Ruthless Noble by Alley Ciz
CHAPTER 17
Jesus Christ.I can’t believe I just let that happen. How did I let that happen? Why do I keep having sexual encounters with Jasper Noble in precarious places? I’m out of my flipping mind. He makes me lose my mind, and all common sense, apparently.
The sound of voices—voices as in plural—filter through the door, and I stiffen.
Oh shit! What did I do?
Who the hell knows how long Duke has had company. I thought we were safely left alone after all the moms followed his to look at wedding pictures from when she and the governor got married.
Gah!I hate thinking about that word, or really anything that would show up on a Family Feud board of top answers when it comes to weddings.
The sound is muffled, the words spoken indistinguishable through the heavy wood of the door. Does that mean they could or couldn’t hear us?
Shit! Shit! Shit!
I can’t get caught in here. I can’t get caught with Jasper. And—
Oh my god! The ring.
I flatten my palms on Jasper’s hard stomach and push. When I fail to move him even an inch, he chuckles, and I slap a hand over his mouth to smother the sound.
Are you insane?I mouth. Beneath my palm, his lips curl into a smile. Oh, look—Mr. Growly is feeling jovial now. I want to smack him.
Mind reeling, body still quaking with the aftershocks of that epic orgasm, I jump about a foot in the air when a heavy knock sounds.
“The coast is clear,” Duke calls through the door. “You may begin your walk of shame.”
I hate both of these assholes.
Jasper finally backs away from me, and I automatically start to scan the floor for the ring.
As I slide the antique piece on, I pause and wonder, Why?Why the hell do I care so much? The distance between Carter and me is really getting to me. That has to be it. Or maybe it’s how Natalie constantly slips in her veiled threats. It’s making my brain play tricks on me.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I don’t need to turn around to know Jasper is watching me, probably studying me with that intensity that both pisses me off and makes my nipples hard.
Clearly, I have issues.
Duke leans against the arm of one of the couches, a shit-eating grin on his face, and it only grows in wattage as I step out of the bathroom and his baby blues rake over me. “Are we doing the bestie shuffle?”
“I don’t even wanna know what you’re talking about.” I play dumb, purposely not turning around when I feel Jasper’s body heat at my back.
Duke’s gaze rises to peer behind me, that grin of his taking on an air of Joker-type mania.
My hands shake, and I tuck them into my armpits to hide it and the way my nipples are shouting Look at me! Look at me! at Jasper’s proximity. Keeping my focus directed forward is essential if I’m going to keep my hands to myself.
How the hell am I supposed to make it through a whole meal after this? I really need to stop having orgasms as appetizers.
Ignoring the cloud of sexual tension now enveloping us, Duke makes a show of pushing up from the couch and drops one of his beefy arms around my shoulders.
I don’t bother pushing it off because he’ll only put it right back like he’s been doing since the engagement became public knowledge.
“Why do you insist on constantly touching things that aren’t yours?” Jasper’s voice is gruff as he directs his question at Duke.
With Duke’s body a physical barrier between us, I chance a glance at Jasper from over the curve of Duke’s bicep. Oh, would you look at that? He’s scowling, that dimple in his chin extra prominent with the pop of his jaw.
“Bruh.” Duke chuckles—no surprise there—as he pulls me in a bit closer. Jasper is not a fan if the murderous edge his glare takes on is any indication. “You need to mellow. You’d think busting a nut would take your temper out of the danger zone.” He starts to hum the melody from the popular song from Top Gun as he leads us down a wide hallway decorated with detailed crown molding and priceless artwork on the walls.
“If that’s the cure for him being an asshole, he’s probably at DEFCON 1 since he was left with blue balls,” I can’t help but add.
I fold my lips between my teeth to restrain my smile when an animalistic sound fills the hall. I shouldn’t play into Duke’s antics, but I can’t help it if it means taking a dig at Jasper.
Duke and I come to a halt when Jasper steps in front of us. “You got jokes, Princess?” He turns the full weight of his broody glare on me, promising all kinds of retribution.
“It’s not my fault you can only dish it out and not take it.” One would think he would know me better than this by now.
We stand there, him glaring, me tilting my head in that You silly, silly clueless man way. The silence wraps around us, heavy and thick, and I swear it revs like an engine when I start to twirl a section of hair around my fingers—the fingers of my left hand.
“As much as I do so enjoy watching your foreplay and all,” Duke interrupts, moving in a way that forces Jasper to shift back after the step closer he took. “If we don’t get in there”—he points to an open archway a few feet ahead—“in the next minute, somebody else might come looking for us, and I’m not sure how believable my excuses will be a second time.”
Nobody addresses the foreplay comment as we head for the formal dining room. My jaw drops, and my feet come to a stop as soon as we cross the threshold. The room is stunning and not at all what I would have expected before tonight. Still, it manages to fit in perfectly with the few other rooms I’ve seen of the Delacourtes’ mansion.
Rustic elegance is the best way to describe it. The dining room has the same vaulted beamed ceiling as the den, and a stone feature wall manages to be the perfect complement to the crystal chandelier hanging over the center of a polished oak butcher block table.
“Wow,” I say breathily. My feet are still stationary, but my eyes continue bouncing, trying to take in every single detail.
“Not what you were expecting?” Duke asks, humor simmering in his words.
I shake my head while looking at the low flower arrangements set in small glass vases spaced out along the length of the dining table. The place settings are simple white porcelain, but the rose gold charger plates and matching flatware paired with them add a certain kind of understated elegance. It’s lovely; truly it is.
Mrs. Noble perks up at the sight of her son, her husband a direct contrast with a less severe version of his son’s scowl on his face as we move to take three of the four remaining vacant seats.
The table fits ten, seating the nine of us comfortably in padded Charlotte dining chairs. It feels slightly like a middle school dance with all the parents placed together on one side and at the end caps and the guys and me on the other, but it works.
Dinner starts off fine. The parents talk mostly amongst themselves, leaving us in peace to enjoy the braised duck and grilled asparagus.
It’s about halfway through the meal when things shift.
It starts off with a question about what I think about my new ring and the history of the generations of Delacourtes who have worn it in the past. I do my best to breathe through the bubble of anxiety the prism of color reflecting off my left hand brings. The ring may be beautiful, but it feels more like a shackle than jewelry.
A part of me feels a prickle of guilt that such a significant piece is being wasted on me when I have zero intention of letting this engagement develop far enough for a wedding to actually take place.
“We should arrange for a photo shoot in the upcoming weeks.” My hand tightens around the handle of my fork when Mr. Noble chimes in with that particular suggestion after Mrs. Delacourte finishes. “Personal anecdotes like that really resonates with voters.”
“Oh, Walter”—Mrs. Noble playfully waves off her husband—“can’t you turn off the strategist brain for one night? You’re taking the romance out of things.”
Romance? Please. There’s nothing romantic about an arranged marriage. Tragedy is more like it. I can’t believe they want to use us in some twisted form of political propaganda. We’re in flipping high school, people! I can’t even legally vote yet!
“I’m just saying, they’re young.” Walter Noble bounces a finger between Duke and me. “The more they are photographed”—he cuts a glare at his son, who’s statue-still beside me—“together, the more invested people will get in them, which should, in turn, hopefully translate to you and the polls.” He finishes with his gaze locked on the governor.
I squirm in my seat, my knee knocking against Jasper’s tense thigh. I wish I was anywhere but here. Annoyance stabs me between the ribs at Carter leaving me to handle this on my own. Yes, I know I’m always preaching how I don’t need him to fight my battles, but backup in a situation like this couldn’t hurt.
My throat grows tight, and I slip a finger inside the collar of my dress and tug it as if it were choking me. It’s not; it’s all…this that’s strangling me with the unknown.
“Speaking of pictures.” Mitchell shoots me a wink and pulls out his phone. “Did you all get to see this beauty Blackwell Public pulled off?”
Relief washes over me at his quick change of subject. He may have assumed I was uncomfortable about being the center of attention, but it doesn’t matter. I was close to my breaking point, and how he was able to recognize that, I don’t know, but I’m grateful nonetheless. When he takes the opportunity to tease Duke and Jasper about knowing the details about the prank, it amuses me profusely.
With the attention off me, I shift to lean against my seat, pressing my shoulders back until the chair’s padded material digs into them. The movement helps loosen the restriction in my chest, but it doesn’t stop an arc of disappointment from the lack of weight from a particular person’s arm draped behind me.
Shaking that off, I tune back in to the conversation happening between the father figures. Walter Noble is a few years older than Mitchell and Frank Delacourte, but that’s not stopping him from joining in as they start to compare notes on the pranks that happened during their tenures at BA.
Governor Delacourte is in the middle of a story involving the sprinkler system spewing out purple water one time when BP added dye to it when he stops mid-sentence and stares at me with wide eyes.
“Honey?” Mrs. Delacourte covers his hand with hers as her husband continues to bounce his gaze between Natalie and me.
“King was your surname before you married Mitchell?” the governor asks Natalie, who looks like she swallowed an egg but manages to nod.
“That means Jeremy King was your father?” This time the question is directed at me.
A sudden wave of emotion strangles me at the mention of Dad, and now I’m the one nodding. It’s been years since he suddenly passed, but damn do I miss him.
“Shit.” He slaps the table good-naturedly, causing the glassware to rattle as he falls back against his chair.
“You owe the swear jar a C-note, old man,” Duke chortles.
Governor Delacourte brushes his snickering son off with a wave of his hand. “Your dad is the one who orchestrated the whole dye prank.”
It’s childish, but pride fills my chest. One of the reasons I got involved in the prank wars between the schools was to feel closer to my dad.
“Wait…” There’s another weighted pause from the governor, his finger tapping some invisible button in the air as he pieces his thoughts together. “Is that why you seem so close to the mayor?”
A rumble emits from Jasper’s chest at the mention of Chuck, and under the table, I slide a hand onto his knee. Wait…what? Not wanting to risk analyzing what that move means in front of an audience, I nod to Governor Delacourte.
“I can’t believe I didn’t piece it together sooner. Damn.” When he smiles, it’s the first time I’ve seen a real resemblance to his jokester son. “He was good friends with Anthony Falco, wasn’t he?”
Natalie hisses through her teeth. Oh yes. There’s no love lost between her and anyone in the Falco family, but Anthony is the most vocal about her failures as a parent.
“The best,” I confirm. “Anthony is actually my godfather, as well as my brother’s.”
Like Carter with Leo and Wes, most of the generations gravitated toward forming close friendships with each other thanks to the nature of the founding families being so closely involved with the town.
“Oh this is great.” The governor starts to laugh to himself, and when I slide a glance to Duke, he gives me an I have no idea headshake. “Mitchell, remember when we trapped them in the equipment cage?”
Mitchell’s earlier spirited nature seems muted now, and I get hit with an unexpected pang of guilt, though I’m not quite sure why. “Yeah.” He nods, but it almost feels resigned. “Wasn’t it Falco who thought for them to use the air ducts?”
“Yup.” The governor is all smiles and has even more stories—these featuring my dad and Uncle Anthony specifically—as he and Mitchell revisit their youth.
Through the years while attending Sunday dinners, I’ve heard more stories than I could possibly count about the trouble my dad and godfather used to get into. There’s even one here and there about how they would sucker Chuck into their schemes before he knew better. Nonna Falco is a fan of those in particular.
“People often forget how young Chuck is because of his position in town,” I add when there’s a break in the conversation. “But he’s only ten years older than my brother, so we grew up with him being more like our cousin than anything else.” It’s my turn to chuckle, and I glance at Duke from the corner of my eye, thinking how much he’ll enjoy this next factoid. “Anthony has always been Uncle Anthony to us, but it freaks Chuck out when we call him Uncle Chuck.”
“Why do I get the impression you do it a lot?” Duke asks, and I beam, another rumbly sound coming from my opposite side.
“Only because I do it all the time.” Recent social events notwithstanding.
When the meal is over, the two servers Duke told me his parents hired along with a chef to help for the evening clear the plates. Look at that—we made it through a whole meal this time.
“Do you have a Pinterest account, sweetheart?” Mrs. Delacourte asks me as I take a sip of water.
“Yes?” I don’t know why it comes out as more question than statement.
Duke cups a hand in front of his mouth to appear to hide behind it. “Mom’s a social media addict,” he stage-whispers.
“Am not.”
“Mine too,” Jasper adds, his grin catching me off guard, causing me to blink up at him, stunned stupid.
“How did we raise such disrespectful sons, Hillary?” Mrs. Noble asks, but the twinkle in her eyes as she looks at Jasper reveals how much she loves him.
“I have no clue, Buffy.” The quick way Mrs. Delacourte joins in reminds me so much of Duke stirring the pot at school. “For Samantha’s sake, I hope he learns to grow out of it.” She winks at me in a way that is one hundred percent her son. She’s a lovely woman—both women are—and has been beyond sweet in our interactions, but there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that I will be marrying her son.
“Mom,” Duke whines.
“Pish.” She waves him off and keeps her focus on me. “I know we have lots of time, dear, but we can make a collaborative board. This way, when we start to make wedding plans, I’ll have an idea of your style and the things you like.”
I damn near choke on my tongue. Everyone around the table freezes when I start to cough. It’s my turn to wave a hand in the air as I reach for my water and take a healthy swallow. Shockingly enough, I’m not about to have an asthma attack, though I’m sure that memory is still fresh in their minds.
First the ring, now actual talk of the wedding—it’s too much too soon. She may have said we have lots of time, but if I’m not careful, who’s to say that won’t change?