6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Noah
I didn't knock on her office door. I opened it and walked in. She was working, standing up. Her desk was raised. Her heels were on the floor, and she was barefoot. Her feet tapped to soft strains of jazz.
She wore a peach dress that came down to mid-calf. It had small, white flowers on it and buttons in the front, leaving a slit from mid-thigh down. In the conference room where she'd been sitting, I had been able to see her slender thighs to my chagrin and my dick's pleasure.
I parted her legs and smelled her arousal. "Sweet Stella," I murmured. "You smell like a fucking garden in the spring. Lush."
I tasted her, and she moaned. God! No one I'd ever been with had been this responsive. No woman I'd ever been with had made me this hard, this ready, this mad to please.
"Noah," her voice shook.
"Yeah, baby."
"I've never come during sex…without help. Ah…."
"You got toys, Sweet Stella?"
A flush rose from breast to cheeks. She didn't look her age. She looked about ten years younger, sensuous, innocent. I wanted to turn the fucking video recorder off. This was private. I didn't want this memory saved anywhere but in my head and hers.
"In my bag."
She came prepared and that annoyed the hell out of me. "Let's try somethin' new and, if I can't get you off, baby, I promise, I'll use a toy on you. Either way, you're gonna come."
She came so easily, like a fucking dream, when I inserted first one, and then two fingers inside her while I suckled her clitoris. She called out my name, and I felt ten fucking feet tall. I watched her face, the shock, the surprise, the pleasure.
"Noah," she whispered, her palm on my cheek, her eyes gazing into mine, her soul inside of me.
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
I kissed her. No woman had ever said those words to me with such sincerity, such honesty, and I wanted to taste her words, and let them sink into me.
That was the recording that made me throw up. The audio was clear, but the video didn't catch her face, it caught mine. I remembered her eyes were sincere, full of love and affection, and the video showed my hunger for her, the acceptance of what she was giving me, the agony and ecstasy of being loved.
The woman who stood in front of me now had none of that passion. Her eyes were blank. Dead. If I hadn’t witnessed the life in them before, I'd never believe there was ever a fire inside her, a vivacity for life that was contagious. I'd never believe she knew how to hug and kiss with the spirit of a child, full of enthusiasm and bubbling joy. I'd never believe she picked wildflowers to make me happy. If I hadn't experienced Sweet Stella, I'd not believe she existed. The woman who stood in front of me now was a shadow, a gothic replica of a summer cottage.
"Stella," I murmured, closing her office door behind me.
Despite how she didn't look like my Sweet Stella, she still made me want to go up to her, demand she kiss me, and be mine again.
But she'd never been mine. It had been a game. My game, and she hadn't even known she was being played.
"Congratulations on making partner. Savannah Lace is happy to have you."
She even smiled. It wasn't a real smile, though. It was broken, like the ones Neveah gave after our father died. My sister had needed therapy and medication to get over her depression after her suicide attempt.
My blood went cold.
Stella wouldn't do that, would she? No. Of course not. Neveah had been a kid. Stella was a grown-ass woman. She was strong. Look at her now. I'd broken her down, taken everything that mattered to her, and she stood with her head high, smiling her pathetic, plastic smile.
"Thank you." I tucked my hand in my slacks and forced myself to stand casually, not wanting to reveal how much she affected me. "I wanted you to know that I invested in Savannah Lace to make sure Nina was secure. I wasn't buying your partnership."
No expression. Nothing changed on her face at my declaration.
"I'm certain Nina appreciates all that you've done, as do all of us at Savannah Lace."
There wasn't even a tremor in her voice. The woman who had been crying in my office had been replaced by a doll. A beautiful dark-haired beauty, with lush lips and green eyes—inanimate. Made of flawless glass, fragile, breakable. Priceless.
I felt a frisson of panic. She wasn't here— this woman was not Stella. She was a shallow facsimile. Someone else.
"How are you?" I asked casually, as if we were long-lost acquaintances. Come the fuck back, Sweet, wherever it is you're hiding. Come back. Don't go because of me. I don't deserve that.
"I'm well, thank you."
Her computer pinged, and she frowned. She slid her feet back into her shoes as she read something on her screen. She didn't even seem to care I was in her office, near her for the first time in ninety-three days. But who the hell was counting?
Minutes later, as if noticing that I was still there, she asked with polite dismissal, "Can I help you with anything, Mr. Carter?"
Mr. Carter ?
"No."
She smiled again, and I'd never seen anything that fake, that disingenuous on her. "Thank you so much for stopping by. I have a client waiting for me."
She picked up her laptop and a notebook. I stepped away as she walked to the door. As she passed me, I smelled that clean floral scent that was all her, and it went straight to my dick.
"Stella," I called when she had a hand on her doorknob.
"For what it's worth, what I did wasn't meant to hurt you, just your father." It was bullshit. I had meant to ruin her when I started it all. Once I got to know her, it changed because she was a fucking dream—soft, sweet, charming, beautiful, and innocent . I hadn't let that stop me from destroying her, though, because when Noah Carter wanted something, he went after it with single-minded, pigheaded, blinders-on devotion.
"I think you failed on both accounts," she spoke clearly, her eyes without emotions. "You did hurt me, and my father is as he always is, untouched and unbothered, because he doesn’t know shame or embarrassment or trauma. Have a nice day, Mr. Carter and, once again, congratulations."
She opened her office door and stepped out.
I stayed in her office, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. Her honesty unraveled me. I looked around her office, and the woman she was screamed at me.
She had prints of Monet's Water Lillies , Van Gogh's Sunflowers , and Gustav Klimt's Flower Garden on the walls. She had a small meeting table in her office with three chairs around it. In the center of the table, there was a small flower arrangement—I recognized the daisies from her garden. They were dry, lifeless, a lot like her.
Her desk was neat, with no photographs of friends and family—just a pen holder and some papers next to the docking station where her laptop usually sat. There was a wooden box next to her computer screen. I turned it around and opened it, and the notes of Für Elise came through as a ballerina twirled. There was a small drawer at the bottom of the box, and I opened it. Inside was a note.
I was invading her privacy, but I couldn't help myself or give a shit.
Dear Stella Ballerina, Happy Birthday. Mama.
I put the note back. Stella’s mother had died right after giving birth to her. Stella had been raised by nannies, from what she'd told me. She hadn't said anything bad about her family, especially her stepmother, who was well known for being vicious and vindictive. You didn't get very far in Savannah society if you pissed off Whitney Hunt.
Stella did tell me how she'd gone to Venezuela to meet her mother's family and found that they were not interested in her. Her mother had been engaged to a man when she eloped with Baron—those wounds had never healed for Stella's maternal family.
"They didn't want to know me so…." She shrugged as if she didn't care, but I could see she did.
"You never tried again?"
She smiled sheepishly. "I did for many years. I sent Christmas cards and postcards. I tried to share my life with them, but they never responded. And then, when my mother's parents passed, I knew it was time to give up."
I lifted her hand and kissed it. We were sitting by the pool in her garden at twilight, enjoying a pre-dinner apéritif .
"How many years did you try?"
She chuckled with self-deprecation. "Too many."
"How did you know they passed?"
"My Christmas present was returned with a note saying that they were gone, and I should stop writing."
"Who sent that note?"
"My mother's brother."
Her uncle? God! "I'm sorry. That must've been hard for you."
"It was, but you pick yourself up, you dust yourself off, and you start all over again."
I'd thought, then, that I should leave her, walk away, give up this revenge scheme. But that night, I talked to Neveah, who was wandering down memory lane, talking about our father, and my commitment to avenge my family re-solidified. Stella was just a means to an end. I had to remember that.
I was about to leave Stella’s office when Luna walked in. "Hi, have you seen Stella?"
"She had a meeting."
"And what are you doing here?" she demanded suspiciously.
I smiled. "Just getting to know the senior staff."
"Doesn't explain what you're doing in her office." She folded her arms. "You both knew each other before you walked into the meeting room today, didn't you? You were the secret boyfriend. I'm certain of it."
I cocked an eyebrow. "First, I think these are questions you must ask your friend because I don't know you from Eve. Second, it's inappropriate to lob accusations that could hurt your friend's reputation."
Luna looked me up and down. I had used my "don't fuck with me" voice that made strong men tremble. Luna didn't seem to give a shit.
"You're the reason she's lost all that weight and looks like someone punched her in the solar plexus and then ran her over with a car," she accused.
My jaw tightened. It was a spot-on description of what Stella looked like.
"I barely know her," I murmured. I looked at my watch then, and Luna scoffed.
"I'm going to find out what the hell is goin' on," she warned me. "Stella doesn't have a lot of people in her life, but she has me. I'm keeping an eye on you, Carter."
"Noted."