38. Nora
CHAPTER 38
NORA
I wake up to a sharp knock on the door.
I squeeze my eyes closed and burrow deeper into the warmth beside me.
Another knock. The pillow I’m tucked against vibrates with a groan. West’s chest. The arm slung over my waist shifts. “Are you usually woken up like this?”
He smells good. “No.”
The sound returns, more powerful this time. Five sharp, insistent knocks. It sounds like someone who’s done this many times before.
“That’s Ernest.” West groans, and his hand slides down to pat my hip. “We’ve slept in.”
“He’s never knocked before.”
“Something must have happened.” The roughness in West’s voice sharpens, and he slides out of my grip and the bed. I watch him walk across my bedroom. He’s in his sweatpants, but no T-shirt this time. I pull the cover up to my chin and watch him, in the daylight, walking through my sitting room.
I glance at the time. We have slept in.
West opens the door. I can’t see past it, but I can see him, his profile and the mussed hair from sleep. This is the fourth time in a row he’s slept in my bed. Ever since that night, with the stalker…
And I’ve slept surprisingly well each night.
I used to wonder about that. What it would be like to share a bed. But he’s made it easy. Night after night, I’m growing more comfortable with his body against mine. Learning the little places he’s rough that I’m not, finding the soft skin at the base of his throat, the way his chest hair feels against my fingers.
“Yes?” West asks.
“Sir.” It’s Ernest’s voice, dignified and controlled. “I suspected you would be here.”
If there was ever a hope of keeping this quiet… I draw the comforter up to my neck.
“What’s happened?”
“Mr. Montclair is here.”
My smile freezes in place.
“Rafe? Where?”
“He’s in the kitchen as of now, where Melissa and I are distracting him with food.” There’s a short, tense pause. “When I informed him that you had not yet started your day, he wanted to go upstairs.”
“I bet he did, the bastard,” West mutters. “Keep him in the kitchen. I will be down.”
“He’s asking for his sister.”
“She will be down too.”
Shit. I hear the door close, and I race out of bed. Rafe’s here? “He didn’t tell me he was coming,” I call to West. He’s leaning against the open doorway to my bedroom.
His jaw is clenched. “He didn’t tell me either.”
“What do we do?”
“Take your time,” he tells me. “I’ll head down.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
West turns and leaves, and I wait for the sound of my door opening and closing before I jump into the shower. I hurry through the motions, skip washing my hair, and get changed into a pair of jeans and a tank top.
Classic Raphael. He’ll show up, smile, and tell us in that smooth, suave voice he likes to affect that aren’t we glad to see him?
I run a brush through my sleep-mussed hair and spread it out around my shoulders. A quick glance in the mirror will have to do. I stick my feet in a pair of mules and walk past the cat, who’s stretched out in the nook that overlooks the ocean, looking just as peaceful as I wish I was feeling right now. He still doesn’t have a name.
I hear their voices halfway to the kitchen and take a deep breath before rounding the corner.
Rafe is leaning against the kitchen counter where I usually spend my mornings. His eyes meet mine, and his handsome face breaks into a smile.
“Hey. It’s not like you to sleep in.”
I cross the space to hug him. My brother is six-foot-two, just as tall as West, but with messy black hair he inherited from our father.
“But it is like you to make an entrance,” I say and kiss his cheek. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming?”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.” His hand finds my shoulder, and he looks at me with narrowed green eyes. “You’re doing well?”
“Yes.”
“West is taking care of you?”
I can’t look at the man standing beside us. Try not to think of his face between my legs, of all the ways he’s treating me well. “Yes, he is.”
“You’re smart to stay here as much as you are,” he says. “The stalker is getting… closer. But that’s good.”
“We want him to overplay his hand,” West says. He pours himself a cup of coffee, his hair damp and the sleeves of a navy shirt messily folded up his arms. He looks the picture of athletic ease. Relaxed. Nothing to hide.
“The other night was weird,” I tell them both. “That never happened before I moved here.”
Rafe runs a hand along the stubble of his jaw. “I’ve had profilers working on the stalker’s pattern. But this guy… he doesn’t fit a lot of established archetypes out there.”
“Great,” I say. “I had to go and get the weird stalker.”
Rafe gives a surprised chuckle. “Yeah. Anything to make my life more complicated.”
“Yes.” I roll my eyes. “Because it’s your life that’s been upended, isn’t it?”
“You woke up with claws today,” he says. There’s surprise in his voice. I rarely talk to him that way.
“I’ve been sharpening them.” I walk over to the coffee machine, and West, who’s standing right beside it. He doesn’t move, and my arm is only an inch from brushing against his.
I’ve never been more aware of an inch.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I tell Rafe. “But why are you in New York?”
He sighs. “And that’s the welcome I get from dear, dear family.”
“I know you’re busy with the negotiations to buy Mather & Wilde.” I take a sip of coffee and move to stand between them. I lean against my own little slice of cabinetry, like we’re all three fighters in a battle, squaring off. “How is that going?”
“Terribly,” Rafe says in a smooth voice. “The Wilde’s have dug their heels in. I’m offering to make them millionaires and their brand a worldwide success, but they’re arguing over minutiae.”
“Probably not minutiae to them.” I blow on my coffee.
“They know you have the confidence vote with the board coming up,” West says. “Do you think they’re just waiting for the clock to run out?”
“They might be.” My brother’s face hardens, and those green eyes glitter. “But I’m not about to lose.”
“Of course you’re not,” West says. He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re here about the trip, because you hate losing, and that includes a walk-over.”
Rafe ignores his friend. He looks at me instead. “Tomorrow, Alex, James, West and I are heading out on another trip.”
“A lost weekend?”
“We haven’t called them that in years,” West says, “and I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes are steady on mine. “I told Rafe that with the stalker situation ramping up, I won’t leave the city.”
He won’t leave me.
That’s what he’s really saying.
I look down at my coffee and try, and fail, to stop from feeling the kinds of feelings that will get me hurt around West. To remember that this is only a temporary arrangement.
“How chivalrous,” Rafe says dryly. “Which means there’s only one possible solution.” He looks at me with a wide smile. “Want to go to Costa Rica for a few days?”
“Costa Rica? That’s where you’re going this time?”
“Yes. Sun, sand, sea.” He nudges me. “We’ll explore some caves, hit the seas. It’ll be good for you.”
“A trip… How long?”
“Four days.”
“Nora has things to do.” West’s arms are crossed over his chest. “You know she has the fashion showcase in a few weeks.”
“A few days off will be good for her.”
I do have work to do. I’ve been working long hours each day, sewing, draping, making patterns. But I’ve got more than half of it finished… and I have no shoots coming up.
For weeks, for months , I’ve been so afraid and focused on living life despite it all. This is an escape for a few days. Away from the stalker and from regimented schedules.
And it’s an opportunity.
West’s gaze rests heavily on me. If I don’t go, he won’t go. And Rafe so wants me to say yes. But maybe it’s not about them. Maybe it’s about me.
“This is unexpected.” I brush my hair back, collect it at the nape of my neck. “Which means the stalker won’t see it coming. He might not even realize I’ve left the country if we play our cards right.”
Rafe looks at me. “You’re thinking strategically?”
“We can set a trap.” West’s voice is low, and his eyes drift to the exposed left side of my neck. He looks away, but he moves a step closer.
“Yes,” I say. “Keep all the routines here at Fairhaven the exact same, but relax security a bit. Provide an opening. See if he takes it.”
“And if he does, we’ll catch him,” West says. “Clever girl.”
I’ve just begun to smile when Rafe laughs, and I realize what he’s just said. In front of my brother. But Rafe just walks up to the kitchen counter and looks through the bowl of pastries Melissa has left out. “That was smart,” he agrees. “We should have a meeting with the security team.”
“I’ll set it up.” West closes the distance between us with a few strides and looks over his shoulder at where Rafe has his back turned. He pushes my hair forward, pressing it against the left side of my neck.
I blink up at him.
“Hickey,” he mouths, and just as quickly takes a step away from me.
My cheeks heat up. I’ve never had a hickey in my life.
West looks like the picture of ease again, hands braced behind him on the stone counter. “We’ll take my plane,” he tells Rafe. “I’ll call the controller, see what slot times we can get.”
Rafe smiles at us both, a muffin in hand. He was the one to suggest his best friend and little sister fake date, and he’s now the one person who can’t find out what’s happening in private.
“It’ll be fun,” he says.