Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

" N ICE PLACE," he said, as she slipped off her heels and pulled out a pair of sandals instead.

She glanced up at him and her heart jolted in her chest.

"Yes," she agreed, forcing her gaze beyond him, to the pretty apartment she'd rented even before leaving Moricosia. She'd put the pieces in place carefully for her escape, aware that fleeing the speculation of the dedicated European paparazzi was not going to be easy. She'd rented the place in her mother's maiden name, to avoid detection. "I like it."

"Have you been here long?"

She finished buckling the first sandal then moved to the second. When she looked up at him, in between, his eyes were resting on her tanned legs, and his brow was furrowed. She kept looking at him, sandals temporarily forgotten, as his eyes shifted up her body, finally landing on her face, and his frown deepened.

Her fingers shook a little as she returned to the task at hand—feeding the leather tongue through the metal buckle and fastening it. Such an easy, repetitive job, and yet she was completely uncoordinated that evening.

"Need help?" He asked, in what might have been a teasing voice if it weren't for the tension zapping between them.

Her eyes locked to his and her mouth went dry; she found it impossible to answer verbally, so she just stared at him and did something that must have been a nod, because a moment later he'd taken the three necessary steps to bring him level to her and crouched down at her side. His hands were warm and strong as one gripped her ankle and the other mastered the leather strap of the shoe, doing what she'd struggled with.

"I've done it a thousand times," she said, a little unevenly, and defensively. She felt silly. "I just?—,"

"Couldn't concentrate?" He asked, and this time, his lip quirked with the hint of a smile, and his brow lifted in a conspiratorial inquiry.

"Something like that," she mumbled, dropping her gaze to her thighs.

His hand shifted from her now buckled sandal to her chin, tilting it so their eyes were level. "I'm in the same boat." It was a cryptic response. Unless it wasn't? Unless he meant exactly what he'd said, and he was struggling to concentrate in all the ways she was—because of her?

He stood abruptly though and held a hand down for her to take, to aid her in getting up off the floor. She put her hand in his, and when he pulled her to standing, their bodies were separated by only an inch. The whole world seemed to shake.

She just stood there, staring up at him, aware of the ticking of the clock in the hall, the night birds making whooping noises, the warmth of her apartment. If they didn't get out of there, she had no idea what was going to happen. And yet…

"We could just get something delivered?" she heard herself say, despite the obvious lack of wisdom in that idea. Being out with Noah was probably the only way to make sure she wouldn't do something really stupid. "Though my sandals would be disappointed to miss a walk around."

He smiled again and her stomach swooshed. "Well, we can't have that," he said, with mock seriousness. "How about we split the difference and walk somewhere local to grab food, and bring it back here?"

She bit into her lip. "The best of both worlds? I like how you think, Mr Fox."

"I'm not someone to settle for disappointment, Miss Petrakis."

"I can see that about you."

"Can you?"

She nodded once, lost in the mesmeric quality of his gaze. Her whole skin seemed to be lifting with goosebumps.

"I passed a street back that way that looked to have a heap of places."

She nodded slowly, finding it hard to shake the fog that had settled around them. "I know the one."

Still, neither of them moved.

"It's such a warm night," she said, after a beat, partly to fill the silence and partly because she felt as though she were burning up.

"This time of year is, yeah." He skimmed her face with his eyes. "Too hot to walk?"

"No, I like it. I was just…"

"Making conversation?" he prompted, and again, there was that lift of his lips, and her heart twisted.

"Yes," she shrugged though, and it seemed to break her spell, at least for the moment. She reached around for her handbag and slung it across her body. "Ready?" she asked, turning to face him, then wishing she hadn't when their eyes met and she felt the magnetic pull of her attraction to him.

It was far from ideal, but impossible to ignore.

"Let's go."

Outside, it was properly dark now, but the moon was full and the street lighting sufficient to provide a lovely glow as they walked, slowly, the few blocks to the dining precinct in this fashionable, old part of Sydney.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, glancing up at him.

He slid her a look. "Not yet. I'm actually having a nice time, which I hadn't expected at all."

One of Louisa's brows shot up. "Gosh, how flattering."

His laugh was a gruff rumble, and he held up a placating hand. "I mean because of the mood I got in after fighting with my daughter. Nothing to do with you."

She nudged him with her shoulder, in a teasing way, and it was at that moment that she realized two things: her protocol training had not completely rewired her instincts, because no way could Future Queen Louisa have done something so silly and flippant. And she was definitely ready to throw caution to the wind, at least for tonight, and have some fun with Noah Fox. Your client , the sensible part of her brain tried to remind her. She knew that, but at the same time, there was something about Noah that made it easy to separate their working relationship and whatever this was.

Or maybe it was just that her ego was so badly battered, her heart so bruised, after everything she'd been through in the last few months, that the prospect of spending a few nice hours with a very good-looking man, who obviously thought she was at least passably attractive, was helping wash away that hurt and discombobulation.

"You didn't answer my question before."

"No?" The moon made his features all the more compelling and angular. She found it hard to look away, and therefore almost walked into a child on a scooter, riding ahead of his parents. She might have done so, if Noah hadn't reacted quickly, reaching out and putting a hand around her waist, pulling her towards him.

Into him.

Against him.

So their bodies were melded and she barely heard a woman's voice shouting, "Andrew, you have to watch out for people!" Then, "Sorry," as she fast-walked by them.

Noah mumbled something, but Louisa didn't hear it. How could she? Her head was filled with fuzzing and popping and static electricity like the whole world had ceased to make any kind of sense. She was only aware of how close they were, how warm he was, how strong and muscular and lean, how safe she felt with his arm wrapped around her, how her pulse was rushing and her heart thumping, and could he feel that through their clothes?

"Louisa—," her name was almost a plea on his lips, a growl and a wish.

She stared up at him and felt the slowing down of time. The needs and wants of the entire world seemed to have pooled inside Louisa in that moment, so she lifted a hand to his chest, wanting to pull him lower, wanting to drag his lips to hers. Those lips she'd been fantasizing about and needed to know how they felt.

"You're okay?" he asked, his voice still low.

She nodded slowly.

"Good."

And to her chagrin, he let her go. The instant emptiness was astounding. It was as though her body, in those twenty or so seconds, had become totally fused to him. She wanted to shout and scream. She wanted to give into the frustration that was curdling her blood.

She'd walked away from Ares and an almost certain engagement three months ago, but in reality, she'd walked away from herself a long time before that. How quickly after they'd started dating had Louisa needed to focus on who she was meant to be, rather than who she was? It wasn't as though her personality changed completely, but rather, she became used to showing only one side of herself—the polished, elegant, unemotional woman best suited for that role, and that was what she focused on. But in doing so, she'd lost her vivacity and spontaneity, she'd lost her sense of fun.

All the while, she'd seen Grace's TikToks from her different modelling assignments, all over the world, and her silly videos with friends, taken at three in the morning as they had competitions over who could eat the most outrageous burger combinations, or walk with books on their head for the longest, and Louisa had always felt wistful. Because there'd been no scope in her life for that kind of fun.

This, with Noah, was spontaneous. And yes, she had fun with him. She felt like her old self around him, in fact. Confident, natural, she didn't need to second guess what she was saying, she didn't need to worry about offending anyone, or stepping out of line, missing some kind of protocol beat.

Not that Ares had ever made her feel like that. He'd been very supportive, and totally accepting of her. But the pressures of the role, the history, had all seemed like a weight, pressing down on Louisa, and with each day, that weight had made cracks in her confidence and sense of self until she'd reached breaking point.

"What was your question?" she said, as they started to walk again, slower this time, as though each subconsciously wanted to relish the journey.

"How long have you been here?"

"In Sydney?"

He nodded once.

"A little over a month."

He glanced at her, his expression analytical. "That's not long."

"No. And yet, in some ways, it feels like a lifetime."

They turned a corner right as a car came towards them and for a second, the flash of the car's headlights landed right on them, so Louisa felt a rush of adrenaline and an instinct to cover her face. To run. Because it was so reminiscent of the photographers who'd stalked her every move.

"You okay?"

Of course, Noah had noticed, because he didn't miss anything.

She grimaced. "Old habits. I thought the car was…something else."

"You're as white as a sheet. Do you need to sit down?"

She laughed, but not with humour so much as frustration. "Honestly, I'm fine. It just brought back bad memories."

Noah was quiet as he considered that. They went by a shop selling upholstered furniture, and Louisa saw the same armchair in the window that had been there for weeks. It was a pretty blue chair, with gold piping. Old fashioned but somehow whimsical, and there was something about it that she adored.

"Are those bad memories related to why you're in Sydney?"

He hadn't let it go. He was curious. That made sense. "Yes," she said, simply, and smiled at him, because all of that seemed like a long time ago, now.

"Want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "It's not that I don't want to," she explained. "I just don't need to."

They walked a little further in silence.

"So, you're the fourth generation in your family to run the hotels, huh?"

He nodded. "I took over from my father, who took over from his father, and so on and so on."

Her smile was wry. She had more than apassing understanding of hereditary lines of business.

"But you have brothers?"

"Two younger, and a cousin who grew up with us."

"What do they do?"

"Max—he's a year younger than me—is group CEO. He's more interested in the businesses that are overseas. The hotels make up a part of the holdings, but he stays out of my side of things, and I stay out of his. Lucas, he's two years younger than Max, has his own business. He's in New York. Our cousin Christopher is only a couple of months younger than Max. He's an investor."

"An investor?"

"He inherited a fortune when his parents passed away. My parents were adamant that he should live with them, and not his mother's side of the family."

"Why?"

"Because of the fortune his legal guardians would have at their disposal," he said. "Money isn't new to us, but it would have been to them. They were worried it would be corrupting."

She considered that. "Did they still get to see him?"

"My parents weren't monsters," he said, with a laugh. "They also wanted Chris because they loved him, and they wanted him to have as normal a life as possible, after such an awful loss."

She thought of Ares, and how the sudden death of his parents and brother had totally changed his world, as a fifteen-year-old boy.

"How old was he, when they died?"

"Seven."

She winced. "So, you really would be like brothers to him?"

"As he is to us."

"Did you grow up in Sydney?"

"Nah," he said, in that uniquely Australian way. It made her smile. She tried to imagine what a protocol officer might make of it and couldn't, so gave up. "Not when I was little, anyway. We have a property, out west. Big, open, dusty, dry. Beautiful."

She laughed. "I'm not sure that's what I'd go for on the advertising material."

He grinned down at her. "There's a dam which is always full, thanks to a deep bore. Our family's money originally came from cattle farming, and it's always been sort of important to us—we can't give it up. My parents have this thing about not forgetting your roots, not forsaking your heritage."

"So, who runs the cattle farm?"

"My folks."

"Your folks?"

"You sound surprised."

"I just thought?—,"

"They were dead?" He laughed then. "How old do you think I am?"

"It's not that," she assured Noah, joining him in a soft laugh. "It's just, you all run the businesses…"

"My dad retired as soon as he could. After his brother died, he knew the responsibility of running everything on his own. He was very glad to pass the baton."

"How old are you though?" She blurted out. "I mean, you have a fifteen-year-old…"

His face changed immediately, so she regretted having asked the question. They turned the corner again, and the whole street filled with life and sound. At least ten restaurants sat on either side of the wide road, and they were all full, with patrons spilling out onto the street. About a week ago, the local council had strung up big, bright Christmas baubles, from one side of the street to the other, and strung lights in between. The lamp posts had been adorned with garlands of green, and fairy lights twinkled in between the plastic foliage, giving the whole street a very festive vibe.

"What do you feel like?" he asked, gesturing to their options.

She didn't want to talk about food. She wanted to talk about him. He was endlessly fascinating to her, and she couldn't believe there was so much about him she didn't know. She stared up at him, her stomach in knots, her whole body in a state of uncertainty.

She wasn't ready for this.

She wasn't ready to be attracted to someone else. To be interested in another guy. Ares might have bounced out of their relationship and straight into a serious, ‘til death do us part commitment, but Louisa was too bruised and battered by the whole experience to even think about opening herself up to someone else.

So, what was she doing here with Noah?

He'd wanted help with his daughter, but it hadn't really been about that, for either of them. Or not solely about that.

Was she really prepared to get back on the horse and start dating again? Already?

The thought turned her blood to ice. It terrified her.

"Louisa?"

She answered quickly, because she didn't want him to know how dark her thoughts had turned. "The Thai restaurant is good," she said, unconsciously slipping back into her Queen in Waiting persona, her voice polished, her posture straight. "Shall we go there?"

A quirk of his brows showed that he noticed a change, but Noah simply put a hand on the small of her back, checked for traffic, then guided her across the street when it was safe to walk.

Noah insisted on ordering and paying, and as Louisa waited, a seat on the footpath became available, so she moved towards it and sat down, staring out at the busy street, losing herself in the spectre of this life. How other people lived. It seemed so foreign to her, after two years in her lovely gilded cage.

Noah returned, carrying two glasses of white wine. "It's going to be a little wait, so I ordered spring rolls and wine," he said, taking the seat opposite. The table was one of those small round ones, with a modest circumference, meaning there was no way for them to sit opposite without their legs brushing, and Louisa wondered if she'd chosen this table for that reason? There had been others, inside, after all.

"Thank you," she said, crisply.

He lifted his wine glass towards hers. "Thank you for agreeing to tonight."

"Well, don't thank me yet. I'm supposed to be singing for my supper and so far, I've given you precisely zero advice on your daughter."

"We'll get to it. It's just nice to not think about her for a change."

She sipped her wine, rather than placing it on the table. It was crisp with a hint of apple. "Delicious," she said, honestly.

"It's a Clare Valley Riesling. Have you done much travelling around Australia, or did you come straight to Sydney?"

"I came straight here, though I'd love to see more of the country. I needed to get settled first, though."

He nodded, as if that made sense. Usually, it would be the other way around, she suspected, but Louisa had been running away from her old life, and in order to do that, she'd wanted to have a new life ready to step right into. Or maybe she'd known she needed the distraction of a job, to feel useful, so she didn't sink into a place of constant overthinking. Regretting. Worrying that she'd deserted Ares after he'd already lost so many people. Guilt had plagued her for a long time, and in all honesty, had probably contributed to her staying with him for as long as she had. How could she leave a man who'd been orphaned at fifteen? She was incredibly close to her own family; she couldn't imagine how she'd pick up the pieces without her parents.

"Where would you like to go?"

"Everywhere," she said on a laugh. "I've travelled through Europe, extensively, but nowhere else."

He sipped his own wine, then ran a finger around the base of the glass, contemplatively. "Why Australia?"

Her lips pulled to the side. "It's far away."

He laughed unexpectedly. "Sure. Is that it?"

She nodded. "It was my main criteria."

He reached across the table then, his hand that had been tracing the wine glass now lightly traced circles on her palm. It was such a small, but somehow intimate gesture, that her breath stuck in her throat and her eyes filled with stars.

"Are you running away from something, Louisa?"

He asked the question so directly, so sympathetically, that her insides seemed to jolt, and her heart raced. She bit into her lip, staring across at him, and tried to find words. Was she running away? Yes. But it was more than that. "It's complicated," she said, after several beats. "I'm starting fresh."

"An optimistic spin on running away?" he noticed.

"I guess so."

He reached for her fingers properly then, lacing them together, and suddenly Louisa was fourteen and holding hands with her first boyfriend, her body all tingly and flush with warmth and a kind of awareness she had no idea how to process.

"Are you okay?" The question caught her by surprise. He wasn't asking about right now, he was asking, in general.

She blinked at him, amazed by how he seemed to see inside of her and understand. She'd been here a month and worked closely with people like Donovan and nobody had seen beneath the veneer she presented at work. Not even Stuart Conroy, who knew what she'd left behind in Moricosia.

But somehow Noah saw.

"I'm okay," she said, and she smiled because, with Noah, she felt better than okay. She actually felt kind of great.

He let go of her hand and just like when he'd saved her from the scooter kid, she felt a strange emptiness afterwards. She put her hand under the table, and rubbed her thigh, to try to get rid of the tingling in her fingertips.

"So, you were telling me how a handsome young man like you ends up with a fifteen-year-old," she said, her voice shaking only the slightest amount.

He grimaced, sipped his drink, then replaced it slowly, staring at the condensation before flicking his glance up to Louisa. "It wasn't planned," he said, simply, and then dragged a hand through his hair. "I was twenty, Amy was twenty-three, and at the height of her career."

Louisa nodded sympathetically, leaning forward a little.

"She fell pregnant, we got married, and then, there was Tay."

Louisa's smile was soft because his words were filled with love at the end of the sentence.

"So, you're only a little bit old," she teased.

"Thirty-five?" He pretended offence and she hid a smile behind her wine glass.

"Don't worry. Some things get better with age, and I think you might be one of them."

He let out a low whistle. "You're making me feel bad for?—,"

"For?"

His eyes met hers with a startling intensity. "Some of my thoughts."

"Your—Oh," Heat flushed her cheeks as his meaning dawned on her. She shook her head a little, her lips parting. "I think… your thoughts and my thoughts would probably have a really good time together, if we let them."

Her skin was slick with heat. Her body pumped with awareness. The world tipped sideways.

"I think you're probably right."

And he lifted his wine glass towards hers in another salutation, but this time, it also held a silent, sensual promise. Louisa met it without hesitation.