He leans into me. “Would you like that?” His deep voice vibrates against my ear. “If I slip my fingers into your pussy, would I find you swollen and wet for me?”
I. Just. Died.
His laboured breaths caress my skin, turning the already simmering desire in my core into a cascade of lust. The need to control myself evaporates and a wicked idea enters my head. As I pull away, I unashamedly grasp the thick bulge in his jeans, squeezing him from base to tip, and then stroke it with my palm. The satisfaction upon hearing his sharp intake of breath gives me more confidence. “Like you are for me, you mean?”
A deep laugh rumbles from his chest. “I’ve been in this state since seeing your sexy arse shaking on the dance floor. So, yeah. Ditto.”
Unsure what to do now that I have him in my palm, I falter. His large hand rests over mine on his crotch, and his fingers one by one link with mine. He squeezes them tighter around him then pulls our joined hands away.
“So?” He leans in again, and his breath tickles over my ear. He smells amazing. “Will you?”
Common sense hits home. Oh my god, where’s Alex? What if someone sees me? I search over Noah’s shoulder. Am I being seen? What will it mean? Do I even care anymore? The last question is the deal sealer because the answer is ‘no.’
“Looking for someone?” Noah steps back, giving me room to move.
The small gesture reassures me. I feel comfortable with him. He may radiate everything I should stay away from, but he has an honesty about him. He’s fascinating.
I chew on my bottom lip for a second. “No.” I shake my head trying to erase the lingering doubts. “I’ll come home with you.”
“Great. Give me a sec.” He searches his pockets, grabs his phone, and then appears to send a text. I rummage through my small bag and find my own, sending a quick message to Alex to let him know who I’m with.
My phone lights up with a response.
Alex: Choose someone different if you want to do this.
Who the hell does he think he is? Frustrated, I text back, telling him to mind his own business. He’s my friend and I know he sees or hears what life is like at home. There’ll be no judgement from him. But he can’t tell me who I can and can’t hook up with, even though I appreciate his concern.
I sigh as another text lights my screen, something cryptic about body shop men working on numerous bodies at the club tonight and needing to stay away.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes. It’s just my friend. I told him I was with you and he seems annoyed. He told me I should stay away from you.” I laugh, finding the whole thing ridiculous. “I’m guessing you have a bit of a reputation.”
He chuckles, but looks to the floor. I think he’s embarrassed.
“Yeah, you could say that.” He rubs a hand through his hair. “Does this change things?”
The naughty girl inside me takes over and I give him a defiant smile. “Luckily for you, I dislike being told what to do. He should know better.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Noah releases a breath and gives me a cheeky grin. He takes my hand and guides me through the mass of bodies and out of the club.
Outside, he beckons a taxi. We get in and I half listen as he gives his address to the driver. Once we’re settled and on our way, he turns to me.
“Hey. You’re shaking.” His voice holds an edge of concern. It makes me feel juvenile.
I glance down at my hands and sure enough they are visibly trembling. I ball them into fists on my lap to hide my anxiety.
One of his hands closes over the top of them. It’s hot and gentle as his calloused thumb rubs circles over my skin. The tender touch from such a rugged man renders me speechless. I turn my head in his direction. His dark hazel eyes fix on me.
“I take it this isn’t something you do on a regular basis?” A soft chuckle escapes him. “Don’t worry. I told you I wouldn’t touch you unless you wanted me to.” His brow furrows for a second. “And, I meant it.”
But that’s what scares me. I crave his touch. I want to know what he feels like under the black button-down shirt sculpted against his torso. His sleeves are rolled up and the corded muscles in his forearms flex with every twirl of his thumb on my hands. The urge to trace the cords up to the tattoos poking out from underneath his shirt tingles on my fingertips.
Guilt runs through my veins and my stomach churns at the same time. My gaze fixes on the rush of street lights passing by, and the rest of the journey continues in silence.
Noah continues to stroke my hands. I risk a glance at him every so often. He seems lost in his own world, his downward gaze fixed on our joined hands. He’s not coming across as the player Alex made him out to be in his texts. Okay, he does have a way with words, but if I’m honest, I like it. It makes me wonder if he’s got this Noah mixed up with a different one.
The car crunches onto a gravel driveway, and tasteful floodlighting illuminates the area. My eyes are drawn to the view of his home. I’m surprised to find he lives in a renovated farmhouse. From the way his business looked, I expected a brand-new building, or maybe something renovated to look like a modern masterpiece. Not the rustic charm, with a twist of modern, I’m presented with.
I glance back at Noah, and an amused expression lights his face. “So, this is me. Are you coming in?”
My insides lurch, but for some reason I nod anyway. He leans over, pays the taxi driver, and then slides his large frame out of the car. When I don’t make any movement, he bends back into the cab and holds his hand out for me. “Come on.”
His long fingers engulf my hand as they tighten and then tug to pull me out of my seat. A small tremor of fear mixed with excitement shivers its way through my body. I never do things like this. Swallowing deeply, I finally find my voice as we stride hand in hand across his driveway to the front door.
“Have you lived here long?”
He drops my hand, fumbles in his pockets for a second, then inserts his key and unlatches the heavy front door, pushing it wide open. “Long enough,” he responds simply.
He behaved like this in his interview. It’s my job to deal with people, and no one I’ve ever met gives as many non-answers as he does. He gives replies that make me think I’ve gotten an answer, but never really tells me anything. It’s odd, but intriguing at the same time.
He steps inside, presses his back against the door to hold it open, and waits for me to enter. I follow him into his home; he presses a switch and the hallway illuminates. With a smooth flick of his wrist, his keys land with no effort into a wooden bowl on the table just inside the door, followed by his wallet. My gaze naturally follows his strong frame as he walks ahead of me. He has one of those bums, which jeans hug like a second skin. His shirt fits tight enough to get a glimpse of the muscles underneath. Desire floods inside me and panic rises.
What on earth am I doing?
Without a doubt, it’s the unknown that draws me to him. And I need this. Whatever this is.
Unnerved by my feelings, my mind searches for something to say. I settle on the one thing that has bothered me since I met him. “Why do you call me Lizzie?” I’m curious. The only other person to call me Lizzie is my best friend, Boo.
“It’s your name.”
We enter into his kitchen. He flicks another switch, casting light over the room, and heads straight for the fridge. “Would you like a drink?” He moves things around, searching behind them. “I’ve only got Peroni or milk.” He shakes his head and turns to me.
“Have you got any tea?” I place my bag on the floor and lean back against the wall, unsure if I should sit or remain standing.
His face scrunches. It’s an adorable look on him. “No. I hate that shit. I’ve got coffee though.”
“I guess that’ll have to do then.” I give him a wide smile, trying to refrain from laughing because he seems to be out of his comfort zone. Deciding I’m not letting him get away without explaining the name thing, I push him further. “I introduced myself to you as Elizabeth, then Liz, but from the outset you’ve always called me Lizzie. I just wondered why.”