipping his arm around my waist.
She narrows her eyes at Ian. “Does your mama know about her, or are you keeping her a secret?” Her glance quickly moves to me. “I haven’t heard about you meeting anyone, and this gorgeous woman I should have heard about.”
I find it entertaining to watch Ian squirm. “Erm, well, not exactly. I haven’t gotten around to—”
“We’re still figuring things out for ourselves,” I say smoothly, surprised at my ease. “But Ian’s told me so much about his family. I feel like I know everyone already.”
Rheanna seems mollified, but she’s a sharp woman. I wonder how long before she has us confessing that we’ve only been…can you call this dating?…for a couple of days.
“You need some meat on your bones, my dear.” She eyes her nephew’s lithe form. “Let’s get you to your room, and then you’ll come join me for brunch.” She gives Ian a look that brooks no argument, and I chuckle softly as we wait for our keys.
“Your aunt is something,” I whisper when she’s out of sight.
He shakes his head with a wry smile. “You have no idea. Growing up, whenever my parents were out of town, she took care of me. She’s the best when it comes to creating pillow forts and coming up with unusual entertainment, but you don’t want to cross her. She makes my mom look timid in comparison—and my mom’s anything but.”
Rheanna shows us to a stunning suite, resplendent with a four-poster bed and lush sitting area before a hearth, a fire already crackling and popping behind the grate.
“Make yourselves comfortable—food’ll be out in about fifteen minutes.” She fixes a ruffle on a curtain before making her way to the door. “And you better be prepared for a full update, Ian Crane. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how long it’s been since you called me.”
He looks appropriately chastised, and she nods approvingly before snapping the door shut.
“Wow. What did you do?” I ask as I sink beside him on the king-size bed.
“Mom is vocal about her worry, and she’ll call me nine times a day if she thinks something’s wrong. But Aunt Ray is a bit more circumspect about her concern. And I had strict orders to keep in touch with her after…” He trails off, suddenly uncomfortable. “I was dating someone for a long time.” He turns towards me, as though fighting the discomfort. “It didn’t end well, and things were…well, I was pretty torn up over it.” His eyes meet mine. “I went through a dark period for a while, and I didn’t reach out. I got over it, but where my mom and aunt like to talk about their issues, I tend to stay quiet and work through it in my own way.”
I nod and take his hand. “I know something about bad breakups.” I offer a small smile. “They take their toll.”
He squeezes my fingers. “Enough of that. We have a whole day to do what we wish. Have you ever been to Greenwich before?”
When I shake my head, he looks delighted. “Then we have a town to explore. Let’s pacify Aunt Ray for a few minutes, and then we’re off to see what we can get into.”
I can’t stop my grin from widening. “So you really did bring me here to do more than have sex?” While I’m mostly teasing, there’s a part of me that isn’t sure what we’re doing, and while I want to be okay with that, it’s not my usual M.O.
He stands and draws me into his arms. “I intend to take full advantage of this room tonight.” His lips make a path from my lips to my neck. “But I’d like to get to know you a little better out of the bedroom, as well, if that’s okay?”
Pleasure washes over me like a fresh spring rain. “Sounds perfect,” I say as we link fingers and head downstairs.
CHAPTER 8
FACEBOOK OFFICIAL
After a quick snack with his aunt, who’s thankfully busy with the brunch crowd and only has a few minutes to spend with us, we wander Greenwich, finding little shops and the memorable spots small towns are known for. He takes my hand whenever he has an opportunity, and I find it natural to lean into him for a kiss. We walk quickly to keep warm, but despite the sharp chill, it’s one of the best days I’ve had in a while.
It’s long past the dinner hour when we finally return to the bed and breakfast for a late meal.
“I’m pretty sure we walked five miles,” I say as I pop another butter-laden bite of a crusty roll in my mouth.
Ian nods in agreement. “We didn’t miss much. Do you like the area?”
“Very much so. It’s beautiful. Did your aunt live here before she opened this place?”
“Nope,” he says before sipping his wine. “She and my mom are originally from Maine, actually. Portland area. But one year for a family vacation, we stayed here for a week. My aunt fell in love with it, and all she’s talked about since then was buying a place here. When she and my uncle split up, she took the profits from their house and bought this place.”
