CHAPTER 3. Noah #2
If she only knew.
“Got it,” Maya says. “Come on, lovebirds. Follow me.”
Mom gives us one last look—practically glowing with excitement—before disappearing inside the house.
“This place is incredible,” Connor says quietly, falling into step beside me as we follow Maya toward the smallest of the three cottages.
“Yeah,” I say. “Dad goes all out for birthdays.”
“There are cooks here too,” Maya says, glancing back at us over her shoulder. “They stay in a separate building.”
I widen my eyes at Connor in exaggerated apology. He snorts softly and gives me a crooked little smile, clearly enjoying all of this far more than he should.
My stomach does an unwanted little flip. God, my mom’s right—he is fucking handsome. Which is definitely not something I should be thinking about right now. Or ever.
I’m still smiling at him when he suddenly reaches down and takes my hand.
I flinch at the contact, but this time I don’t pull away.
His fingers slide between mine, warm and calloused. He tilts his head slightly, giving me a questioning look, and mouths, Is this okay?
I nod, my cheeks burning as I try to act normal, even though every inch of skin where he’s touching me suddenly feels too aware of itself.
Jesus, apparently I’m more touch-starved than I thought.
The East Cottage is just as beautiful inside as it is outside.
The first floor is one open space, with a small kitchen area, a dining table, and a living room with comfortable-looking couches arranged around a stone fireplace.
The walls are white, which makes the whole place feel airy and bright, and the floors are wide pine planks worn smooth with age.
Connor lets out a low whistle.
“Too much?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “Just trying to figure out how many forks I’m expected to use at dinner.”
That makes me grin.
The stairs lead up to a short hallway with two doors. Maya pushes open the right one and gestures for us to go in.
“Ta-da,” she says. “Home sweet home for the weekend.”
The room is beautiful in that understated, expensive way that only truly wealthy people seem to master.
White walls, a cathedral ceiling with exposed beams, and a whole wall of windows overlooking the lake.
Built-in bookshelves line one wall, filled with well-worn hardcovers and a few scattered decorative objects.
The king-size bed dominates the space, covered in crisp white linens and more pillows than any two people could possibly need.
“Bathroom’s through there,” Maya says, pointing to a door on the far wall. “I’ll leave you guys to get settled. Come over to the Main Cottage when you’re ready for lunch.”
She gives me a look I can’t quite interpret—something between curiosity and amusement—before backing out of the room and pulling the door closed behind her.
The second she’s gone, Connor lets go of my hand, and I immediately miss the contact. The skin where his fingers touched mine still tingles, and I flex my hand automatically.
Connor sets our bags on the floor near the closet and walks to the window, his back to me.
“This place is really nice,” he says, gazing out at the lake.
I let out a hollow laugh, suddenly self-conscious. The East Cottage alone probably costs more per night than either of us pays in rent for a month.
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Let me guess, you want to know why I live in that shithole back home if my parents are rich?”
Connor turns around, one eyebrow raised, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not a shithole,” he says. “And you don’t owe me any explanation.”
My face heats. Of course I don’t. Connor wouldn’t have asked anyway—he’s not the type to pry. Meanwhile I apparently can’t stop word-vomiting all my insecurities at him.
“Right,” I say, looking away. “Sorry. Force of habit. People usually ask.”
Connor doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him watching me.
“I turned down their money,” I explain anyway. “After college. Wanted to make it on my own. Turns out that’s way harder than I expected. But backing out now would be stupid and kind of pathetic, so I make it work.”
I expect him to say how privileged I am to even have that choice—to figure it all out while knowing I can never truly fail, because I’ll always have the safety net of my parents. But he simply says, “Makes sense,” and nods, like my explanation is enough for him.
Something in my chest loosens a fraction. I move toward the bed, running my hand over the pristine white duvet. If Connor’s judging me, he’s doing a great job hiding it.
“So,” I say, eager to change the subject. “Apparently Rick and Cassidy are staying in this cottage with us.”
“They are?”
“Yup. It’s a fucking disaster,” I blurt, the anxiety creeping back in.
“What was my mom thinking? I’m going to be trapped in the same building with my ex-boyfriend and his perfect new girlfriend.
We’ll run into them in the hallway, share a kitchen, probably bump into each other in the middle of the night trying to get a glass of water.
” I drag a hand through my hair. “God, it’s going to be awkward. ”
“Hope the walls are soundproof,” Connor says mildly.
My head snaps up. “What?”
“The walls,” he repeats. “Between the bedrooms.”
The implications hit me all at once. Rick and Cassidy. In bed. Together. Having sex.
“Oh God,” I groan, flopping backward onto the mattress with my hands covering my face. “I didn’t even think about that. That’s—Jesus. No. I don’t want to hear them. I don’t want to think about them.”
The bed dips as Connor sits on the edge. “I was kidding,” he says.
“But you’re right. What if we can hear everything?” I press my palms harder against my eyes. “I can’t believe my mom did this to me.”
“She doesn’t know he’s your ex,” Connor reminds me.
“Right. But still.”
After a beat, Connor says, “I like your mom.” There’s a smile in his voice. “She seems nice.”
I drop my hands and look at him skeptically. “You just like her because she’s already obsessed with you.”
Connor smirks. “Can’t blame her.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling now too. “Don’t let it go to your head. You just happen to look like a sexy brooding love interest from one of her favorite novels.”
My cheeks heat the second the words leave my mouth, because apparently I just called him sexy.
Connor’s mouth curves slowly. “Sexy, huh?”
I groan, my face completely on fire now. “For a middle-aged woman? Sure.”
Connor snorts, shaking his head with a hint of mock annoyance.
For a second, neither of us says anything. We just look at each other, both still smiling.
Then Connor suddenly stands and moves toward his suitcase. In one fluid motion, he grabs the hem of his T-shirt and pulls it over his head, casually tossing it onto the chair by the window.
My brain short-circuits.
He stands there half-naked, his back to me, completely unself-conscious.
The muscles in his shoulders and back shift as he unzips his bag, the black and gray tattoos rippling with the movement.
His body looks carved—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, muscles defined but not bulky.
The kind of body that makes you think of athletes, not gym rats.
I stare for way too long before I realize what I’m doing and quickly look away, heat spreading down my neck.
“I’m going to grab a quick shower,” Connor says, turning around. “Long drive.”
I make the mistake of looking at him again. The front view is even worse—or better, depending on your perspective. I mean, I saw him shirtless two days ago, during my drunk late-night visit to his apartment, but seeing him now, while I’m fully sober, is something else.
His chest is broad, his pecs defined. The little black dachshund tattoo is still there, right over his heart, and my eyes catch on it for a second before drifting lower, following the lines of his stomach to the sharp V of muscle disappearing into his jeans.
There’s a faint trail of hair running down from his navel.
I catch sight of that tattoo dipping below his waistline again and wonder what the hell it actually is.
A dragon tail? The stem of a flower? An arrow?
“Okay?” Connor says, catching my gaze.
I jerk my eyes up so fast they almost sting.
“Sure,” I manage to choke out, suddenly very interested in the view from the window. “Go ahead.”
Connor nods, grabbing his toiletry bag and a clean T-shirt before disappearing into the bathroom. The door clicks shut behind him.
God, did he have to look like that underneath his clothes? It’s not fair.
And did I really have to stare at him like an idiot?
A second later, I hear the water turn on, and my mind instantly conjures an image of Connor standing under the spray, water running down his chest, over the tattoos, following the lines of his—
Nope. Not going there.
I need to get a grip. I have actual problems to deal with—like the fact that in a matter of hours I’m going to come face-to-face with Rick for the first time since he broke my heart. Compared to that emotional landmine, being weirdly attracted to Connor should be the least of my problems.
And yet my pulse still won’t calm the fuck down.
I exhale slowly and pull a pillow over my face.