6. Noah
Chapter six
Noah
H er nightgown clings to her like a second skin, still damp with rain, tracing the delicate line of her spine and the gentle slope of her shoulder. Droplets glisten in her hair, catching the candlelight like tiny stars tangled in wet strands.
Her nose twitches. She sniffs quietly and presses the back of her hand to it. Her other hand rubs at her opposite shoulder like it’s a useless effort to create warmth.
I take one step closer, and I can hear the soft chatter of her teeth. The sharp inhale she tries to stifle. That subtle tremble that rolls through her body, like her muscles are giving up the fight. The air shifts inside me. Tightens. Burns.
I cross the room fast, in two strides or possibly three. She sits there, looking small and shivering. Soaked to the bone and her nightgown clings to her like a second skin, wet and near see-through in places, and I can see the full outline of her beneath it.
The narrowing of her waist. The sweep of her hips. The soft press of her chest rose and fell too fast. I swallow hard. My throat works like it’s fighting words, I don’t dare speak.
I should have known the thin fabric would do nothing to keep the cold out and given her a blanket. My chest constricts with guilt because I’ve been so busy staring at her that the thought doesn’t occur. Probably because I’ve been feeling warm… too warm.
Her lips are tinged blue, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. She doesn’t even raise her head properly. Just keeps trembling like she’s barely holding herself together.
Without thinking—it’s become harder to have coherent thoughts with her so close—I drop to my knees in front of her.
My hands circle around her arms, and the second my skin touches hers, it’s like striking a match to gasoline. She jolts.
So do I, as the chill of her body bleeds into my palms, but what slams into me harder is the fire roaring just beneath it. Her skin may be cold, but the heat between us? It explodes.
I drag my hands slowly up and down her arms, trying to coax warmth into her.
Goosebumps ripple beneath my fingers as I touch her.
Every pass sends a shiver through her, and I assume it’s still the cold.
Her breath catches. She thrusts her chest out slightly.
Her eyes lift to mine, wide and dark and hungry.
And then her gaze locks on me…nearly levels me.
The goosebumps disappear, and her skin is soft under my calloused hands. Smooth, damp, and impossibly real. She’s trembling, but now I know it’s not just from the cold. She’s reacting to me as I am to her. Every part of her body is leaning closer, pulling me into her orbit, and I can’t stop it.
She inhales sharply when my thumbs graze the sensitive skin inside her arms. A soft, strangled sound escapes her throat…barely audible but incredibly erotic.
She bites her lip immediately, as though holding back any other sound from escaping.
I feel her shivering frame melt into mine like she doesn’t have the strength to hold herself up anymore. Her hair clings to her cheek in damp, dark tendrils.
Her breath ghosts against my collarbone, cool, uneven, laced with something minty and faintly sweet. She smells like rain, fabric softener, and the fading trace of that perfume she wore. She peeks up at me again through wet lashes. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy.
There's a pink tinge to the tip of her nose, and I’m now certain it’s not entirely from the mad dash through the storm with nothing but bare legs and sheer fabric sticking to her like a second skin.
Jesus .
I should let go. Should give her space. But I don’t.
My palms splay wider and rub harder as if I can work the cold out of her blood. I hear the shift in her breathing, the way it catches when my hands slide down to her forearms, and I glance down just once. The candlelight doesn’t hide a damn thing.
Every line, every curve, every delicate inch of her is visible through soaked fabric. Her chest brushes mine when she exhales, and her nipples, already puckered, press firm through the lace and cotton.
And she’s not hiding.
She sits there, letting me have an eyeful.
No arms crossed, no turning away. Her eyes hold mine, steady, unblinking as if daring me to do something.
As if she wants me to. I feel the burn of it crawl up my spine, the tight ache low in my gut.
My hands pause for a second, before I force them to keep moving.
Control Noah .
I drag my gaze back to her face. “You’re still shivering.”
She gives me this soft, raw little laugh. “I am.”
The water clings to her like a second skin.
I can feel it seeping through, saturating every inch of her, and still, she lets me hold her.
I trace the backs of my fingers gently along her forearm, down to her wrist. The contact is light, instinctive, a quiet attempt to spark heat where the cold has settled deep.
I can feel her heart racing against me, and I tighten my hold, determined to chase the cold from her body.
It takes a while, but eventually, the shivering stops, and her body softens in my arms. Her muscles loosen as warmth begins to return. I keep rubbing her back, my hands moving slower now, my touch gentler. I don’t want to let her go, not yet.
The storm rages on outside, but here, at this moment, the world has narrowed to only the two of us, and I smell the unmistakable scent of musk as I see the other telltale signs of arousal.
The firmness of her breast against me, the hardness of her nipple pressing through the wet fabric. My hands still for a moment, my brain catching up to what my body had already noticed. She is aroused.
The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, and my heart begins to pound for a different reason entirely. Heat pools low in my belly, and my length swells against my jeans, a primal response that I can’t ignore.
This is another opportunity to step back, put some distance between us, and regain control of the situation. But I can’t move. My body feels rooted to the spot, my arms still wrapped around her, my hands now resting at her waist.
She fits against me like she’s always meant to be there.
Her forehead grazes my chest, and my hand slips to the nape of her neck, fingertips brushing damp skin, cold as marble. I cradle her there gently; I’m afraid she might shatter if I squeeze too tight. Her pulse beats fast under my thumb, a soft fluttering I can feel beneath the chill.
And I swear something inside me clenches around it. Around her.
She sniffles again, and I pull back enough to see her face. Her eyes lift slowly. They find mine in the dim flicker of candlelight. There’s a glassy shine to them, not from the cold, not from the rain. Something quieter. Something raw.
And damn me, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
A single drop of rain slips from her lashes, trailing down her cheek. I follow it with my eyes. Then, my hand. I brush it away with the back of my fingers, slow and soft. Touching her is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve walked through burning houses.
Her lips part like she’s about to say something, but no sound comes out. Only a breath. Her eyes, wide, questioning, letting me in.
My heart stutters.
Everything in me wants to protect her. Warm her. Keep her here where she’s pressed against me like she doesn’t want to be anywhere else.
But that’s not all I want.
The desire pulls taut beneath my ribs coiling low in my gut. It builds with every passing second. Every second, she doesn’t pull away. Every second, she stares at me like she’s daring me to move closer.
And I do.
Slow. Careful. My forehead dips until it brushes hers, a whisper of contact, barely there. Her breath catches. Her lips tremble. But she doesn’t flinch.
She just watches me.
That’s all the permission I need.
My mouth grazes hers, not a kiss, not yet. Just the softest brush. A question was asked without words. My lips skim over hers again, and this time, she exhales into me. A tiny sound, part sigh, part surrender.
And then we fall.
Her mouth meets mine like a spark hitting gasoline. The kiss is warm and damp and utterly electric. Her lips are soft, so soft I have to fight not to groan. I angle my head and kiss her deeper, and she answers with a need that knocks the air from my lungs.
My hand slides to her jaw, tilting her face toward me. Her fingers twist in the front of my shirt, pulling me closer like she can’t stand even an inch of space between us.
Every nerve in my body lights up. The world shrinks to just this: the quiet wet sounds of our mouths meeting, the hitch in her breath, the warmth of her pressed against me.
And something inside me knows that this changes everything.
Her lips are warm now, with no trace of that chill from before, soft and pliant and hungry against mine. She kisses me like she’s been waiting for this. Like she’s afraid I’ll stop.
Hell no. Not now.
I cup the side of her face, my palm soaking in the heat of her flushed cheek. Her hair clings to her skin, tangled and damp, but I don’t care. I’d thread my fingers through it anyway, even if it were drenched, just to hold her closer. To feel her melt into my hands like this.
She gasps when I angle my mouth deeper, and that sound does something reckless to me. I chase it. Swallow it. Let it stoke the slow, aching fire already spreading through me.
Her hands fist in my shirt as if she needs something to anchor her, something solid, and I let her tug me closer until there's nothing between us but soaked clothes and heat.
And god, the heat.
My thumb traces the delicate line beneath her jaw, and her breath hitches. I do it again, slower this time, dragging it down her throat, just to feel her pulse jump beneath my touch.
Her teeth part against mine like an invitation. I take it. Deepen the kiss. Let myself taste her fully. She tastes like peppermint and rain, but there's something else, too, her. Something I know I'll never get enough of.