Chapter Eleven
Elsie
The ride home is silent.
Noah looks over at me a few times like he wants to say something as he escorts me to my door, but he stops himself at the last minute every time.
I'm not sure what to say.
I'm not even sure why I froze in the restaurant. I think, maybe, it's because no one has ever said anything like that to me before, at least, not how he did. He said I was beautiful like he meant it, like it was killing him not to admit just how wild he is for me.
Part of me wanted to climb over the table into his lap right then and there. Part of me panicked a little, too. It's probably ridiculous, but there was something in the way he was looking at me that I've never seen before. I want him to keep looking at me like that forever.
But I'm a little terrified that we'll move too fast and screw it all up.
I push the key into the lock and turn it when we reach my porch.
And then I spin around to face him.
"Did you mean it?" I ask, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.
"What?" he blinks at me, caught off guard by the question.
"Did you…never mind," I sigh, turning back to the front door.
"Yeah," he finally whispers, "I meant it, Dimples. You're fucking gorgeous." He blows out a breath. "You completely captivate me. You have since the moment we met. I should have told you weeks ago."
"A-And the rest of it?"
"Yeah, I meant that too." He pauses for a moment. "Maybe that makes me an asshole, but it's the truth. I can't fucking stop watching you. If you're home, it's like I have to see you. I have to look at you, just to remind myself that you're real. I want you every goddamn minute of the day."
My heart pounds like a drum, beating wildly against my ribcage. I want to tell him that I watch him too, that I feel the same way, but the words won't form. They're stuck in my throat, choking me.
Why can't I talk? Why can't I tell him that I'm in love with him? That I watch him the same damn way he watches me? That stalking him through the window has become my favorite hobby?
Because no words have ever mattered more, that's why.
"Goodnight, Dimples," he sighs behind me.
What?
He's leaving?
I turn to look at him, but he's already jogging down the steps, his head lowered.
"Goodnight, Noah." My voice cracks as I slip through the front door, confused and disappointed, my heart aching in ways that don't even make sense to me.
I wanted him to stay.
I wanted my dress on the floor and his hands on my body.
Why didn't I open my mouth and tell him that?
God, I'm such an idiot.
"What am I doing?" I groan as the door closes with a quiet click behind me. I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping utter darkness will bring a moment of clarity or sanity, but it doesn't.
Blood rushes through my veins too wildly to be slowed, desire pulsing through me with all the force of a battering ram. I want him. Hell, I've wanted him since he knocked on my door the very first time.
What woman wouldn't want him? He's pure sex on legs, with a devilish smile and the kind of dedication that forges dynasties.
So why the hell am I standing here while he's going home, probably thinking he did something wrong?
He didn't. God, he did absolutely everything right.
Christ, you're beautiful, Elsie.
The look in his eye when that fierce whisper tumbled from his lips…no one has ever looked at me with such untamed need before. That look stripped me bare, and somehow made me feel safe and seen at the same damn time.
So why the hell am I standing here now?
Because I'm a coward, that's why. A big, fat coward. Because… because the thought of telling him that I'm in love with him and not hearing him say it back feels a little like a wrecking ball going to work inside me.
But the way he looked at me tonight. The way he said those words, as if not saying them was torturing him…
I spin around, ripping the door open.
"Noa—" His name dies on my lips when I catch sight of him standing on the porch, one hand clutched in his hair like he's ready to rip it out by the roots.
He's breathing like he just ran the block twice in the ninety seconds I've been debating with myself.
"Noa–"
"I didn't mean it the way it came out."
He didn't mean it.
The devastation is immediate and crushing, mangling my heart. Tears spring to my eyes. I suck in a breath to fight them back.
"It's fine," I mumble.
"Elsie—" His face falls. "Elsie, I—"
Here it comes, I think, the thought drenched in bitterness. The "you're a great friend, but" speech. I don't want to stand here and listen to it, not from him. Not tonight.
"It's fine," I say again, trying to muster up a smile or a laugh.
So he called me beautiful and said he watches me.
So what? Doesn't mean he's head over heels for me.
"You don't owe me an explanation. We can just be friends.
" I turn toward the door, ready to flee before he sees the tears and realizes that I'm lying my ass off.
We can't be just friends. I won't survive it.
"Fuck that. We're not friends," he growls.
I spin toward him again, hope and devastation crashing together in the center of my chest. "Wha—?"
"I've been falling in love with you for four fucking weeks, Dimples," he whispers, his voice as ragged as it was back in the restaurant.
The wrecked, haunted expression on his face burns through me.
"Tell me you don't feel the same way. Tell me that you feel nothing for me, and I swear I'll drop this if that's what you want.
But I didn't just say any of that to get you to sleep with me tonight.
Just…tell me you don't feel the same way. Please."
Oh, dear Lord.
My heart flips in my chest, relief filling my lungs so full they feel like they're going to burst. Or maybe that's my heart threatening to explode with happiness.
Noah Kirk is in love with me.
"Noah," I whisper, "I can't tell you that. I—"
He takes two quick steps toward me, and then his mouth is on mine, cutting me off before I can even finish.
I gasp as he presses himself flush against me, his hard muscles molding to my softer curves. I cling to him, letting him push me back against the wall and wedge his knee between my legs.
My mind spins as his lips work against mine.
He kisses me hard, as if desperation drives him.
The feel of his tongue flicking at mine shoots steam through my veins, heating me from the inside out.
I kiss him back just as desperately, my hands tangling in his hair, tugging, trying to pull him closer.
I need him closer.
He takes control of the kiss then, delving his fingers into my hair to angle my head.
The bobby pins in my hair catch for a moment before he tugs them free.
I don't even hear them hit the wood of my porch.
I'm too focused on him, on the growl rumbling deep in his throat and the way his heart hammers against my breasts.
The gun on his hip digs into me, but I don't care. The way he feels against me is heaven. I'm not asking him to move. His hands on my body are hard on soft, like silk sliding against marble. Only better. Warmer. Lord, so much warmer.
His stubble scratches my face as his tongue explores, curling around mine and pulling it into his mouth before he presses past my lips again.
My heart thunders in my chest, a moan breaking from somewhere deep inside.
"I know, baby," he whispers against my mouth, half ragged groan, half choked cry. "I know."
Does he, though? Can he understand the inferno raging through me because of him? It blazes so hot it hurts. But it still isn't hot enough. And he still isn't close enough.
For four weeks, he's teased me, flirted with me, driven me wild. For four weeks, I've silently prayed for him to fall for me. And now, to hear him say he feels it too? That he's in love with me? The intensity of those words frightens me and sets me ablaze at the same damn time.
"Christ, it hurts," he groans, pressing himself harder against me, making clear exactly what he means.
His dick feels like solid rock against my belly.
"I fucking hurt for you, Dimples." He pulls back a little, burying his face in my neck.
His mouth goes to work against the sensitive skin there, biting and sucking as if he wants to eat me alive.
"Noah, please." I don't know what I'm asking for, only that I need it from him. Need more. Before him, I didn't know that it could be like this. That kissing could make me feel shattered like this, like a fine web of crystal ready to crack at the slightest movement.
"Four fucking weeks, baby," he mutters into my skin, his body pressing and grinding against mine.
"Do you know"—he sinks his teeth into my neck again, biting gently, then soothes the skin with a wicked flick of his tongue—"how badly I've wanted you?
" He pulls my earlobe into his mouth, sucking before he pulls back. "How wild you've made me?"
I shake my head. I haven't known that, either.
"I want to eat you alive, sweetness."
"Oh God," I moan, another burst of heat blazing through me at the look in his eyes.
"It's not just sex, either. Christ." He draws a ragged breath, his body still moving against mine, like he can't stop grinding against me, tugging his fingers through my hair, or kissing my neck, my throat, and my collarbones.
"You know that, right? Tell me you know that.
" His voice is desperate, torn, as shattered as I feel.
I can't find words through the haze in my mind. They won't form. I nod instead, a wordless sob of need breaking from my lips. I hope that suffices, tells him everything he needs to know. Of course this isn't just sex to him. How could I ever think it was?
Noah isn't like that. He doesn't serial-date half the women of Chicago.
Frankly, I wouldn't care if he did because he's more than his sexual history, and I won't reduce him to that like it defines his worth.
He's a good, honest man. He has integrity, compassion, and dreams. And good God, if he doesn't make love to me soon, I'm going to explode.
A relieved sigh bursts from his lips.
He leans his forehead against mine, his body stilling for a moment, as if whatever he feels rips through him, leaving him unable to even breathe.
The stillness lasts only an instant, then he's back.
His lips work against mine again, more gently than before, but only just. His tongue dips and swirls, tangling with mine in a sinuous dance. He tastes like beer and chocolate.
Untangling one hand from my hair, he searches beneath the riotous mess for the zipper of my dress. His mouth never stops working with mine. His hips never stop moving against mine.
"Noah. Noah, wait." I push against him. "Noah, stop."
He freezes immediately, his eyes opening, his gaze searching mine in the shadows. "What's wrong, baby?" He looks nervous, as if he fears my answer. And grumpy, as if I've taken away his favorite toy.
"We're outside, Noah."
"What?" Confusion clouds his expression.
"We're outside. On my porch."
He glances around. "Oh. Shit."
"Yeah." I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself before I say to hell with it and let him strip me right here and give our neighbors a show. Old Mr. Thorne would keel over in horror.
It'd almost be worth it. Almost. But I kind of want to get laid tonight, not end up in jail.
"Inside, Dimples. Now," Noah barks.