The Bachelor's Promise (Bachelor Auction) (9 page)

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “I’m staying here.”

Chapter Eight

Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, warming Noelle’s hand and arm. She inhaled slowly, then released it, a wave of relief rushing through her when a drum solo didn’t start pounding in her head. Encouraged, she eased her eyes open.

“Thank God,” she muttered when knives didn’t stab her in the pupils. Maybe today she wouldn’t wish for death.
Sue me
, she snorted to herself. When a person was struck down with a virus that felt more like a plague, then she reserved the right to be a little dramatic.

Groaning, she pushed back the covers and carefully sat up. Damn, her body felt like dumbbells had been tied to her arms and legs. But at least nothing ached, pounded, or cramped anymore. Her stomach and throat were sore, but the nausea and hacking cough that had dogged her for the last three days had eased. Three days of vomiting, shivering, coughing, and sleeping.

Three days of Aiden not leaving her side.

She scanned the room, a little surprised not to see him propped up in the corner chair. For the past seventy-two hours, every time she’d opened her eyes, she’d find him just feet away, working on a laptop or tablet, murmuring on the phone, or reading. As soon as he’d seemed to sense her gaze on him, he’d immediately set aside his work or book or end his call and come to the bed. Helping her to the bathroom. Bringing her soup and liquids. Administering the medicine prescribed by the doctor he’d had make a house call—a
house call
! What doctor did that anymore?

Shit, if Aiden Kent was a cartoon villain, he’d be Two-Face.

Warily, not fully trusting her trembling legs, she rose from the bed—and didn’t fall on her face. Great sign. Hesitant, she shuffled forward, and when she didn’t face-plant, she continued toward the bathroom. Three days of washing off with a cloth, and she was more than ready for a hot shower. Even if she had to sit her ass on the floor. Heat flared in her face. God knew what she looked like—not what the cat dragged in, but what it decided to leave in the alley among the garbage cans. The opposite of the women Aiden was used to, women like Jocelyn.

She tried to deny the ugly, tainted thorn of jealousy that slid into her chest as she grasped the bathroom door and pushed it open, but maybe her ability to lie to herself had also been weakened along with her immune system.

Jocelyn, with her sleek, dark-auburn hair, the simple but elegant green dress that had hugged every slender curve, and her towering stilettoes, had reminded her of Peyton. The woman who’d been as different from Noelle as a frog was from a swan. And that had been like a knife to the heart. Cheating aside, Peyton, like Jocelyn, fit into Aiden’s newly adopted world that reeked of wealth, sophistication, and exclusivity. A world into which he fit seamlessly, despite where he’d come from.

A world into which Noelle did not fit.

Standing in the lobby, the differences couldn’t have been more obvious. Both Jocelyn and Aiden had reeked of sophistication and wealth, while Noelle, in her old coat and pantsuit that she’d found in a Chicago consignment shop, had appeared exactly what she was: the poor relation.

Ten minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom, refreshed and, God, clean. Too tired to blow-dry her hair, she’d towel-dried it as best she could before her arms started aching and drew it up in a messy topknot. She drew on a pair of sweatpants and rummaged through her drawer for her hoodie. Forget a bra today. God had decided not to bless her in the breasts department, so going free wasn’t an issue…

Her bedroom door opened with a soft creak, followed by a swift, hoarse intake of breath.

She froze, a gasp locking in her throat, the sweatshirt clutched in her hands.

Oh shit
.

Silence plummeted into the room. It was heavy. Alive.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not with sizzling currents racing up from the overly sensitive small of her back, across her bare skin, and to the back of her neck. His gaze. Its touch was almost physical…electric.

She knew what he saw. Her body expressed her passion for art. From the flowers, leaves, and thin branches that stretched up her hip and lower back to the pink ribbon at the small of her back.

Move! Put your shirt on, damn it
. The order rebounded inside her head, but she remained paralyzed by shock…and excitement. She…liked his eyes on her. Liked that he hadn’t backed out of the room. Liked that he made her
feel
, like a current whipped and sizzled in her veins. Like she was empty and aching to be filled. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she almost wished she hadn’t. Almost. Hungry. He appeared starved, like he was two seconds from stalking across the room and tracing every inked line with his mouth, his tongue, and his fingers. An answering need pulsed in her clit, dampening the panties she’d just pulled on and would probably have to change as soon as he left the room.

“I’m sorry,” Aiden finally murmured. “I thought you were still asleep.” A pause. “If you feel up to it, breakfast is ready.”

“Okay, thanks,” she whispered, clasping the hoodie tighter to her chest.

He nodded, backing out of the room. As soon as the door closed, she bowed her head and exhaled a long breath.

Jesus
. She pulled on the top then wrapped her arms around herself. Where was the cautious, guarded woman who avoided rocking the boat like a seasick sailor? The woman who was focused on her goals, her dreams, and not the pretty, deceptive lure of a man, of attraction. That woman had left, leaving this new, reckless person in her place. And she scared the hell out of Noelle. Because this woman, who stood half naked in a room wishing Aiden would substitute his gaze for his hands, was unpredictable. Rash. Vulnerable.

This woman would foolishly let her guard down around a man who’d made no secret of his feelings toward her, regardless of him opening his home to her. Would convince herself his actions were motivated by a softening of his heart rather than obligation.

Six years ago, she’d been this woman. And she’d been dangerous.

“Thank you.” Noelle nodded down at her empty plate. “For breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.” Aiden picked up her dish along with his and headed out of the dining room toward the kitchen. The slice of buttered toast and bowl of Cream of Wheat had been simple, but after not being able to hold much down for days, the meal could’ve come from a five-star restaurant. Moments later, he returned with a steaming mug and set it down in front of her. “Your employer called this morning while you were getting dressed. She wanted to find out how you were doing.”

She winced, stirring her tea. “I wouldn’t blame her if she fired me. At work one week, and now I’ve been off three days.”

“Actually, she ordered me to keep you home for the rest of the week.” He shook his head, a half smile curving the corner of his mouth. “I believe her exact words were, ‘You chain her ass to the bed if you have to.’”

Noelle snickered, almost choking on her tea. “That sounds like Lo,” she said.

“She also mentioned a show she needed you well for,” he added, lowering into the chair across from her, his legs in a lazy sprawl. “What show?”

“In two weeks, she’s having a body-painting opening with several artists,” Noelle explained, dragging her gaze from the rock-hard strength of his thighs pressing against dark denim, to the depths of her green tea. “She wants me to be one of those featured.”

“That’s a good thing, no?”

She hesitated. “Yes.” She shifted her gaze over his shoulder, uncertain how much she wanted to confide in him. “I’m excited about the opportunity, even if this particular art is new to me. But…I’m also a little…afraid. At the Art Institute,” she continued, referring to the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, “I felt safe to display my work. Growing up, I might not have been the prettiest, or the smartest, or the richest, but damn, I could draw. All those pictures in my head, I could bring to life on paper or canvas. No one could take that away from me. But even in college, sharing that part of myself with others had been terrifying. Rejection wasn’t a possibility in my world but a fact. It’s been two years since I’ve graduated, and no one has seen my work. I’m not going to lie,” she said, huffing out a soft chuckle. “I’m nervous as hell that people besides my professors and other students will see my art…and in a gallery show.”

For the first time since she started her explanation, she dared a peek at his face. And when he didn’t say anything, just studied her with that inscrutable expression, she fidgeted, touching her ponytail, and loosed another laugh. This one more uncomfortable.

“I know you probably don’t understand.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Why do you say that?”

She shook her head. “I remember meeting you. Even then, at sixteen, you had this innate sense of confidence. I mean look at you. You rose from a small home on the South Side of Chicago to a millionaire several times over who owns a penthouse that resembles a palace in the sky.” She waved a hand as if encompassing the beautiful space around her. No, he wouldn’t understand. And facing his disbelief, or worse, pity, would’ve brought her breakfast back for a
Hey, how you doing?
“Anyway. Shouldn’t you be at work?” she asked, changing the subject with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “I’m feeling better today, so if you want to go into the office, I’ll be fine by myself.”

He studied her for a long moment, and she struggled not to fidget or duck her head to avoid that all-too-perceptive stare. “No,” he said. “I’ve been working from home the past few days. One more won’t matter.”

Warmth stole through her, and she searched his impassive expression, trying to discover even the glimmer of a reason why he would’ve stayed.

“I—thank you,” she whispered. “For…everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, in the same soft voice. “And Noelle? I do understand. More than you know.” A beat of silence pulsed between them, and she stared into his emerald gaze, ensnared. He rose from his chair, shattering the moment. “You have several more days of the Tamiflu the doctor prescribed. I know you’re feeling better, but he said to make sure you take the full course. And also to take it easy.” He nodded toward the living room. “I made up the couch for you in case you’d like a change of scenery.”

“Why?” The question burst from her without permission. And immediately she cursed her unruly tongue. But when he arched an eyebrow, she forged ahead, heedless of the fact that his answer might deliver a ringing smackdown to her feelings. “Why did you stay? Take care of me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because you don’t like me. You resent me,” she pointed out, hating the hurt that slid through her. “Or did that somehow slip your mind?”

Another of those scalpel-like stares. Another time she forced herself not to hide from it. She wanted to see the truth in his eyes. Catch the distance, the aloofness, and store it away for those moments when her resolve to keep her distance started to weaken and slip.

She waited. And waited. But nothing. His hooded gaze revealed nothing. God, she envied that talent.

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” he murmured. Then he turned and left the room, leaving her to follow or return to her room and hole up, avoiding him for the rest of the day.

Standing, she picked up her mug…and followed.

And once she entered the living room, she had to blink back the sudden sting of tears.

By “made up the couch,” he meant creating a nest of sheets, blankets, and pillows that called to her tired body. On some of Caroline’s better days, Noelle would come home from class and find the other woman settled on the living room couch, cuddled in the same comfortable arrangement. With Aiden sitting on the floor, keeping watch over her.

She glanced at him, and in that moment, understanding granted her new eyes.

He’d taken care of her because it’s what he did. He was a caretaker.

Just like her.

Part of her hurt for him. Like with Noelle, their roles had been reversed, the child becoming the parent. By choice, commitment, and love. She suspected he couldn’t have walked away from Noelle even if he wanted to—which he probably had after suffering through the chemo effects with Caroline.

But the other part of her…hurt for herself. Dumb. Idiot. For even just a second allowing herself to believe it’d been personal. This was about duty, about obligation to his mother, not her.

Aiden tossed back the top covers and gestured toward the couch. Ducking her head, afraid he would see too much, she lowered to the makeshift bed and couldn’t contain the sigh that broke past her lips. After days of non-activity, the shower, dressing, and breakfast had sapped what little energy she had.

“Here’s the remote.” Aiden turned on the mounted, fifty-two-inch, flatscreen TV, then passed her a gadget that looked like it should control the International Space Station rather than a television.

“Thank you.” She located the channel up and down buttons and started surfing. “Ooh,” she squeaked as the cafeteria of Forks High School filled the screen and the Cullens sauntered through the glass doors. Pressing the guide button, she scrolled forward and loosed a cackle that devolved into a dry cough. “And a marathon,” she rasped.

A large hand holding a cup of tea appeared in her line of vision. “
Twilight
?”

“Yep,” she said, accepting the mug and bracing herself for the teasing that usually followed when people discovered her obsession with the young-adult series. “Too late to rescind your offer of the remote, too.”

“I didn’t plan on it,” he assured her, sinking into the adjacent, large armchair. He picked up his laptop off the end table, his gaze fixed on the television. “Although, to be honest, I thought this was the weakest movie of the five.”

Surprise ricocheted through her. “One, no, it wasn’t.
New Moon
was the weakest. And two, you like
Twilight
?”

“Get out of here. The scene where Jacob transforms the first time automatically makes it better than this one. And yes, I like
Twilight
. What can I say? It’s a guilty pleasure. Vampires, werewolves, epic battles, great special effects…”