Chapter 29 #2
The truth is, I like how his hand feels in mine and mine in his. I like taking care of him. I like seeing him vulnerable and human, without the armor of tailored suits and cutting remarks. To be frank, I like seeing him in nothing at all.
I like it too much.
At 3:47 a.m., my alarm buzzes again. This time, Noah’s already stirring when I reach for him.
“I know, I know,” he mumbles with his eyes still closed. “Concussion check.”
The routine is easier this time—flashlight, pupil response, basic questions. His answers are clearer, more focused. The ibuprofen seems to have helped with the pain too, because he’s not wincing as much when he moves.
“You’re getting better,” I whisper as I settle back down.
“Told you, I just needed sleep.” His voice is soft in the darkness. “You don’t have to keep checking. I’m fine. I’ve done this before.”
“Two more times,” I insist. “Then I’ll let you sleep as much as you want.”
He makes a noncommittal sound, but his hand finds mine under the covers once again. This time I’m sure it’s intentional—the way his thumb slowly traces across my knuckles.
“Bea?” His voice is barely audible. “I’m sorry. For tonight. For all of it.”
I turn my head to look at him in the dim light filtering through my window. His dark eyes are open and trained on me.
“You don’t need to apologize,” I whisper back. “I’m the one who followed you. I’m the one who distracted you.”
“You could have gotten hurt.” His hand tightens around mine.
“But I didn’t,” I say, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I’m okay. You got hurt.”
He’s quiet for a long moment while his thumb moves against my knuckles in that hypnotic pattern that knocks all common sense out of my head. Lying here in the dark with our hands intertwined and voices barely above a whisper makes my chest tight with hope I haven’t felt in a long time.
“Why did you follow me?” he asks finally. I was waiting for him to ask again; he only got the start of the truth at the warehouse before we were interrupted.
I could lie, hoping he doesn’t remember everything I blurted out back there.
I could give him some professional excuse about being concerned for his well-being as his assistant.
But the darkness around us, the vulnerability in his voice, and his tough skin caressing my hand makes me want to tell the truth, to launch our relationship straight into the stratosphere.
Because there’s no way I can ever look at his face the same after today without imagining his bare chest covered in sweat and that predatory stance he took in the ring.
“I was jealous,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can think too much of them.
His thumb stops moving. “Jealous?”
My face burns in the darkness. “Yes. Of Rebecca. Of your satisfied face.”
“Satisfied face?”
I hear a smile in his voice, but instead of making me shy, it makes me brave.
“Yes. You looked so happy when you got to work the other morning, and again after you left work to go someplace and didn’t come back for hours.
” My voice picks up strength. “And then this woman Rebecca called, talking about what you’d forgotten.
I thought you’d spent the night with her.
I guess I wanted to catch you red-handed. Or rather, pants-dropped.”
A low chuckle rumbles from his chest. “And what about the sex club thing?”
I cover my face and groan. “You remember that?”
“Till the day I die,” he chuckles.
Groaning louder, I pull the cover over my face. “We will never speak of that again.”
He laughs with a deep chest laugh that makes him groan too; his ribs probably hurt even more now.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. Bea?” His voice is soft and gentle. “Rebecca’s not what you think.”
“I’ve figured that by now. Your super long lunch was a tangle, just not between the sheets,” I say, feeling rather stupid. “But this morning, when you came in looking so cheerful, I thought—”
“Satisfied. Now cheerful.” His voice carries a note of amusement. “Maybe I should go back to the ring tomorrow.”
“No freaking way, Noah King!” I cry out, pushing up on my elbow and pointing my finger at him. “Don’t you dare go back to that place.”
He lets out another chuckle, but softer this time. “You are very bossy.”
“I know, but you like that.” That gets a low hmm from him. “So what did you forget at Rebecca’s place?” I didn’t want to ask because he’s not a member of a sex club as it turns out, but she said ‘at her place,’ and I don’t think I can sleep another night without knowing what she meant.
“Rebecca is a bookie for the fight club,” he replies without hesitation, “and she called me because I forgot the money.”
“You won?”
“Of course I did.” He sounds almost offended.
“What do you even need the money for?”
“I don’t.” He’s quiet. “But it’s part of the deal. Not everyone is there to relieve the pressure. Some use it for a quick buck. Some like the feel of a bet.”
“And you?”
He’s silent for a bit before finally replying. “I like the pain. It gives me control.”
This doesn’t make me feel any better. It’s not a healthy habit to have.
He doesn’t let me wallow in my doubts because his next words surprise me. “I don’t keep the money though.”
“What do you do with it? Give it to the poor?” I half joke.
“Yeah.” He sounds almost shy. “I double it to Maeve’s charity; they can always use the extra cash.” His voice drops to nearly a whisper. “And it justifies my actions a little.”
Now that makes sense. He does something bad and then tries to make up for it by doing something better.
“Then why were you mad when she called? I thought it was because you didn’t want your lover calling you at work. You know, after the Amanda disaster.”
“Because she called me at work. Every single one of us there prefers to keep our lives separate from the ring.” The light from the window illuminates a twitching muscle under his stubble.
“She should know better than to do that. The majority of us fight to relieve stress or fight our internal demons, and none of us wants that to follow us back to our lives. It defeats the purpose.”
His jaw sets after he finishes talking, and I let us lie in silence, each in our own thoughts.
“Why do you go there?” I whisper. “I’ve been working for you for weeks and haven’t noticed any of this before.”
“I don’t. I didn’t.” He lets out a tiny huff of air, as if he wants to laugh but can’t find the humor in it.
“I used to be a regular there but stopped a few months ago when it started interfering with my work.” His jaw twitches as he stares at the ceiling, most likely trying to teleport himself from this conversation.
I scoot a little closer so I can hear him better, even though a few more inches and I’d have to climb on top of him. Which doesn’t sound like a bad idea if I’m being honest with myself.
“Why did you start? I mean, again. Why did you start again?”
He sighs, a long, ragged sound, before he finally turns his head to meet my eyes. His are so dark in the low light, they’re nearly black, and it’s hard to get a read on him. “I was trying to forget.”
“Forget what?” I whisper as my heart hammers in my chest.
He doesn’t answer for so long that I think he might have fallen asleep again. The soft rhythm of his breathing fills the silence between us. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough with the heavy admission.
“You.”
“Me?” My voice sounds small and very uncertain.
Noah’s thumb resumes its gentle path across my knuckles, and I shift my weight on my elbow to see his face better.
“That conversation in the conference room.” He waits for me to nod before resuming. “The way you looked at me when I talked about my buildings. It was rather distracting.”
“So you went to get punched because you didn’t like how I was looking at you?” I can’t help the edge of sarcasm that creeps into my voice, even as my heart does somersaults. This is not the answer I was expecting.
“I did like it,” he whispers back.
“Oh.” That’s all I manage to croak.
“Yeah. Fighting usually helps if I need to forget something,” he admits. “Physical pain is distraction. It’s easier to deal with…” He trails off, leaving the thought unfinished.
“Than what?” I press, needing to hear him say it.
His hand tightens around mine. “Than wanting something I shouldn’t want.”
The air between us becomes charged with the possibility of something that felt impossible before. I hold my breath, afraid that any movement might close this new door.
“What if,” I begin, my voice barely audible even in the quiet room, “you did? Want it, I mean.”
His hand tightens around mine, and I hear his breath catch. “It would complicate everything.”
“Things are already complicated,” I whisper, shifting slightly to face him better in the darkness because he’s refusing to look at me. His profile is outlined by the faint glow from the streetlight outside my window, all sharp angles and dark shadows.
“You’re my assistant,” he says, but there’s no real conviction in his voice.
“I know.”
He swallows. “You’re my sister-in-law’s sister.”
“I know that too.”
Noah turns his head to finally look at me, and even in the dim light, I can see the intensity in his eyes. “I’m not good for you, Bea. You’ve seen what I do—who I am when no one’s looking.”
“I’ve seen more of you tonight than in all the weeks I’ve worked for you,” I admit. “And I’m still here.”
His thumb traces slow circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. “You should be running in the opposite direction.”
“Probably,” I agree and add on a whisper, “But I’m still here.”
My heart is pounding so hard I’m surprised Noah can’t hear it in the quiet darkness of my tiny apartment. His eyes search mine, and there’s something vulnerable in his gaze—something raw and unguarded that makes me feel brave.
“Why?” he asks huskily.
“I think I rather like the man I’ve come to know,” I admit, because it’s the truth.
I don’t know why or when, but at some point my island hatred toward him shifted into something—something dangerous and exhilarating.
“I probably should hate you though. For the island and for the way you treated me in the past weeks.”
“You probably should,” he agrees, his thumb still tracing patterns on my skin that makes it hard to think straight.
“You’re arrogant and demanding and impossible most of the time.”
His lips quirk into something close to a smile. “Keep going. You’re making a compelling case.”
I can’t help but smile back, even as I continue. “You make my life hell on a daily basis. You’re stubborn and controlling and—”
“And yet,” he interrupts softly, “you followed me tonight.”
The reminder makes heat crawl up my neck. “I was curious.”
“Curious,” he repeats, testing the word in his mouth. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how close we are, of the warmth of his body radiating through the thin cotton of my sheets. My mouth feels dry, and I’m acutely aware of every point where our bodies are almost touching—his knee brushing mine, the way his chest rises and falls just inches away.
“What would you call it?” I whisper back, my voice barely audible.
Noah’s eyes drop to my lips for just a moment before meeting mine again. “Dangerous. You are very dangerous, Beatrice Wrong.”