Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Stone
I can fall asleep on hard ground without issue.
One time, when wooing a client, I had to stay overnight in Yellowstone.
He was an avid explorer when not running his billion-dollar company.
I curled up in a tent, the weather turning below freezing, and conked out with the dedication of a coma patient, only rising to the mumbling and cursing of the rest of the execs trying to win him over, as someone tried to start a fire and warm themselves.
My extremities were numb, but I slept through it.
Yet on Ma’s pull-out couch in her den, I can’t so much as close my eyes.
I toss and turn, kicking the covers off, then pulling them back on, tucking myself up to my chin, then discarding them again.
I’m not hot or cold or physically hindered in any other way.
It’s my head that’s the problem, full of images from this evening, except different.
Noa hanging on Chef Saint’s every word while he teachers her to properly stir a mixture in a bowl (which is absurd.
Obviously she knows how to stir). Him coming up behind her and showing her how to do it, pressing his chest against her, guiding her arm with his hand before her mouth parts and she turns into him for a kiss, her hands reaching for his pants…
“God dammit ,” I mumble, sitting up.
The sheets fall from my bare chest. I scrub my hands down my face, as if that action can erase these obtrusive thoughts from my brain.
It shouldn’t matter if she has the hots for the tattooed chef. I want Noa to be happy, don’t I?
Except, she’d be better off with me.
A clank rings out from the other side of my door. I finally notice the golden light drifting in from under the frame and shadows flickering as something moves.
Accepting that sleep will not come easy, I slide off the bed, thinking maybe it’s Ma looking for a midnight snack and a chat. I could use the distraction and she could probably use the help, so I open the door and slink into the hall so as not to startle her.
Once I reach the kitchen, I see Noa in full cook mode, pulling out Ma’s entire pot and pan collection, as well as a good portion of the pantry, all laid out on the breakfast counter like helpful soldiers.
Noa doesn’t see me. Her back is to me and she’s dressed in a pink satin short and shirt combo with Ma’s apron tied over it. The fabric shines over her curves—specifically, the curve of her ass as her bare feet pad around the linoleum while she prepares.
She’s humming under her breath, her hair piled up on top of her head. Moo’s joined her, threading between her legs and meowing his support as she deftly hops around him.
“What are you doing?”
Noa screeches and nearly drops the boiling pot she’s carrying from the stove to … somewhere. She sets it down at the same time Moo yowls and his nails skitter across the floor as he seeks cover.
“Stone! You scared me.”
“Similar to what you’re doing to me right now.” I scan the mess. “Do you know what time it is?”
I check my watch just to be sure. 3 am.
“Did I wake you?” she asks.Then: “Good.”
I decide to be honest with her. “No. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Me neither.” Then she laughs as she takes in her environment. “But I suppose that’s obvious.”
I inspect what she’s pulled out. “Are you recreating what we made today?”
“Yeah.” She sighs and massages the back of her neck.
“I tried to fall asleep, but I kept hearing the chef’s criticism in my head and how I could do it better.
I don’t want to endure that kind of humiliation again, so I thought I could practice and Mrs. Stalinski could enjoy the fruits of my labors.
” She smiles with a tired, lopsided, gorgeous tilt to her lips.
“Because who wouldn’t want a French cassoulet for breakfast? ”
I return the smile. “Does Ma even have duck for you to use?”
“No, but I’m trying to recreate it with chicken. See?” She steps aside to showcase what’s sizzling on the stove. I move in for a closer look, conscious of her satin-clad body hovering nearby.
The woman is like a beacon of electricity, striking me whenever I get too close, and I both hate and love it.
I’m her reactor, a role I took on at the ripe age of fourteen and never looked back from.
I don’t know why I figured the energy between us would die off with time. If anything, it’s gotten stronger.
“It looks good,” I say, huskier than I should. “Smells fucking amazing.”
She smiles a little brighter. “Say what you want about my browning ability, but I have the seasoning dead-on.”
“You’re incredible.” I trace her face with my eyes, taking her in, memorizing her passionate determination and confidence so I can replace the one of her drooling over the chef.
Her smile falters the longer I stare at her. Her gaze slides away, at the sizzle and pop of her meat, then flutters back to me.
I shift closer.
“Stone,” she whispers.
I dip my head. Chances are she could use that spatula she’s holding against me, but I can’t deny this subtle rippling inside me, an instinctive song pulling me nearer.
I want to put my hands on her.
She reads it in my eyes.
“Stone,” she tries again. “Will.”
My response comes as an exhale. “You use my real name, Lavender, you better be prepared to meet the real man.”
She winces at my use of her pet name and it cracks my heart open.
“I know you,” she croaks. “I’ve always known who you are. You can dress yourself up with a cold name and fancy clothes and I’d still recognize you.”
Our noses almost touch. “We haven’t spoken in ten years. I’m just as cold on the inside as I am out.”
Noa tips her chin—her mistake. Her lips come dangerously close. So much so that if she weren’t cooking a mouth-watering dish inches away, I’d smell her sugary lip gloss.
“You’ve changed,” she concedes. “But I see you.”
I avoid her pointed assessment. The colorful flecks in her eyes are a welcome distraction. She’s stained glass up close, fragile and painstakingly put together, and all I can think about is shattering her in the best of ways.
“I’d like to think I’m blind to who I was,” I answer. Smoke drifts between us, putting her features in sorceress relief. That spatula becomes a wand, and she can turn me into a frog if she wants.
I’d give in.
“You married during that time,” she dares to add.
My lips quirk ever so slightly. “So, you kept tabs on me.”
“Not really.” She breaks our stare-off and pokes at the chicken. “It’s hard not to be updated when the entire town spoke of you like a God who smites people. Recently, when you?—”
I put my hand on her arm and spin her. “I like your eyes on me. I’d prefer they’d stay on me while you try to eviscerate me with a past that no longer affects me.”
“Liar.” She goes slack in my grip, allowing my hand to stay there. “I’d have to care about you to want to eviscerate you.”
“You care.”
“I don’t.”
“No?” My hand glides up her arm, catching on that tease of satin, running up her neck and tracing her jaw.
Noa closes her eyes and gives in to my exploration, canting her head. “You’re terrible.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“We can’t do this. I don’t want this.”
“Strong words,” I say, my thumb snagging on her plump lower lip. “If only you meant them.”
She tries to jerk out of my grip, but I hold on to her chin, preventing the escape. “Don’t close off on me, Lavender. Say what you want to say. You have me.”
Noa tries to snort. It’s slightly difficult when I cup her jaw so her eyes handle most of the disdain. “You don’t want to hear how I feel about you.”
I move my hand to the back of her head, using Noa’s hair to angle her the way I want her while using my other arm to press her against me, holding her flush. “If you refuse to say it, then I’ll just move onto other ways to prove you want me.”
“You’re a selfish, self-entitled prick,” Noa hisses, yet she allows her head to be pulled back. Her neck to be exposed.
My lips peel from my teeth. “I’m aware. If I’m honest, you know me better than anyone I’ve ever met.
” I shut down the flash of triumph in her eyes by adding, “Just like I know that deep down, you’re the same sweet, impressionable girl who has always had trouble getting this selfish prick out of her system no matter how hard she tries. ”
“And so you use that to your advantage? You’re doing this just so you can put your mark on me before Chef Toussaint can. I’m not a part of your corporate takedowns?—”
“If you think I want you because another man’s sniffing around,” I growl, surrounding her on all sides, “think again. I’ve wanted you since the day your turned up in class at school in over-sized jeans and that black halter top that made me want to cum in my pants the minute I laid eyes on you.”
She sucks in air. “That was a long time ago.”
“I’m the same man, according do you, and I selfishly want to throw you on this counter and spread your legs and make you scream.
I want to know if you nipples taste the same—sweet with some tang.
I want to know if you still shave or if you’ve gone bare.
I want this Noa, the woman who has given up everything to take care of my mother, the woman who politely submits to an arrogant chef and saves her smart mouth for me, this woman who”—I angle my head closer to her lips, short breaths escaping—“keeps a lot of pain buried inside her and thinks I can’t see it. ”
Her chest heaves against mine.
“You know me so well, Lavender. I know you as completely. And I fucking need you.”
She opens her mouth for more words, more wasted breath, maybe more denials. I don’t let her. Can’t. Not when she needs me, too.
I pull the pot off the burner, then seal my lips on hers.