by Grimm, Sarah
“Your mouth is so sexy.” The sound that rumbled in his throat had something curling hard in her stomach. “I imagine the things you could do with that mouth.”
The mouth he spoke of dropped open as he nipped the back of her neck.
“The first time you smiled at me you stole my breath. I spent weeks trying to get you to do it again, struggling to understand what I’d done to stop you from gifting me with your smile. What was it, Isa?”
“You…noticed me.”
“I noticed you? How couldn’t I? Your hair, your skin.” Nimble fingers worked down the front of her shirt, revealing a little more of her skin with every button that slipped free. “I can’t stop touching you. Reaching for you. I imagine my hands on you, light against your dark. Here, on your stomach.”
Isabeau sucked air greedily into her lungs when his hand pressed against her stomach. She stared, mesmerized by the contrast of his pale hand against her darker, golden tones.
“Look at my hands on you.”
His growl was nearly as exciting as those long-fingered hands caressing her skin. The trembling started in her knees and crept up her body. She leaned back into his arms, using his body for support. Against her lower back, his erection pulsed.
She quivered. His name tumbled from her lips as his left hand joined his right on her stomach. Her blood hummed, her body jolted in anticipation. She didn’t realize she’d moved her own hands until denim scraped across her palms. Her fingers dug into his hips, pulled him solidly against her.
“Isabeau.” His mouth skimmed her cheek, her jaw, all while his hands kept moving, caressing. He brushed his thumb along the underside of her nipple once, twice, before his hand closed possessively over her breast. The pulse between her legs became a throbbing ache. “You’re beautiful, Isabeau.”
This time she believed him.
His breathing grew ragged as his mouth moved over her temple. Sensations washed over her, paralyzing her.
Seducing her.
The fingers of his left hand rolled, kneaded her nipple into a tight aching bud. Her fingernails dug into his hips. His free hand slid down the pale line of her scar, lower and lower until it slipped into her panties and cupped her heat. She moaned softly and pressed herself into his hand.
“Look at yourself, Isa. Do you see what I see?”
She saw him, only him. What he was doing to her body became second to what the experience did for him. His whole being seemed to be focused on her and he was lost. Lost in her.
Unbelievable.
She looked at his reflection, gasping as he slid his hand lower, slipping first one finger and then another into her hot slick depths.
She went off like a rocket. Her orgasm ripped through her with the strength of never before. Her body convulsed—a symphony exploded behind her eyes. His name slipped from her on a moan that he caught with his mouth as she tipped her head up to meet his kiss.
A sudden ringing sliced the room’s stillness like a knife. Noah went utterly still, then pressed his forehead to hers. “Bloody hell..”
She turned in his arms, pressed her hand in the center of his chest. “What is that?”
“My mobile.”
Ignoring the phone, he took her face in his hands as he dipped his head and plundered her mouth once more.
She loved it. Loved everything about it; the heat, the little bit of desperation. Closing her eyes, she kissed him back. Her hand moved, slid down his chest, over his abdominals, and then lower still.
His fingers wrapped around her wrist like a manacle. “I have to go.”
What?
His hot gaze moved across her exposed flesh like a physical touch. “The guys are looking for me.”
“Noah.”
“I’ve been gone too long already.” A mix of regret and need colored his features as he released her and stepped back.
Her legs were weak. Her hands shook as she worked the buttons of the shirt back through their corresponding holes. “Will you come back?”
“Tomorrow,” he replied, his voice full of raw hunger. “Plan on me staying the night.”
****
Although she slept better than she had in ages, Isabeau awoke the next morning with a pounding headache. She rolled over, brushed the hair out of her eyes and focused on the ceiling. For a moment, she thought about crawling out of bed, choking down an aspirin and going for her morning run. That moment lasted about two point eight seconds.
The aspirin she needed. The jarring pain her daily run would cause her was a different story.
God, her head hurt. Hurt so bad she couldn’t think straight. What day was it? Was it her turn to open the bar, or Clint’s?
Saturday. Clint’s day to open.
She sighed with relief.
Wait a minute. Saturday was the day she’d agreed to join the guys for soccer.
She groaned.
Ignoring the rich, heady scent that emanated from her programmable coffeemaker, Isabeau closed her eyes against the throbbing ache. She utilized the same techniques she’d used so many times as a young girl to distance herself from the pain. She closed her mind to the sounds around her, her worries and her discomfort. She shut out everything that caused her stress and pictured instead something that brought her peace.
Immediately Noah’s image jumped to the forefront of her mind. Without any effort at all, she recalled the sight of him leaning against her mantel, his green eyes displaying a mix of irritation and arousal. Pressing her fingertips against her forehead, she remembered the feel of his hands in her hair as his thumbs massaged her temples. But that memory was quickly exchanged for another, the one where his hands moved over her body—cupping and caressing—setting every nerve ending on fire.
She settled her hand against her stomach as her body recalled the moment with a bit more enthusiasm than expected. Her limbs began to tingle. A warm sensation pulsed through her blood. A tiny shiver skittered down her spine.
The relentless rhythm returned to join the throbbing behind her eyes.
Isabeau threw back the covers with another groan. She eased to a seated position and slipped her arms into the shirt she’d left at the foot of the bed—Noah’s shirt. His scent enveloped her. The pain behind her eyes intensified.
With a sigh of acceptance, she walked to the coffeemaker and poured herself a mug of coffee. Pulling the bottle of aspirin out of the cabinet above the sink, she choked down two, then carried the mug with her across the room.
When she stepped into the bathroom, she switched on the faucet in her antique claw-foot bathtub and waited for the water to heat up. She had enough time, before she met the guys, for a shower and a trip across town. There was no use denying it any longer. Not if she wanted to avoid debilitating pain. She had no other choice.
The music had taken over.
****
An hour later, Isabeau took a deep breath and pushed through the door of Brown’s Music Emporium. For a moment, no more than a few seconds, the sights and smells once so familiar washed over her, sending her back in time. The moment faded, replaced by the cold reality that her life wasn’t what it used to be. She was no longer a happy child that looked forward to visiting the store, but an adult who wished more than anything that she could have gone the rest of her life without returning.
No matter how many memories assaulted her, she pushed them aside. She didn’t want to recall how much pleasure she’d once derived from the music that flowed so effortlessly from her brain to her fingers. Today wasn’t about pleasure, it was about survival. She couldn’t continue the way she had. The act of blocking her thoughts and the melodies that moved through her mind was getting to be too much for her. She wasn’t sleeping well, lost her appetite, and no amount of aspirin seemed to combat the ache in her skull.
Curling her right hand around the strap of her black leather tote, she turned right. She kept her eyes averted as she moved with purpose to the spot were her purchase used to be stocked. As each step took her deeper into the store, and
farther into her past, she prayed they hadn’t reorganized over the years. The last thing she wanted was to run into anyone. She couldn’t spend anymore time in the store than was absolutely necessary.
At the end of the aisle, she turned left.
“Can I help you find something?”
Today was not a good day.
Grimacing, she shifted her gaze from the floor to the middle-aged man blocking the aisle. Frank. She recognized him immediately. He’d been working here as long as she could remember.
“I need some composition paper.”
“You’re in the right aisle. It’s down here.”
She had no other choice but to follow his lead to a spot a few feet ahead of her. “Thank you.”
When she didn’t automatically reach for the paper, the overly helpful man pointed. “Right there, on that shelf.”
The music coming from the recessed speakers above her head was hauntingly familiar. Her fingers moved along the strap of her oversized tote. “Yes, thank you.”
Frank remained rooted in place, openly studying her. “You look awfully familiar. Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? I’m usually good with faces.”
Please go away. Please go away.
“I’m sure,” she lied. Her stomach was in knots. The music in her head swelled to a near unbearable level. Desperate to make her purchase and leave, she grabbed a stack of composition paper off the shelf and turned in the direction of the cash register.
She’d been raised to be polite. It was one of the many lessons her mother instilled in her before her death. But at the moment, Isabeau didn’t think she could handle polite. She was coming apart from the inside. She needed fresh air, needed to get away from the memories and the music. Before Frank realized why she looked so familiar to him.
“Well, okay, is that all you need?” His step quickened so that he arrived at the register before she did.
“That’s it.”
She kept her gaze averted while he rang up her purchase. The music reverberating throughout the store came to an end. There was a moment of silence, then the piano solo started. Isabeau stared at her outstretched hand and wondered how she kept it steady as she waited for her change.
“Izzy?”
Just like that, her day got even worse.
She glanced over her shoulder, dread filling her, and wondered what terrible thing she’d done to deserve this. Two run-ins with Gregory Howard in a matter of days? She reached out and grabbed the composition paper, attempting to stuff it into her tote and make a quick exit.
His gaze followed her hand. “Planning on doing a bit of composing, are you?”
She had no idea what he was thinking, but she caught the instant straightening of his spine. Suddenly she realized why she’d never felt comfortable talking to Gregory. He was jealous of her, he always had been. Every conversation she’d ever shared with him turned into a competition. A competition he always made sure to win.
“Izzy?” the man behind the cash register repeated. “That’s it! You’re little Isabeau Montgomery.”
She closed her eyes for a moment and turned back to Frank. “Yes, I am.”
“I thought I recognized you. You used to come in here all the time with your mother. You’re…not so little any more. But I suppose that happens with the passing of time, doesn’t it?”
“I suppose it does.”
A crease formed between Frank’s bushy black eyebrows. He got that look on his face that she hadn’t seen in years. The look that said he knew exactly what happened to her life and felt sorry for her. She didn’t like that look now any more than she had thirteen years ago.
“How are you doing?” he asked. “You’re doing well, I hope.”
“I’m fine, Mr. Marconi. Thank you for asking.”
“You know, your music is still very popular.”
The walls were closing in on her. “That’s good to hear.”
“The music playing right now is yours.”
She knew that. She’d recognized it the moment she stepped through the door. Memories assaulted her, memories she didn’t like to revisit in the privacy of her own home, let alone in public. Forget the pain in her head, the pain in her heart was much worse.
“I…need to get out of here. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Marconi?”
“Of course.”
She turned for the door only to find Gregory remained behind her, blocking her escape.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Gregory asked.
Nothing about her day so far was funny. “What?”
“We haven’t seen each other in years and then, wham, we run into each other twice now in a matter of days.”
“That’s funny, all right.” Her gaze flicked over his shoulder to the door a few feet behind him.
“I can’t believe you’re going to compose again.” Gregory looked down at her with grim assessment. “I hope you’ll keep me in mind. You know I am the one person who can do your music justice.”
“Sure.” She forced a smile. She was more than willing to play his game if it meant she could get out of there. The knots in her stomach tightened. Her right hand clenched the strap of her tote so tightly, her nails bit into her palm. “Look, Gregory, I have to go, or I’m going to be late.”
He turned as she started past him. “Got someplace you need to be, huh?”
Her unease heightening with every second she remained in the store, she answered without thinking. “Yes. I’m meeting some friends at Pete’s.”
He stepped closer. “Not Pete Knowles, from the recording studio?”
“As a matter of fact, he’s exactly who I mean.”
Isabeau walked out of the music store, every muscle in her body tight. Her hands weren’t quite steady as she slipped her sunglasses into place and started down the street to where she’d parked. By the time she reached her Navigator her breathing had regulated, her memories returned to the box in her mind she kept them locked in. By the time she reached her apartment, she’d forgotten all about Gregory Howard and the look he’d given her as she left the music store.
****
“What happened to you?”
Isabeau smiled broadly, the last few hours just what she had needed to forget her troubles. She joined Clint behind the bar as Noah and the guys eased onto stools.
“Soccer.”
Clint arched an eyebrow. His gaze moved over her from head to toe as she washed her hands in the sink. “Last I knew, soccer was not a contact sport. You’re covered in dirt and…” He shifted closer, peering at her face. A frown line appeared between his eyes. “Is that a bruise?”
A bruise? She turned to the cooler and checked out her reflection in the mirror as she pulled out three bottles of beer. Sure enough, she had a red mark beneath her right eye. “I ran into an immovable object.”
“With your face?”
Her gaze took in the ragged bunch on the other side of the bar. They all looked a little the worse for wear, sweaty and smudged with mud from the field that had yet to dry after last night’s rain. They all also wore the same broad smile on their faces as she did.
“I think it was Dom,” she stated, as she placed a bottle before Nick Saunders, the band’s guitarist, and Alex Morgan, the drummer. The third she placed before Dominic.
Noah’s grin kicked up a notch. Immediately the fire in her belly burned hotter, her palms began to itch. She’d been fighting the need to touch him ever since she got her first good look at him at the park, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung shorts and running shoes, his broad shoulders and hard muscles rippling in the sunlight. He’d pulled on a shirt after the game, but the need remained.
Isabeau took a slow, deep breath to control her racing heart and reached into the refrigerator near her knee. She placed a bottle of water atop the bar in front of Noah.
“I was on your team,” Dominic objected, pulling her thoughts back to the conversation.
“You’re one of
the lucky ones,” Nick replied, shifting his right hand and pressing it against his side.
Clint gave them a questioning look as she wet down a napkin and used the mirrored wall behind the bar to wipe some of the dirt from her face.
“To Isabeau, it was definitely a full contact sport,” Dominic supplied. “Whenever she couldn’t get control of the ball with fancy footwork, she got a bit rough.”
“We’ll have to teach her rugby,” Noah commented, his deep voice drawing her gaze from her own reflection and onto his.
He watched her intently, as he lifted the bottle of water to his lips and drank. Her gaze lowered, settled on his mouth. Her nerves scrambled, her blood hummed in her ears.
She had to concentrate just to breathe.
“Oh, hell no,” Nick exclaimed. “I think I’ll pass on that.”
Her eyes remained on Noah’s hand when he lowered the bottle of water. The memory of his hands on her body as she’d stood before a different mirror engulfed her mind with perfect clarity. Her breath clogged in her throat.
She’d never been touched like that before. She’d never allowed it. Over the years, she’d gotten good at distracting a man with his own pleasure, so that she wouldn’t have to endure him wanting to touch her. Up until Noah, no man complained. But Noah was unlike any man she’d ever known. Not only did he not allow her to shift away from his touch, he wasn’t so easily distracted. His relentless pursuit of her was proof of that much.
Her reaction to him was different as well, and quite honestly, a bit terrifying. She’d never spent so much time thinking about a man, imagining them together, considering the possibility that there could be so much pleasure in a single touch.
“That’s Isabeau for you.” Clint’s voice barely penetrated the fog of desire that enveloped her. “Whatever she does, she puts everything she has into it.”
“Like her elbow,” Nick suggested.
“Or her knee,” Alex piped in.
Noah flashed her a wicked, knowing grin. His eyes reflected the same desire she felt throbbing through her veins.
“Babies,” she muttered as heat flooded her limbs, leaving her skin hot and prickly.
