Chapter 15
Rika
I stare at my phone for the seventeenth time this hour.
Yes, I'm counting. Because that's what rational, well-adjusted adults do at eleven forty-seven at night when they can't sleep because they're obsessing over their children's incredibly hot nanny who also happens to be the best lover they've ever had.
I groan and press my palms against my eyes, willing my brain to shut up and let me sleep.
It doesn't work.
The house is dark and quiet around me, filled with familiar nighttime sounds, the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the occasional hoot of an owl outside, the soft creak of old wood settling.
My bedroom feels too big and too empty, the sheets cool against my bare legs where my oversized t-shirt has ridden up.
It's one of my old college t-shirts, actually. One of the few things I have from my life before Mitchell Lark. It's also damned comfortable and I love it.
I roll onto my side, then my back, then my other side. My wings rustle against the mattress with each movement, adding to my agitation.
This is ridiculous. I'm a grown woman. A business owner. A mother of two. I should not be lying here in the dark, thinking about Noah Mercer's hands on my body, his mouth between my thighs, the way he looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Except I am thinking about it. I can't stop thinking about it.
It was the best sex of my life, hands down. Not even close. Mitchell never—
Nope. Not going there. Not comparing. That's not fair to anyone, least of all myself.
But the truth is undeniable: what happened between Noah and me in this very bed was transcendent. Earth-shattering. The kind of pleasure I didn't even know existed outside of smutty romance novels.
And then I spent two days treating him like the help.
Shame burns hot in my chest, and I have no idea what to do about it. I've been a complete chickenshit, shutting Noah out like that. The truth is I panicked. Because Mitchell's cruel words burrowed under my skin like splinters, and I couldn't figure out how to pull them free.
Frigid. Ice queen. No man would want you unless you paid him.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory of Mitchell's voice, dripping with contempt as he stood in my driveway and eviscerated me in front of Noah and my children.
The worst part? Some pathetic, broken part of me believes him.
Not the rational part. The rational part knows Mitchell Lark is a vindictive asshole who cheated on me with a string of women and then with my best friend. Then had the audacity to make it my fault. The rational part knows I deserve better.
But there's another part, smaller, quieter, more insidious, that whispers in my ear that maybe he's right. Maybe I am cold. Maybe I am too much work. Maybe Noah will realize it soon enough and leave just like Mitchell did.
I grab my phone again, the screen brightness making me wince in the darkness. My thumb hovers over Noah's contact name.
I should apologize, at least. Especially after what he did for Zoe this afternoon. It was like a dam breaking and I was finally able to sit down and talk with my daughter openheartedly.
She told me everything that was on her mind, all her pain and all her anger. And I just listened. At the end of the night, she hugged me, told me she loved me, and went to bed. She looked a hundred pounds lighter as she disappeared into her room after our talk.
Noah deserves an apology, if only because he's the only adult who was able to reach her.
But what if he doesn't want to hear from me? What if I've already ruined everything?
My heart hammers against my ribs as I type out a message, then delete it. I type another, then delete that one too.
Finally, I force myself to just send something before I can overthink it into oblivion.
Me: Are you awake? I wanted to apologize for how I've been acting.
I immediately regret it. It sounds so stiff and formal, like I'm writing a business email instead of reaching out to the man who made me come so hard I saw stars.
Before I can send a follow-up, three dots appear.
My breath catches.
Noah: I'm awake. And you don't need to apologize, but I'm listening if you want to talk.
Of course Noah would say something like that. The man is too good to be true. Patient and kind and steady in a way that makes a tiny part of me ache to lean on him a little.
I type and delete several responses before settling on, well, the truth.
Me: I panicked. After Mitchell showed up, after what he said… I didn't know how to react. I was ashamed and scared and I took it out on you by shutting you out. I'm sorry.
The response comes quickly.
Noah: Rika, you don't have anything to be ashamed of. Mitchell is a piece of shit who managed to lose the most amazing woman in the world. None of what he said is true.
Tears prick my eyes. I blink them back, throat tight.
Then another message appears.
Noah: I know the kids come first. I'm not asking for anything you can't give. But I need you to know I want a real chance when you're ready. No pressure. Just… when you're ready.
I stare at the screen, my vision blurring. The relief is so intense it's almost painful.
My fingers shake as I type.
Me: What if I'm ready now?
Long pause. My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.
Noah: Are you sure?
I bite my lower lip, desire pooling hot and insistent in my belly.
Me: I've been thinking about the last time you were in my room. So much that I can't sleep.
Three dots. Then…
Noah: I can help you with that.
Heat floods my body, making my wings flutter against the mattress. My fingers shake as I type.
Me: How do you propose to help me?
Noah's reply is immediate.
Noah: Why don't you come down here so I can show you?
Oh.
Oh.
I sit up so fast my head spins, my pulse racing. This is insane. The kids are right down the hall. It's almost midnight. I should be a responsible adult and go to sleep.
Instead, I'm already sliding out of bed, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.
I pause at my bedroom door, listening. The house is totally quiet. I tiptoe down the hall to Matthew's room first.
The door is slightly ajar, and I peek inside.
Matthew is sprawled across his bed like a starfish, Mr. Gears clutched to his chest, his pale-green wings spread out beneath him.
His mouth is slightly open, soft snores escaping in a rhythmic pattern.
The robot nightlight casts everything in a soft green glow.
I smile despite my nerves. My sweet boy.
Moving to Zoe's room, I carefully open the door, mindful of the squeaky hinge. Zoe is curled on her side facing the wall, her sapphire hair spread across her pillow like silk. Her breathing is deep and even, her wings tucked close against her back.
Satisfied that both kids are deeply asleep, I head downstairs.
The third step from the top creaks, and I step over it carefully. The kitchen is bathed in moonlight streaming through the window, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow.
My hands shake as I reach for the back door.
Am I really doing this?
I feel like a teenager sneaking out, my heart racing with excitement and nerves. There's a thrill in the transgression of it, but underneath runs a deeper current of need.
I want this. I want him.
And for once, I'm going to let myself have what I want.
The night air is cool against my bare legs as I step outside.
The path to Noah's basement apartment is short but it feels like miles.
Stars are visible overhead, and crickets fill the air with their song.
A car passes on the distant main road, headlights sweeping across the trees, nearly giving me a heart attack.
I'm about to knock when the door swings open.
Noah stands there, backlit by the warm glow of his apartment, and the sight of him steals my breath.
He's shirtless, wearing only a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants. His muscular chest is sprinkled with dark hair and the V down his hips attracts my gaze like a magnet. His dark hair is mussed like he's been running his hands through it, and his hazel eyes are dark and intense as they lock on mine.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
Then Noah's gaze drops, traveling slowly over my oversized t-shirt, my bare legs, my sock-covered feet. When his eyes return to my face, the heat in them makes my knees weak.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathes, his voice rough like gravel and honey.
"You're not bad yourself," I manage, suddenly feeling shy and exposed under his gaze.
Noah doesn't say anything else. He reaches out, his large hand cupping the back of my neck, and pulls me inside.
The door closes behind me, and then his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is hungry, desperate, all the pent-up longing from the last two days pouring out in the press of lips and tongues. I melt into him, my hands roaming over his chest and shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath warm skin.
Heat pools between my legs and I know I'm already wet for him.
He tastes like mint toothpaste and his stubble scratches against my chin and cheeks. I love every bit of it. Every nerve ending in my body lights up as his chest presses against mine, hot and solid.
Noah breaks the kiss, both of us breathing hard, and presses his forehead against mine. His hands frame my face, thumbs stroking over my cheekbones.
"I can't think of anything but you," he says, his voice low and intense.
"You've been all I can think about. The way you taste, the sounds you make, the feel of you—" He breaks off with a groan and presses his sizable erection against the soft flesh of my stomach.
"I've never felt this strongly about anyone before. "
My breath catches. The raw honesty in his voice makes something inside my chest expand until it's almost painful.
"Noah—" I start, but he cuts me off with another kiss, harder and more demanding.