Chapter 5
Noah
I’m half an hour late getting to the party because my Da rang me, and I couldn’t exactly tell the old man to piss off.
He wanted to talk about the match.
About scrums.
About the first time I hooked a ball clean out of a pile of bodies when I was fifteen, and he swore right then I’d go pro.
It’s his way of saying he’s proud.
So yeah, I stayed on the phone longer than I meant to.
But now I’m late.
And I’m bloody well panicking.
Because Chiara isn’t exactly the type to linger at team parties.
She shows up, says hello, makes polite conversation, and slips out the door before half the lads have finished their first beer.
Which means if I missed my shot tonight?
I might actually lose my mind.
“Yo, Walker!”
Someone claps my shoulder as I step into the room.
I nod and wave without even looking at who it is.
Not stopping.
Not tonight.
Normally I’d hang around, talk shop, maybe let some sponsor buy me a drink and listen to them ask what a hooker does for the twentieth time.
But now?
Now, I’m on the hunt for far better company than some old bloke wanting to debate scrum technique.
Come on, Chiara.
Where are you, Love?
The room is packed. Music pounding, people laughing, screens replaying highlights from the match.
I scan the crowd once.
Twice.
And then—there she is.
My breath leaves my lungs.
She’s standing near the bar.
And Christ.
She looks gorgeous.
Little black dress.
Tiny flowers scattered across it.
The fabric hugs her curves like it was bloody designed to torture me.
Cinched tight at the waist.
Emphasizing those incredible hips.
And that arse—sweet merciful hell.
I’ve thought about that arse more times than I care to admit.
Fuck. Me.
But then something registers.
She’s stiff.
Not relaxed.
Not laughing.
Her posture’s tight, shoulders drawn in.
And then I see him.
Some pasty little maggot leaning too close, talking at her while she frowns.
Every instinct in my body goes cold.
Hell.
Fucking.
No.
I start moving before I even realize it.
Long strides cutting through the crowd.
Because there’s a line in my world.
And this bloke just stepped right over it.
Then he does the worst possible thing.
He grabs her.
Closes his greasy little hand around her wrist when she tries to step away.
And that’s it.
I’m done being polite.
I’m done standing back.
“Get your hands off the lady, bucko.”
My voice cuts through the music like a blade.
He barely has time to blink before I’ve got a fist in his collar and lift him clean off the bloody floor.
“Or I’ll bloody fucking remove them.”
The room goes quiet around us.
The bloke sputters, feet kicking uselessly.
“Hey—hey man—”
“Oy, we got a problem here?”
Coach Dane appears beside us, his voice calm but dangerous.
I nod once without turning my head.
“Bucko here likes grabbing women when they say no,” I growl. “Thought I’d explain we don’t like that sort of thing around here.”
Dane’s eyes narrow.
“Does he now?”
He cracks his knuckles slowly.
“Well then. Hand him over. I’ll see to it security sets him to rights.”
I release the man.
Dane grabs the back of his shirt like he weighs nothing and drags him toward the door while the bloke starts babbling apologies.
The music slowly creeps back.
Conversation resumes.
But my body’s still buzzing with adrenaline.
I turn.
Chiara is standing exactly where I left her.
Brown eyes wide.
Lips parted.
For a second, I’m not sure if she’s scared.
Or stunned.
Or furious.
Or worse, hurt.
My chest tightens.
“Are you okay, Love? You hurt?”
She doesn’t answer.
Just stares at me.
“Chiara?” I say more softly.
“Love? Talk to me.”
She blinks.
“Oh—um, yeah, no, uh, I’m fine.”
She shakes her head like she’s waking up.
“I’m fine,” she repeats the last and relief hits me so hard my knees almost give out.
“Are you sure? Let me see your wrist.”
It’s bullheaded, but I can’t help it.
It’s like sane Noah is taking a backseat to super obsessed Noah—and this guy?
This guy needs to make sure she’s safe. Unharmed. Whole.
I step closer because the music is loud—and I really want to be close to her.
I bend my head and speak right by her ear.
“No bruises that I can see, but can you move your wrist alright?”
She nods and makes a circle with her wrist.
Then she glances toward the crowd.
Back to me.
I take a deep breath and my eyes roll back.
She smells so good.
Like lemon drops and sugar.
I watch, riveted, as she licks her lips. Then she leans her head back and says the one thing I’ve been hoping for all bloody night.
“Do you, um, want to get out of here?”
For a moment, I just stare at her.
Because holy hell.
It feels like every dream I’ve had about this woman just stepped straight into reality.
I swallow hard.
Trying not to grin like an idiot.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “Yeah, Love, I’d like that very much.”