The Bachelor's Promise (Bachelor Auction) (11 page)

Dinner. She’d cooked dinner for him.

Cautiously, as if afraid to discover what the pot contained, he lifted the lid. Cabbage. The second, macaroni and cheese. And the foil-covered pan held a perfect meat loaf. Even cold, the mouthwatering scent lingered. This had been his favorite meal once upon a time. And Noelle had remembered.

With utmost care, he realigned the aluminum and stared down at the dishes, bemused. When was the last time someone had prepared food for him? Not chefs in restaurants or caterers. But a real, honest-to-God, home-cooked meal? Years.

And he’d shown his appreciation by not showing up to eat it.

Without making a conscious decision, he pivoted and retraced his steps through the penthouse. He didn’t stop until he stood in front of Noelle’s closed bedroom door and knocked. Light spilled out from under her door, so she probably hadn’t gone to bed yet. He would thank her then continue on to the library for that drink and space.

“Come in,” came the muffled reply.

Drink and space. Drink and space. Drink and…

Jesus Christ
.

He slammed to a halt, his body going motionless. Everything except his cock. It throbbed like a goddamned toothache.

She was trying to kill him.

Or drive him insane with lust.

What other reason would she allow him into her room when she sat in that chair wearing nothing but those thigh-and-tattoo-baring shorts and a shirt that in no fucking way concealed the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra?

With another woman, he would’ve believed flaunting her sexy-as-hell body in front of him like a red flag had been deliberate. Flirtatious. But not Noelle. She either didn’t realize the innocence-and-sin enticement of her dark waves, painted skin, wide blue eyes, and curvaceous body, or she didn’t give a damn about him noticing. Neither option mattered. Neither stopped his fingers from itching to pluck and pinch the small nipples pressing against her shirt. Neither prevented his mouth from watering to taste those tips, suck them until they beaded on his tongue, flushed deep red with arousal.

He had to get the fuck out of here.
Now
. Five minutes ago. Before he did something he couldn’t take back and neither of them would forget. Or forgive.

“Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse with the need chafing his throat, his lungs. “For dinner,” he clarified.

She glanced up from the drawing pad balanced on her curled-up legs and shrugged a shoulder. “No big deal. I just wanted to thank you for the past few days,” she said in a stiff tone that struck him as carefully…contained. Nothing like the teasing, relaxed woman from the day before.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. Work,” he added.
Work and trying to exhaust you out of my head.
“If I’d known—”

“Again,” she interrupted, closing the pad and setting it on the ottoman beside the chair. “No big deal. It’s not like you’re obligated to call if you’re going to be late. We’re not roommates. I’ll go put the food up.” Unfolding her legs, she rose from the chair.

His gaze dipped to her breasts and lower, to her bare legs, even as irritation at her nonchalance surged within him.

“Don’t,” he said, the word emerging more like a command than a request, and from the slight narrowing of her eyes, he gathered she’d caught the hard inflection. And didn’t care for it. Frustrated, he shoved a hand through his hair. “I’ll take care of it.”

“No need.” She shrugged, striding past him.

“Noelle,” he murmured.

“Please,” she said, waving a hand, the gesture impatient. “I feel stupid enough as it is. But you standing there continuing to apologize is only making it worse. I said there’s no need for you to be sorry, and I meant it. Now, please, let it go.”

“Fine,” he ground out. Pride. He recognized it. And wasn’t enough of an asshole to strip her of it. “But I’ll go put it away.”

Her mouth straightened into a stubborn line, and—surprise, surprise—her chin hiked up. But after a long moment, she conceded with an abrupt nod, smoothing her palms over her hair. The movement lifted her breasts, and he closed his eyes. But the image was emblazoned on the back of his eyelids. His brain. Damn, he needed to get out of this room. Away from the temptation wrapped up in tattoos and sex.

“One more thing,” she said.

He bit back a desperate groan. Each second he spent in here, inhaling her scent, staring at the body that was off-limits to him, another piece of his control unraveled.

“What?” he asked, shocked at his calm tone. Considering the lust tearing his stomach to ribbons and pounding in his cock, his voice should have emerged as an animalistic growl.

“Chancey called this afternoon. Our super said it’s going to be another couple of weeks before our apartment is ready.”

“Okay. You can stay for as long—”

She held up a hand. “She’s moving from her parents’ house to a friend’s. And there’s enough room for me, so she invited me to come stay with them.” She crossed her arms. “I-I think I’m going to take her up on the offer. It’s closer to the gallery, and you’ll have your place back.” When he didn’t reply, unease flickered across her face. “Thank you for…everything. Especially the last few days…”

He eliminated the space between them in two long strides. Her eyes widened, her lips parting on a soft gasp. Her hands popped up, the palms flattening against his chest. He shifted closer, imprisoning the groan that threatened to break free at the pleasure of the slight weight of her hands on him. The first time she’d willingly touched him in years. And it was to push him away.

“Aiden,” she whispered.

“Did I ask you to leave? Did I say I wanted you out of my home?” he murmured.

“No,” she admitted, scowling. But the rapid puffs of breath breaking on her lips telegraphed more than anger. “But… Aiden,” she breathed, stepping backward. Her frown deepened when the backs of her knees bumped the edge of the bed.

“Yet you’d rather go camp out on the couch or in a cramped bedroom of somebody you don’t know,” he continued. “Rather than stay here.”

“I don’t really know you either, do I?” she sneered.

“Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. You know what my favorite meal is.” Even though his brain screamed,
What the fuck?
he lifted his hand to the obsidian strands that streamed over her shoulder and looped a thick lock around his finger. Tugged. Watched her. And caught the flare in that bright gaze. The flare of surprise…and pleasure. “That means you have more information about me than most people. But we share more than meal preferences, don’t we? And that’s what has you running scared.”

Well, shit, Kettle. Pot here. How the hell are you?

“Both of us, actually,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “It’s just that right now, fear isn’t my dominant emotion.”

“It was a fucking meat loaf,” she snapped, encircling the wrist of the hand that still had a hold of her hair.

“What about this?” He smoothed his free hand up her torso, under the small swell of her breast…and swept the pad of his thumb over her nipple.
Damn
. His cock jerked, and this time, he didn’t bother biting back a groan. “Do we share this?” he demanded, caressing the beaded tip again, and then once more.

She trembled against him, both hands gripping his wrists. But not tugging him away. No, she held on, arched closer. And whimpered.

That needy, greedy sound was his downfall.

He crushed his mouth to hers, desperate to taste her low cry on his tongue. Her lips parted, accepting him, taking him, and in turn, consuming him. On a growl, he tunneled his fingers through her hair, cupped her head, tilting it. Granting him deeper access to her.
God, the taste of her
. The same, but different. Better. He thrust harder, hungry for more, needing more of the sultry, exotic flavor that clued him in on why addicts were hooked after only one hit.

God, she was elfin; he towered over her. The difference in height and frame should’ve gentled his handling of her. Should’ve. But that would credit him with thinking. And with her tongue tangling with his, her nails biting into his skin, her back bowing to press more of her breast into his squeezing hand, he couldn’t remember his own damn name much less be coherent enough to
think
. Besides, she didn’t allow him to be tender. Unlike the shy, timid woman she’d been at twenty, Noelle was wild in his arms, demanding, rising on her toes to deepen the kiss. Kiss, hell. It was a fucking—of lips, tongues. She was a twisting, hungry flame that ignited a primal urge to cover, take, possess.

And he surrendered to it.

Surrendered to her.

Shit, what was he doing?

On a muttered curse, he snatched his hands free and backed away from her. When she stared up at him, her gaze hazy with pleasure, her lips more lush than usual, swollen from his mouth, he took another step back.

Dangerous. She was a dangerous, gorgeous, erotic menace.

A pitiless montage of memories flashed in front of his mind’s eye.

Him, picking up Peyton’s phone off the bed and reading a text from “T” telling his fiancée he couldn’t wait to fuck her again.

Him, sitting in his car in a motel parking lot as Peyton passionately kissed Tony after he opened the door.

Him, standing, stoic, as Peyton vacillated between crying, begging him not to end their engagement, and cursing and screaming at him that if he’d been there to take care of her needs, she wouldn’t have had to go to Tony.

Her deception had damn near broke him. And now, once more, he was allowing his dick to rule his head. Letting it lead him down a path that would only end badly. Layered on top of his mother’s death, Peyton had almost destroyed him. And he wasn’t willing to risk that kind of torture again.

Pleasurable but meaningless fucking. It was his fail-safe.

Sex with Noelle would be anything but meaningless. It would be scorching. Cataclysmic.

And he wanted no part of it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured as her eyes cleared and surprise and dawning dismay crept in. “Stay,” he rumbled. Then turned and left.

Before he couldn’t.

Chapter Ten

“I’m so glad you’re back, sweetie,” Lo said, squeezing Noelle’s shoulder as she passed by her desk. “And I’m delighted you’re feeling better. Now I don’t feel like I have to wear a face mask around you. And let’s be honest, a mask would clash with this.” Lo swept a hand down her long-sleeved, floor-length, body-hugging, winter white dress. Her employer was channeling Diana Ross as Billie Holiday in
Lady Sings the Blues
, a white rose pinned above her left ear. Other than Diana Ross, only Lo could pull off the look.

Noelle grinned. “It would so clash,” she agreed with a snicker. “I was going a little stir-crazy, so coming back to work is a godsend. I’ve never been so ready for a Monday in my life.”

Because replaying The Kiss—something as intense and powerful as that clashing of lips and tongue needed capital letters—over and over in her head had her almost climbing the walls of her bedroom. She couldn’t even escape the scene of the crime because that would mean possibly bumping into Aiden. Aiden and his regret and disgust over touching her, kissing her.

Stop
. Forcing a smile, she wrestled her thoughts under control and focused on work. “So I’ve gone through the list of artists you want for the show next week, and everyone agreed.”

“Including you?” Lo added with an arched eyebrow. “You never did give me a conclusive answer. Not that I’m accepting any answer but yes.”

“Is that why you mentioned the show to Aiden?” she drawled.

“I believe it’s called a siege. Pure tactical strategy. If your man can’t convince you, then I’ve sorely underestimated him and his…talents.”

“He is not my man,” Noelle ground out. He’d made that abundantly clear two nights ago…after kissing her like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat, ninety-nine-cent buffet.

But Lo was already waving off her objection. “Uh-huh. Whatever you young people call them today. Your bae. Your boy. Your boo.”

Noelle snorted. “Did you just say ‘your boo’?”

Lo strolled toward her office, tossing Noelle an imperious glance over her shoulder. “Don’t let the six and zero fool you, sweetie.” With a smirk, she sauntered off.

Chuckling, Noelle returned to work, but not even that could deter the memories from flooding in. It’d been two days ago, but it could’ve been two years…or two seconds. Sometimes it seemed as if that kiss had happened to another person in another lifetime. And then… Noelle pressed her fingertips to her mouth. Then, she swore her lips still tingled from the hungry, hard pressure of Aiden’s.

She’d been hurt when Aiden had knocked on her door; she could admit it. Hurt and feeling foolish for cooking a meal that he hadn’t shown up to eat. But since she’d moved into the penthouse, he’d never called to inform her about his dinner plans or what time he would arrive home. It’d been her fault she’d allowed the three days they’d spent together to trick her into believing something…more existed between them. A tentative friendship. An understanding. And it’d been her fault that her feelings and pride had been bruised when he’d returned to the pattern they’d set previous to her illness.
Her
fault, not his. Yet, when he’d appeared in her bedroom thanking her for dinner, she’d been embarrassed and hated that he knew. That incisive, green gaze missed nothing.

Only Aiden turned her into a person she didn’t recognize. She’d grown up learning how to fade into the background, to not rock the boat, to comfort. She was the peacemaker in a family who relished chaos. But with Aiden, she lashed out, stirred rather than soothed. Poked rather than pacified.

Maybe she’d courted that kiss. Was that why she’d goaded him with the news of moving out? Had she wanted him to take control, take the choice—and the chance of rejection—out of her hands?
God
. If that was true, did that make her weak? Needy? Pathetic…

Weak, needy, or pathetic, that meshing of mouths had damn near destroyed her. She briefly closed her eyes, pressing a palm to her belly. Heat curled through her, culminating in an aching pulse between her legs. Deep and high within her, she clenched, the emptiness pleading to be filled.

Aiden had introduced her to passion; in one night, he’d been the first to show her the ecstasy her own body could give with the right teacher. And God, had he been the right one. She was twenty-five, almost twenty-six now, and of course she’d been kissed. Bad ones, sloppy ones, okay ones, and even a couple that had her feeling tingly. But none had transformed her into a creature of pure carnal pleasure, greedy for more of…everything, like Aiden had those years ago. Like he had two nights ago. His thrusting tongue, his skillful fingers on her breasts, his hard body pressed to her, covering her. She’d wanted to guide his hand lower to her wet, throbbing sex so he could ease the torment there. She’d
craved
his touch. So much that if he hadn’t pulled away, she would’ve begged him for it.

That scared the hell out of her.

Because Aiden had also introduced her to a whole new realm of rejection. Considering her childhood, she and rejection were BFFs. How many times had her father chosen a bottle over her? No, when Aiden had severed their relationship with nothing but a cold, abrupt explanation and a complete shutting out, he’d damaged something inside her. Made her question her femininity, her worth. How could she trust him not to do it again?

She couldn’t.

She didn’t. Maybe Aiden breaking the embrace had been the best for both of them. Especially since his remorse had been all over his face. All he’d needed was a self-flagellation flogger to complete the picture.

If she possessed half the intelligence of a slug, she would’ve packed her shit and headed over to Chancey’s friend’s house. Instead, she’d holed up in her room for the rest of the weekend.

“Stay,”
he’d murmured before leaving her room. And so she’d stayed. Like a dumb, masochistic ass.

The vibration of her phone against her thigh hauled her away from her thoughts.
Thank God
. Removing her cell from the pocket of her dress, she peeked at the name on the screen. And groaned.

Damn. It.

She stared down at the phone, indecision warring within her along with a cluttering of feelings. Joy. Unease. Sadness. Delight. Dread. The usual emotional cacophony that was part and parcel of having Anthony Rana as a brother. Because as much as she loved her older brother, he was like a rainstorm, nourishing and refreshing but also capable of destruction. Just like their father.

Sighing, she lifted a finger to swipe the answer bar, but the phone silenced, the call ended. Relief sang through her, but just a second later, the cell hummed again. Avoiding Tony would only increase his curiosity and suspicion. And a curious and suspicious Tony was a dangerous Tony. And a pain in the ass for Noelle.

Quickly, before she could change her mind, she answered. “Hey, Tony.”

“Ellie!” Her brother’s delighted voice and the sound of the nickname he and her father used only deepened her guilt over not wanting to talk to him. “Damn, girl. It’s been so long, I started to forget what you sounded like.”

Glancing over her shoulder at Lo’s open office door, she rose and hurriedly crossed the gallery floor. The cold November breeze blew over her, and she shivered, having forgotten to grab her coat. “It’s been two weeks,” she scoffed, but unable to contain her smile. Yeah, her brother might be a bit self-absorbed, could be selfish, and never met a job he didn’t hate, but he was also charming and funny. And she loved him. Warts and all. “What are you up to? How’s Charlene?”

At the mention of the girlfriend he’d been living with when Noelle had left Chicago, he sighed.
Uh-oh
. Noelle winced. That was a sure sign of trouble. And a prelude to him hitting Noelle up for money.

“You know how it is,” Tony said, and she could practically hear the shrug in his voice. “We break up to make up. Only this time, she’s saying we’re done for good. Put my shit outside the apartment door.”

“What’d you do?” she asked, not in the least fooled by his woe-is-me song. “Or rather, who’d you do?” With Tony there was always a who. To him,
monogamy
was just a word in the dictionary after
money
and before
myopic
.

“No one,” he objected. “She read some texts and ran with it, assuming I was fucking around when I wasn’t. I can’t deal with suspicious bitches,” he spat.

“Maybe if you didn’t call them bitches,” she suggested, pouring a wealth of sarcasm into the advice.

“Whatever,” he mumbled. “I didn’t call to talk about me anyway. I’m checking up on my little sister, seeing how she’s doing.”

“She’s doing fine,” she said, her guard starting to inch up. Not that she doubted her brother cared about her, but he never called without an ulterior motive. Never. “Settling in, working.”

“Cool. The roommate situation turn out okay?” he asked.

She hesitated. Some instinct cautioned her against telling him about the leak in her apartment and temporarily staying with Aiden. There was no love lost between her brother and Aiden. As she’d told Aiden the night of the auction, Tony had never admitted anything to her about the affair between him and Peyton. By chance, she’d overheard him and their father talking one night over beers. Tony had taken great joy in telling his father how he was making a fool out of Aiden; her brother had always envied Aiden for his money, his status, his material possessions. And that animosity had fueled Noelle’s ideas about why Tony had been with Peyton in the first place. Still, Tony finding out she was rooming with a man he hated wouldn’t go over well.

Shame crawled through her, leaving a greasy, sticky path in its wake. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared down at the pointed toe of her ankle boot, loathe to admit the other truth regarding why she kept quiet. Boston represented a new start for her. A place where no one except Aiden knew her or her family. Or their reputation. Here, she could reinvent herself free of preconceptions. Tony wouldn’t let her change; he would see the people in her life—Lo, Chancey, even Aiden—as marks to manipulate.

No. She couldn’t bring him here, to Boston. And as well as she knew her brother, she could tell that’s what he was angling for—an invite.

“It’s fine. The place is small, but it’s perfect for the two of us,” she finally said.

Silence permeated their connection. And she clenched her jaw, imprisoning the
“Please understand, Tony. If I had space, I would love to have you,”
that hovered on her tongue. All he would hear was the
“I would love to have you.”

“Well, message received, Ellie,” he drawled. “No worries. I won’t turn up on your doorstep. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Tony,” she murmured, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Look, I have to go. Try not to forget you have family, okay? We’re all we have left.”

The call ended, and she stared down at the screen.

Damn.

Hours later, Noelle pushed through the lobby entrance to Aiden’s building with a sigh. It seemed as if the call from Tony had portended an avalanche of shit hitting the fan. Two of the artists scheduled for the body-painting show backed out, a client requested a piece that had already been sold, a mix-up at the bank… It’d been a true Monday, and as she passed through the foyer and waved at the security guard on duty, the lure of her bed called. And it was only seven o’clock. Laundry waited, her stomach grumbled, and she still had to figure out what she wanted to do for the show next week. And none of it mattered. Just bed.

Minutes later, she entered the penthouse. As always, the beauty of the place captured her, momentarily whisking away her weariness. Boston at night was just as awe-inspiring as when the sun crested the waters of the harbor. And once more, she had to check the urge to race up the stairs and grab her pad.

“Noelle.”

Aiden stood in the entryway of the living room, jacketless, the top two buttons of his dress shirt open, his hands in the pockets of his gray suit pants. The stance pulled his white shirt over the wide expanse of his chest. A chest she knew from personal experience was hard and warm. She curled her fingers into her palm, as if she could still feel the thud of his heart against her skin.

Giving herself a mental shake, she shut the front door behind her. “Hello, Aiden.” So formal. That’s what happened when two people shared a disastrous kiss. Awkward.

“I received a call today,” he said, and for the first time she noted the flat tone, the grim line of his sensual mouth, and the chipped, green ice of his eyes. A kernel of unease settled in her chest like a pebble in a shoe. Uncomfortable and impossible to shake.

“Okay,” she murmured.

“From your brother,” he added in that same voice, totally devoid of emotion. But what his voice lacked, his gaze made up for. The ice thawed, leaving behind a simmering heat that emanated from his big body. And not from lust.

The unease bloomed into dread.
Oh, God. Tony
. As well as she knew her brother, he could read her better than anyone. If he hadn’t figured out exactly what she’d held back from him, he must have suspected it had something to do with Aiden. Or that she’d been in contact with him. And a suspicion had obviously been enough for Tony.

“What did he want?” she asked through numb lips.

A humorless smile tipped the corner of his mouth. “What do you think he wanted? Money. He figured since we were all like family, and I was helping you out, I could do the same for him.”

“He was fishing,” she whispered. “I didn’t tell him I was staying with you. I didn’t tell him anything.”

“But you did talk to him,” he stated, shaking his head. “That first night I asked if he intended to show up to seal whatever deal you two planned.”

His words—the accusation—penetrated the fog that had started to enshroud her. “And I told you no. Wait.” She shot up a hand. “What are you talking about? I swear, I didn’t tell him—”

“Then how did he know, Noelle? Your brother would never have the balls to approach me unless he believed you had paved the way first.” His voice remained level, cool, and if not for the darkness in his eyes, they could’ve been discussing the weather. But she knew better. There wasn’t a touchier, more explosive topic between them than Tony.