Never Mine by Clare Connelly
Chapter 10
“WHAT IS THIS?” She kissed his tattoo, starting at one side and moving to the other, pushing up a little so she could read the scrawled words.
“A quote.”
Her smile flickered. “I can see that. In Latin?”
“Yes.” He caught her hand, lacing their fingers together. “It says Non est ad astra mollis e terris via.”
She frowned. “I never learned Latin. I know astra means stars, right?”
He nodded. “There’s never an easy way from the earth to the stars.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “That’s beautiful.”
“It’s kind of melodramatic,” he drawled with a hint of mockery. “It was after my first tour. I was pissed off with the world, trying to process everything I’d seen.”
“And you thought a tattoo would help?” She teased, kissing the quote lines, then pressing her chin to her palm, atop his chest. “I think you’re very brave.”
His expression didn’t change. “I have to get back to work.” He kissed the tip of her nose then shifted, so she rolled back on the bed. “And you should sleep.”
“What time is it?” She asked, stifling a yawn. A tiredness she hadn’t known she was feeling wrapped around her, almost instantly. “Two o’clock.”
“Wow. How did that happen?”
“Time flies when you’re having fun?” he suggested, running his hand over her naked side, appreciating her softness, her planes, her smooth body.
“Don’t be long?” She asked, nestling back against the pillows, her eyes already heavy.
“Goodnight, Max.”
On his way out of the room, Noah went to pull the door shut but Max’s sleepy voice stopped him. “Leave it open. I like the light.”
“Aren’tyou a little old to be afraid of the dark?”
Max’s eyes flew to Noah’s face, so he saw a wisp of embarrassment in the depths of her irises.
“Probably.”
“But you are? Afraid of the dark?”
“It’s called Nyctophobia,” she said quietly.
“I didn’t know that.”
She lifted her legs up onto the daybed, staring out at the ocean. The morning sun glinted off the water, making it look as though thousands of tiny shards of broken glass were floating towards them.
“The irrational fear of darkness or night.”
“You’re afraid of the night?”
She half-smiled. “No, just darkness. So long as I have a small light at all times, I’m okay.” Her fingers tightened around the necklace. “It’s why Gray gave me this.”
Noah studied the enormous diamond. “A ten carat diamond pendant?”
She nodded, smiling. “When we were fifteen and we watched The Lord of the Rings trilogy for the first time. It’s supposed to be a play on Galadriel’s light. It’s kind of cheesy.”
“It’s not cheesy,” he responded immediately. “Does it help?”
“Not at all,” she laughed. “Unlike the real Galadriel’s phial, there’s no light of Eärendil’s star. It doesn’t actually glow when I’m afraid.”
“What exactly are you afraid of?”
She tensed, her features locked in a mask of pain, and he regretted having asked the question, but didn’t take the words back. Instead, he moved to her side and sat down, putting one arm over her flat stomach, leaning his face close to hers.
Her eyes flickered to his and he felt something strange and heavy lock inside his chest. He waited, close without pressuring her, quiet without moving conversation on.
“When I was six years old, my mother re-married – for the second time since dad died. Stepdad number one only lasted a year, I barely remember him. Stepdad number two lasted a bit longer. He was such a shit.”
Noah lifted his brows, silently urging her to continue.
“I mean, we were just kids and we desperately wanted him to love us – we were too young to know any better. He had such a temper though,” she muttered, and ice spread through Noah’s veins.
“He hit you?”
“Oh, God, I don’t mean a temper like that. He just used to yell, a lot. He was really impatient. We could never do anything right. And mum was either too in love or too preoccupied to notice or care, which left us bearing the brunt of his anger all the time.” Her eyes were glazed, as though she were reliving those times, so he wanted to lean forward and kiss her, to replace pain with pleasure. But his curiosity needed to be indulged first.
“I was six and I used to get scared at night. I was afraid of all the usual stuff – monsters under the bed, clowns behind the curtains, ghosts in the wardrobe, stupid, childish imaginings. And whenever I’d cry, or call out for mum, Nicholas would come and turn my light out and shut the door. The handle was too high for me to reach, so I was stuck in a pitch-black room, completely convinced that a clown was going to murder me in my sleep.”
Noah swore under his breath. “What an absolute jackass.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “I tried so hard not to call out, because I didn’t want him to come and make everything black, but I was only six, and when I was scared, I just wanted mum so badly. I refused to let him see how scared I was; to let anyone see.” Noah lifted his hand, stroking her arm.
“I don’t know if I was afraid of the dark before that, or if it came out of those experiences, but ever since I’ve had to have a light on, just a little one. I’ve seen psychologists, hypnotherapists, anyone I could think of, and nothing helps. So, I sleep with a light and figure it’s not the worst thing in the world, right?”
“Definitely not.” He leaned down, brushing his lips over hers. “I hate that a grown man did that to you. How long were they married?”
“Long enough,” she shuddered, bunching her hands in Noah’s shirt and drawing him closer. “I was so happy when he moved out.”
“What a dick.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Did you ever tell your mum?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t speak to him about it?”
Max frowned. “Not that I know of.”
“Why not?”
“Mum was so dependent on men. She defined herself by being desirable. It’s kind of sad to think she only saw her worth through having a husband. I guess she just didn’t want to rock the boat.”
“And still you think marriage and all that crap is a good idea?”
“All that crap?” She repeated with a lift of her brow. “Not my mother’s idea of marriage, no. After dad, I don’t think she really ever fell in love again. She just didn’t want to be alone.”
“And you don’t feel that way?”
“No. I’m not ever going to settle for a relationship just to get married. I’d rather be on my own than with someone who’s not one hundred percent perfect for me. I just hope one day I’ll meet someone like that,” she said with a lift of her shoulders.
Something about her comment pulled at him in a way he didn’t really like. “Want to come review some security footage with me?”
She nodded slowly, as though waking from a dream. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
After three daysof rocking with the gentle undulations of the Bay of Biscay, Max wasn’t so sure she ever wanted to go back to normal. She liked it here. She liked it here with Noah and a handful of clothes, a whole lot of sun, an absence of work and diaries and scheduling and paparazzi. Just him, her, their conversation, a life that was simple and pure. He fished every day, catching bass that they ate for dinner, and on the second day he’d taken the boat down the coast, stopping off to gather fresh supplies – fruit, vegetables, bread, cheese and second-hand books. She’d stayed on the boat rather than risk being seen, but she’d listened jealously to his stories about the little town – one he knew well from previous visits – and promised herself she’d come back another time. Except, when she imagined that, it was with Noah at her side, not alone.
Most of all, she liked being the centre of his attention. Without needing to actively protect her, he could focus on Max completely, and in between long conversations about the universe and everything in it, they made love for hours, their bodies so completely in synch that they could touch and pleasure and move as one.
On the fourth morning though, the ringing of Noah’s phone woke them. Max pushed onto her elbow, watching the ripples of his abdominal wall as he stretched across the bed and snatched up his phone, viewing the screen with a small frown before swiping it to answer.
“Storm.”
A smile danced at the corners of her lips. Noah Storm. Such a superhero name; it was perfect for him.
“Got it.” He moved, reaching for his jeans as he stood. “We’re a couple of hours away. Say midday?”
A moment later, he disconnected the call.
“They’ve got a suspect. I’m going to go watch the police interview.”
It wasthe first time in a week Noah and Max were separated, and for Max’s part, she found it unnerving. Not being alone, because strictly speaking, she wasn’t. Not only had Noah arranged for a police guard out the front of her house, there was also a man from his company standing in her lounge room like some big imposing sentinel, so she barely felt like she could move around at all.
She stared at her laptop, the cool grey light of her London townhouse striking her as incredibly drab after the sun-filled days off the coast of France. Her tan had deepened during their time there, sun drenched and glowing. She already wanted to go back.
Time dragged. She stared at the clock, impatient, wondering, worrying, hopeful this whole saga was over at the same time she wished on every star in the heavens that she had a few more days – not of being stalked but of Noah Storm and the pleasure he gave her, the happiness she derived from his company, the sense that when she was with him, she really was her best version of herself.
But it wouldn’t last. She had to accept that. He was leaving, as soon as this was wrapped up. He’d been clear about that all along, he’d been honest with her, completely and utterly. It was foolish to look into her future and see Noah as a part of it.
Foolish or not, nothing could stop those fantasies spreading through Max’s mind like the branches of a tree, and eventually, she surrendered to them – rather than obsess over the police interview and what news Noah would return with – she allowed herself to imagine a continuation of their relationship that reflected both of their needs, a romance between London and New York, when and how it suited them. He travelled for work, she travelled for work, why couldn’t they make that happen?
Because he doesn’t want a relationship. He wants commitment-free sex, nothing more. She could live with that for a while, but wasn’t there an inherent risk to sleeping with him, a risk she’d fall head over heels in love with him?
She gasped, so the stand-in bodyguard jerked his gaze towards her. “Sorry,” she mumbled, moving into the kitchen and pouring herself a wine, hands shaking.
She didn’t love Noah. She couldn’t. It wasn’t possible, after only one week. Love at first sight was something her mother had believed in, and Max had often wondered if that was part of the reason she’d had such a disastrous string of relationships. Falling in love properly and safely took time, good judgement, reflection, caution, sanity and sense, not an all-consuming passion that could drive one wild. It wasn’t love. It was infatuation, nothing more drastic.
She drank the glass of wine quickly then re-filled it, looking out into her back garden with a strange sensation right in the middle of her chest.
“Tell me about Edward Walton.”
Max stared at Noah as he pulled two meals from the fridge and began to scoop them onto plates.
“Noah, no. Edward’s not like that. Please tell me he’s not the suspect the police have in custody?”
Noah’s jaw clenched and he nodded once.
“Oh God. Based on what?”
She sat down on a barstool, resting her forehead in the palm of her hand.
“Various factors.”
“Go on.”
She lifted her gaze to his, a plea in her eyes.
“Norma must be beside herself.”
“Right now, my only priority is locking up the guy who’s made your life a living hell.”
“I want that too, but there’s no way it’s Edward. I’d know if he was dodgy.”
“Has he ever shown any romantic interest in you?”
Max’s cheeks flushed with warmth. “A long time ago. He asked me out on a date, I said ‘no’. He made some joke about it always being worth the gamble and wandered off. That was it – no big deal, no hurt feelings.”
“Why did you turn him down?”
“I don’t even remember. I might have been seeing someone? Or just not interested? It honestly wasn’t a big thing. I wasn’t even sure if he remembered asking me out the next time we saw each other.”
“I suspect he did.”
“Why in the world are you going on like this? What evidence is there you’re not telling me about.”
He placed a bowl in the microwave and set it going, before turning back to Max with a serious look on his face. “The call you received was placed using internet software to block the voice and number, and to scramble the IP, but my software unscrambled it as you spoke. Police were able to track it to Norma’s house. They interviewed Norma yesterday, and discovered that not only was Edward at her house that night, he went to dinner at a restaurant in Soho, just a hundred metres from the gallery.”
She stared at Noah, some of her certainty slipping away. “But surely –,” She shook her head. “What did Edward say? How did he explain that?”
“He didn’t. He kept swearing he knew nothing about any of this, saying it made no sense, saying he thought you were perfectly nice but that he’d never stalked anyone in his life.” Noah leaned forward. “Denial is not uncommon, given the circumstances.”
“Really?”
He lifted his shoulders. “It varies. Some are so deranged they see no fault in what they’ve done; in fact, they’re proud of it.”
“I just don’t see – why would he do this?”
“There are two drivers in this kind of obsession. The first is jealousy – a belief you have something they deserve, a feeling that your life is so much better, and they should have what you have.”
“Well, Edward’s rich and successful, I mean, his family owns one of the oldest banks in Europe, so I think we can rule that out.”
“Jealousy can take many forms. He might be jealous of your social ease, your confidence, your relationship with his grandmother – any number of things.”
She frowned. “Honestly, I’ve never got that vibe from him. I feel like I’d be able to tell if he was seething at me behind my back.”
“Psychopaths are pretty good at concealing their thoughts,” he contradicted gently. “But I agree with you; jealousy doesn’t make immediate sense with Edward.”
“So what does?”
“Unrequited love, a certainty that you belong together. This is much more worrying, because the average stalker works on the basis that their love will one day be returned – until they accept the futility of that and then they decide that if they can’t have you, no one else will. That’s the most dangerous kind.” He removed one dish from the microwave and replaced it, fishing a fork from the drawer. Even in the midst of their conversation, Max couldn’t help but notice how at-home he seemed in her kitchen.
“You think Edward has a crush on me?”
“It’s more than a crush. It’s like this whole alternate reality bubble stalkers exist in, filled with fantasies that make it seem as though your love is real. Everything’s okay until the bubble bursts, love turns to hate.”
She shivered. “I understand that, in principle, but the idea of Edward secretly pining for me is absurd. I barely see him. Surely if he was infatuated with me he’d be at Norma’s house every second night.”
Noah’s lips compressed into a tight line. Max ignored the plate of food he’d placed in front of her and leaned forward a little. “What is it?”
With a terse nod, he reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a piece of paper and unfolding it. He stared at it a moment then placed it on the counter and slid it across to her. “They found this photograph in his car.”
Max dropped her gaze to the page and then, as her eyes focused and she realized what it was, let out an involuntary gasp, clasping her hand over her mouth. “Noah…”
His mouth was grim. “I know.”
It was a photocopy of evidence, annotated by some careful hand at the police station, but despite the grainy quality, it was impossible to miss the significance of what she was saying.
“This is a photo of me in my underwear. In my bedroom. Here, in my house.” Huge eyes lifted to his face. “When was this taken?”
“He wouldn’t say. He insisted he didn’t know anything about it.”
“It was in his car,” she mumbled, staring at the picture. “How could he get this? It looks like he stood right at my window but that’s the first floor, it’s not possible.”
“Best guess is he used a stealth drone.”
“Oh my God.”
She pressed her palm harder to her mouth.
“I know.” He came around the bench and picked her up, holding her against his body, arms wrapped around her. “The working theory is that he knew we were sleeping together, and it escalated his acts. The police think, and I agree, that within days he would have struck out. But you’re safe now, Max. You’re safe.” He kept his arms around her, holding her tight, food forgotten as he whispered reassurances into her ear. She was shaking like a leaf, the reality of this too much, the truth impossible to grapple with. Over Noah’s shoulder, her eyes strayed to the photograph and a wave of nausea rose in her gut – disgust at the lengths he’d stooped to, at having been so violated in her own home, made her feel both devastated and furious.
“I want to talk to him.”
“The police wouldn’t allow it.”
“I don’t care. I want to talk to him. What the hell was he thinking, Noah? I thought we were friends, or something. I thought…”
“I know, I know.” He rubbed his hand up and down her spine, calming, reassuring, promising with his touch that everything would be okay.
“Do you think he did this?”
Max’s eyes fired up to Noah’s, to the sympathy in the depths of his gaze, to the centre of his soul. “All the evidence points to him,” Noah said. “We’ll see how the interview goes in the morning.”
“Will he be held overnight?”
“Yes.”
“Poor Norma.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “She must be devastated.”
Noah’s smile was laced with pity. “I think she’d say the same about you.” He padded his thumb over her lower lip, eyes locked. “Are you hungry?”
She pulled a face. “I couldn’t eat. I feel too funny.”
“A bath then,” he murmured, lacing their fingers together and lifting her hand to his lips, kissing her gently.
Max’s eyes swept shut. “A bath sounds like heaven.” She felt like a child, stupid and needy, so she didn’t ask the question that hovered on her lips. Will you stay with me?
Noah clickedinto the security footage of the restaurant, starting as the doors opened, watching and drinking coffee, needing to put this matter to bed. He studied the restaurant footage until Edward appeared on screen with a couple of men, all dressed in suits. The footage wasn’t great quality, the cameras nothing like as sophisticated as those at the gallery, but he was able to keep an eye on Edward at least. He paused the video to make another coffee, went to check on Max, who was sleeping soundly, then went back to reviewing the video. All he needed was footage of Edward on the phone somewhere, or leaving the restaurant to make a call, in which case he’d hook up the street cameras. But it was more than that. He was looking for an indication of demeanor in Edward, a sign that he was on the brink of becoming a man unraveled.
From what he could see, there was none. On the surface, this was just a guy out for dinner with some business colleagues.
Frustration clipped through Noah. He leaned closer to the screen, his heart slamming inside his chest as he realized the time stamp. It was now after the time Max had received the phone call from her stalker – and Edward hadn’t left the table.
