Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

H E READ THE TEXT FROM his housekeeper Kristen as Louisa unlocked the front door.

All good here. She came out for dinner, made some polite conversation, then went to her room. I just checked; she's asleep.

And he exhaled because in the back of his mind, he'd had a sense of unease that even the beautiful Louisa couldn't completely erase. Oh, she did a damned good job of distracting him, but there was still a small percentage of his brain left that could think about his daughter, and how much he was screwing everything up, and hating Amy, even when he knew it wasn't her fault, for leaving him holding the baby.

"Okay," Louisa turned to face him, and now he knew that Taylor was asleep, his night was suddenly his own again. He stepped into her apartment, and whether from the sheer force of relief or because he'd been wanting to do this all night, he put an arm behind her and drew her back against his body, just like he had on the street, only this time, he kissed her.

He kissed her.

Because she'd been there and he'd wanted to, because the force of their chemistry had been turning them both into fireflies all evening.

He was about to pull away, but her lips were so soft, and her mouth so warm, and then she moaned and leaned harder against him, so her breasts were crushed to his chest and her hips shifted a little, and his whole mind went bright white and then utterly blank, so only his body was in control. He vaguely remembered a narrow console table being behind them, and he reached back and placed the bag of food there, so both his hands were free to hold her against him. She was all soft and warm and the flimsy cotton of her shirt was hardly anything, so he could feel her completely even through those clothes.

It was her lips though that were haunting him, kissing him back with just the same passion and need he felt, almost devouring him, and it was the easiest thing in the world to lift her and wrap her legs around his waist as he stalked deeper into her apartment and looked around for somewhere that they could keep doing this.

"My bedroom—," she said, pointing down the hallway.

His brain briefly flickered to life. "You're sure?"

She pulled away to meet his eyes, uncertainty in her depths. Hell, he hadn't meant to do anything more than kiss her. Noah hadn't been with anyone since Amy. And his marriage with Amy had broken down a long time before he'd left her. He hated to think how many years it had been since he'd slept with a woman.

Did he even know how to anymore?

"I—," she blinked, and looked away. "You're not sure," she intimated, and the mood totally died, because he'd offended her. He could see it in her face.

"I'm sure," he said quickly, "if you are."

"No, it's—you don't have to say that?—,"

He groaned. "This is not—I just haven't—," honesty was his only path. "It's been a long time. Years. I suspect I'll be a very disappointing experience, and I would actually, really like to not disappoint you."

"Oh." Her eyes widened and then she smiled, a slow, seductive smile that reached inside of him and reminded him that he was Noah Fox, and he could do anything he damn well wanted. "I think you'll be just fine. I believe it's a little like riding a bike…"

He laughed at her analogy, and walked, without a hint of doubt, toward her bedroom door.

Louisa had died and gone to heaven. Several times. His touch was incendiary. Delightful. Perfect. He stripped her clothes slowly, and in a way that made her want to scream, but her patience was rewarded because afterwards, he delighted in exploring her body inch by inch by inch. With his fingers and his mouth, tasting, teasing, committing to memory.

His mouth worshipped her breasts, her nipples, the sensitive flesh at the base of her neck, behind her ear lobes, and then, between her legs, at the apex of her thighs, with his mouth, and his fingers, and again with his mouth, until she was incandescent and crying his name out with no regard for who heard her. She wasn't even aware how loudly she was screaming, only that two syllables kept tearing themselves from her lungs: Noooo-Ahhhhhhhh.

But it was when he parted her thighs with his knee and pressed the head of his sheathed arousal there, that she whimpered with desperate, anxious longing. "If you don't take me, I think I might die," she said, digging her nails into his shoulder.

And whatever lack of confidence she'd detected in the hallway had evaporated completely. Then again, giving her multiple orgasms before the main event would probably do that to a guy.

"Well, we can't have that, can we?" he teased, and bracing himself on either side of her head, he stared into her eyes as he pushed into her, and when he was buried deep, so deep she could feel all parts of him and her muscles were straining to accommodate him, he kissed her, long and slow, and just stayed like that, so she had time to get used to him, and him to her.

And then, he moved and the boundaries of her world seemed to explode, like thunderbolts had struck them and shrapnel was flying everywhere. Because she'd come before, several times, but it was nothing to this. The feeling of his hair-roughened chest against her naked breasts, his body completely dominating hers, his mastery, his strength, his skill.

She cried his name again, those same two syllables rent with passion and need, and he moved as though they were in a silent, tribal dance. Not for their first time, but for their millionth, as though they were ancient, reincarnated partners, who knew exactly how to please one another, how to answer the questions the other posed.

She arched her back; he cursed, and right as a wave of heat and light carried her over the edge, he exploded with her, his body wracked with pleasure, his cry low and guttural, and pulling at something in her gut. He collapsed on top of her, his weight perfect, and she stroked his back, not wanting to relinquish this moment, and definitely not wanting to think about what would come next.

Because she'd just slept with a man she met that day, who happened to be an incredibly important client. A man she'd be working with, closely, for at least the next six weeks. And in her rear vision mirror, her personal life was a bit of a disaster. Not to mention his own messy personal life.

Those were thoughts for another time, though. Here, in the darkness of her bedroom, with Noah Fox on top of her, she didn't care about anything beyond this feeling.

"Hungry?" He propped up onto one hand, his features barely visible in the darkness of her room.

She stroked his back slowly, smiling. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I just feel…perfect."

His laugh was low and gruff. "You do feel perfect," he repeated, moving his hips a little.

She moved her hand to his chest, tracing a line between his pectoral muscles, before running it back upwards again. "So how long has it been for you?" Curiosity fired inside of her.

"Hmmm," he made a contemplative noise. "Way too long."

She flicked him with her forefinger. "That's not an answer."

"Honestly, I don't remember. Years. At least a year before Amy and I split officially, and I've been here for eighteen months. So…"

She returned to stroking his back. "Here? From where?"

"We were living in the States. LA."

"I didn't know that."

"Really? I thought everyone knew that," he said, then laughed a little awkwardly. "My marriage break up was a source of interest for people in Australia. You know, our family name is kind of…"

"I get it. You're famous." And ice crept up her spine because she'd just left one high-profile relationship and definitely didn't want to find herself in the middle of another.

"No, not at all. My family is famous, and at certain times, that fame bleeds into our individual lives. Plus, Amy has a high profile, so…"

"Yeah, I get it." She bit into her lip, worrying it between her teeth. "Does it bother you?"

"Yes," he answered, instantly. "I hate it. I hate that kind of attention. I hate speculation and gossip, and I particularly hate the prospect of my daughter being caught up in it."

He moved away then, rolling onto his back, in one of the cruelest deprivations Louisa had ever felt.

He stepped up from the bed and scooped up his clothes. "Where's your bathroom?"

She pointed through the open doorway. "Just across the hall."

He took a step towards it then returned to the bed and bent over, kissing her forehead. "Thanks, Louisa. That was really special."

Her heart soared and she found she couldn't quite make her voice box work to say anything in response. Instead, she waited until he'd left the room then stood, her body heavy with relaxation and pleasure, so it was an effort just to get dressed again. She eschewed the clothes that were on the floor and instead pulled on some underpants and a loose cotton maxi dress. In the kitchen, she removed bowls and cutlery, and a bottle of wine from the fridge, from which she poured two glasses.

Noah came through with the dinner and a rueful expression. "It probably needs to be reheated."

"And here you thought you'd disappoint me," she teased. "There was nothing fast, or disappointing, about that," she clarified.

He shrugged, the rueful expression deepening. "I have been thinking about you all day. I was worried one touch would set me off."

"Ah, what big stamina you have," she did her best impression of an X-Rated Little Red Riding Hood. "What have we got?"

He passed the bag over and she removed plastic containers one after the other, placing them on the counter. She was pleased to realize he'd ordered some of her favourites, like pad thai and green curry.

"Happy for me to serve up?"

"Sure," he nodded. "I'll have whatever."

She distributed the food into two bowls, then microwaved them one at a time. She wasn't wearing a bra, and each movement she made caused her dress to brush against her nipples, which, thanks to Noah, were incredibly sensitive.

"Okay," she said, sliding the heated meal across the counter to him. Her heart jolted when their eyes met, and she remembered how distractingly handsome he was. He had a cleft in his chin that she kept wanting to divot her thumb into. In fact, his whole face looked as though it had been lovingly hand-crafted by a very skilled sculptor.

Another art analogy? She was really losing herself here.

"Okay?"

"Let's talk about your daughter."

He pulled a face. "And ruin a perfectly lovely evening?"

Pleasure sparked inside of her, but so did a hint of responsibility. "You said you wanted help. I'm here if that's still the case."

He dragged a hand through his hair. "God knows I need it."

"So?"

He studied her carefully. "Are you free tomorrow night?"

She blinked with surprise. She hadn't really thought that far ahead, only she knew that this was a little more complicated than she'd appreciated.

"I…why?"

He laughed. "So I can see you again? Let's leave the Taylor conversation until then. Partly because I don't want to ruin tonight, and partly because at the moment, I think I might say some things about her that I'd regret in the light of day."

"You're annoyed."

"Yes."

"Okay," she nodded. "We can talk tomorrow night."

But her expression must have given her away because he leaned forward and asked, "What is it?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're thinking something serious."

She arched a brow. "You know me that well, huh?"

"You have a very readable face."

"I've never been told that before." If anything, it was the opposite. She'd become exceptional at hiding her innermost thoughts. She'd had to. "I just think we should be honest with each other, from the outset of this," she said, after a beat.

"Sure," he nodded, but slowly, like he didn't really understand where she was going but was willing to humour her.

"I just broke up with someone," she said, in a bit of a rush. "Well, three months ago, actually, but we were together a couple of years, and it was pretty serious, and the breakup was…the whole situation was…it was a mess," she admitted. Then, wincing, " I was a mess."

"So, you ran away to Australia," he said, reaching for her hand again and squeezing it.

She nodded. "And planned to lick my wounds all on my lonesome. I definitely wasn't looking for a relationship. I'm still not," she hastened to add.

"I get it." He moved his hand to his fork and speared some noodles, all without taking his eyes off her for more than a second. "I'm in a similar situation. I've got a daughter who takes pretty much all of my focus when I'm not at work. I don't have the headspace for anything else."

Louisa wondered at the sinking feeling in her stomach.

"With that being said," he continued thoughtfully, "I like spending time with you. I don't really think we have to complicate it more than that. We can just be two people who are hanging out, can't we?"

He made it sound like the easiest thing in the world, and she realized it was exactly what she needed. Not to have a big deep-and-meaningful chat about her broken heart, not to talk about her PTSD from years of being hounded by the media. Just to exist and spend time with someone nice and kind.

"Yeah," she said, and she smiled at him, as a weight seemed to lift off her shoulders. "And at work?"

"We work," he shrugged, as though it didn't really matter. "Is sleeping with me going to affect your performance on the campaign?"

She pulled a face. "No."

"Great. And you don't technically work for me—you're an outside contractor—so there's no HR issue. I have no power to fire you or make your life difficult. Not that I would, anyway."

"I know that."

"So this isn't a "me too" situation."

She shook her head.

"Great. Any other problems?"

She sucked in a breath and then expelled it slowly. "In the spirit of honesty," she said, knowing this was important, even when they'd agreed to keep things light. "My last relationship was…somewhat high profile."

He paused, halfway between lifting his fork to his mouth. "Oh?"

She nodded. "And so far, I've been left to my own devices, but when my ex announces his engagement, which will be any day now, I fully expect that to change." Her eyes dropped to the counter between them. "I just didn't want you to be blindsided by that."

"Your ex—who you broke up with three months ago—is engaged to someone else?"

Heat flushed her cheeks. "I know how that sounds, but I'm happy for them, honestly. I'm happy for him."

Noah let out a low whistle. "Why don't you start at the top, so I understand this a little better?"

She sipped her wine. Fair enough, but she had no intention of getting into all the nitty gritty details. A brief overview would suffice.

"Ares and I—that would be King Ares Christou Diamantis of Moricosia—were dating, and everything was fine in the beginning. I suppose it was even a little exciting. And definitely flattering. We were a good couple, good friends, well-matched in lots of ways."

"You're talking about the King of Moricosia," he said, brows lifting towards his hairline. "That's your ex?"

She nodded. "He's really a great guy," she said as if she needed to defend Ares. "I adore him, I really do."

Noah's brows knit together. "So why did you dump him?"

"That's complicated. But basically, I couldn't live like that," she shook her head. "We were dating for two years, this summer. There was a heap of speculation that we would get engaged and married this year, and it sort of reached a fever pitch, so that I couldn't go anywhere outside the palace walls without being mobbed. By people, photographers, you name it, I was followed. My car was chased when I drove anywhere, which was genuinely scary."

"You didn't get engaged?"

"No, I think Ares probably knew that it wasn't right, as well. We really did love each other, but more as friends. It might have been enough, in a way, if it weren't for the whole living your life in the public eye thing."

He let out a low whistle. "That's not what I expected you to say, at all."

She winced. "I'm sorry."

He frowned. "Why are you apologizing."

"I probably should have told you before," she gestured towards the bedroom.

"Why? It doesn't change anything."

"It doesn't?"

"Louisa, of course not. I mean, I understand you better, but if I'd known you had dated King Ares six hours ago, I still wouldn't have been able to get you out of my mind."

"Okay," she said with a breath of relief. "But you have a daughter, and I don't want to complicate your situation, you know? Plus, as you pointed out, you have your own high-profile scenario, which I would dearly love not to get mixed up in. So, this whole thing should probably happen behind closed doors. If anything else happens, I mean."

"Well, I wasn't going to suggest having sex with you on the street," he said, grinning lopsidedly.

"I meant dinners," she rolled her eyes. "Are you saying I'm just sex to you?" She demanded with mock hauteur, the effect ruined by a twitching in one side of her mouth.

"Totally. In fact, now we've done that, I've been trying to work out how quickly I can leave."

She grabbed her fork and threatened to slingshot some food at him, so he held his hands up in mock surrender.

"We'll keep it private," he agreed. "There's no need to complicate this. Taylor's my priority, and you know that from the outset. And you're clearly not in the headspace for mess, so it's easy. We're just two people who are hanging out. Cool?"

"Cool," she repeated, unable to stop smiling.

"What?"

"Aren't you a little old to be using words like ‘cool'?"

Now it was his turn to grab for a fork and attempt to slingshot it at her, but she jumped out of the way at the last moment, dashing to the side. The side, closer to Noah, who stood quickly and caught her around the waist. Rather than flinging food, he tickled her hip instead and she squealed. How did he know that was her weakness? It was the one spot on her body guaranteed to make her lose her mind.

"Stop, stop," she said through tears of laughter. "You win!"

He stopped then, staring down at her with intensity. "What do I win, Miss Petrakis?"

She was breathless. Not from laughing so much she cried, but from how close he was standing. "Anything you want, Mr Fox."

"Well, in that case…" and he lifted her up once more, carrying her back to the bedroom, and the promise of more pleasure and heaven than Louisa almost knew what to do with. Almost…