6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Lily
The moment he touches me, I close my eyes, feeling my defenses crumble and my resolve to keep him at arm's length dissolve. Every barrier I've built melts away, leaving me vulnerable in his embrace.
"Give me just one week," he whispers into my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "Let me take care of you, Sweetheart."
I pull away just enough to look into his eyes. God, he smells so good. He looks so good. I feel so good right here in his arms. Ugh!
He takes my silence as a yes, and before I can fully grasp what’s happening, he sweeps me into his arms and strides toward the house. My heart pounds, a wild mix of fear and longing, as I give in to the moment without a single word of protest. Every step he takes deepens my surrender, leaving me breathless.
"Put me down, Noah!" I finally cry out, my voice slicing through the haze of my emotions.
"I’ll put you down as soon as we reach the door," he responds firmly, though a trace of amusement dances in his eyes. "Stop squirming."
"You can’t carry me like I’m a child!" I protest, struggling to free myself.
"I can as long as you keep acting like one," he smirks.
When we reach the door, he gently sets me down, but as soon as I put weight on my injured ankle, a sharp cry escapes my lips. "Ouch!"
I glance at him as he barely manages to stifle a chuckle. "Don’t you dare say a word!" I warn, my voice a mix of pain and indignation.
He opens the door and wraps his arm around my waist, offering steady support as I lean against him. He guides me to the couch and helps me to sit down.
"I’m going out to the car to get the crutches," he says, his voice soothing. "I’ll be right back."
As soon as the door shuts behind him, I sink into the couch, wishing it could swallow me whole. Unable to hold them back any longer, I let the tears stream down my face. I feel a rush of emotions—stupidity, frustration, and utter uselessness—each clawing at me relentlessly. How can I trust someone who's already broken my heart? How am I supposed to deal with the fact that I have to rely on him for every one of my needs?
I quickly wipe my eyes just before the door swings open, and there he is. My heart aches with a sharp, almost physical pain as I watch him, caught in the agonizing tug-of-war between my desire to stay strong and the intense longing I feel. How can I remain emotionally distant from the most wonderful man I've ever known when every part of me aches to be with him? He doesn't want you , I remind myself, clinging to my resolve to protect my heart.
As he hands me the crutches, I attempt to stand. "Oww, oww!" I exclaim, sinking back onto the couch clutching my injury, the pain making me wince.
"Practice walking with the crutches," Noah advises, his voice blending gentleness and authority. "But don’t push it too hard."
"What time do I need to pick up Davey?" I ask, struggling to mask my discomfort when pain throbs in my ankle as soon as I stand up.
"Cara asked if he could stay for dinner, so you can relax." His tone is soothing and reassuring.
"In that case," I say, positioning the crutches under my arms. "I'm going home."
"You're not going anywhere, young lady," he says firmly, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
"What? Are you going to force me to stay?"
"I was hoping I could bribe you with dinner," he says teasingly. His eyes soften as he steps closer, and the warmth in his gaze makes my heart flutter.
"I'm not hungry," I lie, my voice unsteady as I try to ignore the growing attraction I feel.
"You scared me half to death, Lily." His eyes are filled with raw intensity as he takes another step closer.
"What are you doing?" I ask. My heart is in my throat as he takes one last step, leaving only inches between us.
"The thought of you getting hurt was absolutely unbearable."
"Well, as you can see, I'm fine," my voice is brimming with a defiance I don't feel.
His eyes lock onto mine, and everything else fades away in one heartbeat. He leans in, pressing a tender kiss to my cheek. The softness of his lips ignites something inside me that touches my heart.
As sweet and gentle as it is, it feels like a tantalizing promise just out of reach.
"Noah, please," I say, trying to keep my voice from trembling.
But he doesn't step away. Our bodies remain close, almost touching. He leans in closer, and my breath catches as he whispers against my ear, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that." The warmth of his words sends a shiver down my spine, the intensity of the moment making it hard to think of anything but him.
"Noah?" The sound of his name on my lips feels personal and intimate.
"What?" he whispers. The electricity swirling around us is so tangible that I can feel it dancing across my skin, igniting a fire that threatens to consume us both.
"I'm not sorry," I say softly."
"You're not sorry for what?" he asks, pulling back in confusion, his eyes searching mine. For a split second, he stands there, frozen, until I let the crutches fall to my sides and wrap my arms around his neck. The shock on his face is a delicious victory I savor as I rise on my tiptoes.
"For this." Balancing on one foot, I run my fingers through his hair, gently pulling him down until our lips meet. The kiss is a spark that quickly ignites an inferno that feels like destiny unfolding in this moment. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer.
Where I lack experience, he makes up for in spades. Though I initiated the kiss, it's his passionate guidance that sweeps me off my feet, leaving me utterly captivated by the magic he weaves. His mouth sweetly teases, coaxes, and explores mine with a tenderness that fills me with a need for more. A need for him. The soft pressure of his lips against mine awakens a symphony of emotions, deepening our connection. As his hand gently cups my face, his thumb brushing against my cheek, I feel the world melt away, leaving only the intoxicating sensation of his lips on mine.
When he ends the kiss and gently brushes my cheek with his lips, I have to force myself to open my eyes. His gaze is so intense and irresistible it threatens to pull me deeper into the spell he has cast over my heart.
"Can I make you dinner?" he whispers against my ear.
"Hmm?" I murmur, feeling a flutter in my chest. My knees feel like jelly, and I wobble slightly, still balanced precariously on one foot.
"Here, let me help you," he says, his strong hands gently guiding me back onto the couch. My knees are weak, and my lips are still tingling with the sweetness he left behind.
"What are you making for dinner?" I ask, hoping to shift the conversation away from the charged moment we just shared.
"How do steak fajita bowls sound?" he asks, sliding a pillow behind me for extra comfort.
"I'll come with you," I say, picking up the crutches.
In the kitchen, he pulls out a chair at the table, takes my crutches, and gently helps me sit down.
"Do you want something to drink?" he asks, opening the refrigerator. "Looks like we have iced tea and strawberry lemonade."
I smile, thinking about the fact that I made both just this morning.
After he pours me a glass of lemonade, I watch him move around the kitchen, slicing steak and chopping onions, bell peppers, avocado, and tomatoes.
I've never been so captivated by a man before, mesmerized by his effortless charm in his staple khaki pants and a blue T-shirt that perfectly highlights his strong physique. All six foot two inches of him is gorgeous, with wavy hair that I know is soft to the touch. His rugged face and those eyes—they seem to look straight into my soul. And the way he kisses me—well, I may be young and inexperienced, but it's clear that I'm falling for this man. I'm falling hard and fast, and I know without a doubt that I want him in my life.
He loves his son with a fierce protectiveness and a tenderness that melts my heart whenever I see them together. Davey's family might be unconventional, but Noah has created a world for his son where he feels completely secure, safe, and loved.
“Do you mind if we have some leftover steamed rice from last night’s dinner with the fajitas?” His question gently pulls me from my reverie, his voice a soothing balm to my swirling thoughts.
"No, of course not," I say, glancing into his golden-brown eyes. I love the way he looks at me. Like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world. He makes me feel, what? Cherished, wanted, loved.
He sets the plate in front of me. "This looks delicious," I say, my eyes taking in the bowl filled with thin slices of grilled steak, onions, and bell peppers nestled on a bed of rice and topped with fresh tomatoes, sour cream, and avocado.
"After we finish eating, we can pick up a few of your things so you can stay with us for the next week."
"Noah, I can't—"
"This isn't up for debate. At least until you can walk around without the crutches, you’re staying with us."
"I can't climb the stairs," I protest, hoping he'll reconsider.
"You decorated this house from top to bottom, remember? You know the downstairs den was converted into a master bedroom. I took one of the rooms upstairs because I didn't want Davey sleeping up there alone. You can stay down here. It's perfect for you."
"Okay," I say, "but only for a few days."
"Now that that's settled," he replies, "tell me more about yourself."
"What do you want to know?" I ask.
"Everything," he says, his eyes sparkling with genuine interest.
"I'm an only child," I begin, my voice unsteady. "My mother was born with a heart condition that should've made having a child impossible. She met my dad when her family bought a vacation home in Mérida—he was their real estate agent. They got married, but when she got pregnant, she wanted to move back to New York to be near her family and her medical team. He refused, so they divorced."
"Are you close with your father?" he asks, his tone gentle.
"He's a good man," I reply, "but he’s in Mérida, and I’m here."
"Like Davey and Marian," he says quietly.
"Exactly. I know what it's like."
"Do you see him often?" he asks.
"He visits a few times a year—my birthday, summer, the holidays. We talk on the phone several times a week."
"Tell me about your mom." His voice softens, knowing this part is difficult.
"She passed away three years ago," I say, my chest tightening. "She always said she was living on borrowed time, just long enough to be my mom."
"You have her eyes?" he asks.
"I got my blue eyes from both of them," I say, a smile tugging at my lips. "Mom was Irish and Italian—my skin tone and temper are all her. But I think I take after Dad more, especially with the eyes. He's Spanish, moved to Mexico in his twenties."
"Your beauty takes my breath away," he murmurs, his voice like a caress.
"Thank you," I whisper, the warmth in his gaze reaching my heart.
"Do you have any extended family?" he asks.
"I have family in Spain, but we've never met. My grandparents on Mom's side are gone."
His eyes soften with genuine empathy. "I'm sorry," he says, his sincerity melting the last of my defenses.
I pause, feeling the weight of my next words, "So when I say the Linders are all I have, I mean it."
He takes my hand, his grip firm yet tender. "I meant it when I said you have me."
I feel a rush of emotion, a flicker of hope. "I believe you," I whisper, feeling our unspoken bond grow stronger with every word.
After dinner, I balance on one foot beside him at the sink. Together, we rinse the dishes, our movements in sync, and load the dishwasher in comfortable silence.
"Let's walk to the guesthouse," he suggests, wiping down the counters. "Do you want to try the crutches, or should I carry you?"
I glance at him and realize he's being serious. "You're not carrying me anywhere. I can walk," I insist, though my heart skips a beat at the thought.
We slowly walk across the backyard toward the guesthouse, each step more challenging than I anticipated. I fight to keep my expression neutral, refusing to show the strain.
"You did great," he says, his voice filled with admiration. His smile is so captivating that all I can think about is kissing him again.
"What?" he asks, catching me staring. "Do I have something on my face?"
Oh, God, I've been caught . "No, no," I stammer, desperately hoping I don't blush. "I was just thinking about how much I love your smile."
His gaze softens, and he steps closer. "And I love how a dimple forms on your cheek every time you smile."
Now, I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Ugh!
He opens the door to the guesthouse and flicks on the lights. "Woah!" he exclaims, eyes wide as he takes in the sight before him.