Chapter 19
Noah
An insistent rapping on my bedroom door brings me abruptly to consciousness the next morning. I sit bolt upright and rub my eye with the heel of my hand.
‘Come in.’
It’s Honor. She peeks around the door before stepping into the room and closing it behind her. She’s in a tiny romper suit, hair pulled back. A leggy, gorgeous vision. One visitation I was not expecting.
‘Hey. What are you—where’s Jackson?’
‘He’s gone for a run. He’ll be a while.’ She takes a few tentative steps forward. ‘Is this okay? I wasn’t sure—but I wanted to see you.’
‘Of course it’s okay!’ Is she kidding? I spent far too much time poolside yesterday and in bed last night contemplating the uncomfortable question of why I was so devastated when her husband showed up. I swing my legs out of bed and make for the bathroom. ‘Give me a sec.’
Her eyes widen at the sight of my nakedness, and she bites her lip and nods. It doesn’t do my ego any harm.
I’ve never brushed my teeth so quickly. I wrap a towel around my waist—if she’s just here to talk, I don’t want her to feel pressured—and head back through to my room.
She’s standing by the window, looking out at the hazy sunrise over the vines.
I trail my fingers lightly down her back and run my lips over her bare shoulder before coming to face her.
Her mouth curves into a tentative smile.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi, yourself. How are you holding up?’
She exhales shakily. ‘Fine, I suppose. I don’t know—it’s awkward. I didn’t expect things to get tricky so quickly.’ She fiddles with the draw-string at the waist of her romper.
‘I know you didn’t. You seem to be handling it well.’
‘I just feel so awful—I never meant to put you in this position, Noah. I didn’t sleep with him, you know. Last night. I haven’t touched him.’
‘Hey. Look at me.’ My hands go to her jaw and tip it up.
‘Baby. You don’t owe me any explanations.
Or justifications. Okay? I’m a big boy. I knew what I was getting into.
’ I take a deep breath, because what I need to say to her next is surprisingly difficult.
The sentence catches in my throat. ‘You’re allowed to sleep with your husband.
You’re married. It’s part of the gig for me; I know that. ’
She dips her head and wraps her arms around me tightly so I can’t see her face. Whispers against my neck. ‘I didn’t want to, though. I didn’t want him to touch me. At all. All I could think about was you, but I was worried I’d pissed you off, that you’d want to run for the hills.’
This situation we’re in is so bizarre. On the one hand, it’s a game.
We’ve been playing make-believe out here in dreamland.
On the other, the very circumstances of her being married mean we have to be far more open, honest, with each other than I would usually be with a woman I’ve only been involved with for a day or two.
The extent of her vulnerability is eye-opening.
She has no idea that of the three of us, she’s the one in the driving seat.
She also has no idea her words thrill me to my core.
All I could think about was you. Whatever this is between us, it’s escalated from flirtation and desire to need and raw, intense human connection. I draw back.
‘I’m going to keep making you look me in the eye till I know you’re hearing what I say.
I’m not pissed off with you, baby. This is the deal.
You are in control here. You call the shots.
Your husband has been fucking around for years.
You’re levelling the playing field; you’re taking the pleasure and attention you’re owed.
And I’m just…’ I grin at her, tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
‘I’m just along for the ride. At your service. ’
‘Okay.’ She exhales. ‘I’m not very good at this, am I?’
‘There’s no rule book. Whatever issues you have with Jackson, those are between you and him.
But if guilt is part of what’s making you keep your distance from your husband, don’t let it.
I imagine Jackson sleeps easy at night. No guilt there.
I told you the other night, this is supposed to make your life better.
Not harder. I don’t want to be a pain in your delectable backside. ’
She leans into me as I stroke said backside and kisses me, and I focus on doing exactly what I promised.
Making her feel better. Fantastic. Gorgeous and desirable.
Because she’s all of those things. It’s a pinch-me moment as I stand here with this woman, the woman who’s been the object of my fantasies for so many years.
Because the reality of her is so much better.
The pillowy softness of her lips as they move against mine, the emotion in her huge green-gold eyes, and the sensation of her slim body in my arms, pressing up against my bare chest, is nothing short of magic.
The fact that I get to do this to Honor Chapman is ridiculous, but it’s increasingly difficult to square the wonder of the woman in my arms with my old celebrity crush.
All I know is, right at this moment, there’s nowhere I’d rather be. And judging by the delicious little moans she makes as I ramp up the intensity of our kiss, my hands smoothing greedily over the skin of her arms and back, she’s as committed to whatever this is as I am.