Never Mine by Clare Connelly
Chapter 2
IT WAS AN UNMITIGATED disaster.
She had a hectic day of meetings, both face to face and via zoom, and yet she found it nigh on impossible to concentrate. Far from being her shadow, Noah Storm had become something of a horizon all of his own. He was a whirlwind of activity, setting up a command center in the boardroom attached to her office, he worked as though she weren’t even there, barely raising a glance in Max’s direction.
But she glanced at him. More than glanced. She found her eyes wandering to him more often than she liked to admit, studying the lines of his face, the strength of his body, wondering about his workout routine, his habits, his life. He’d dropped everything and come to London at a moment’s notice, simply because Gray had asked it of him.
They were good friends, but that kind of loyalty spoke of a dedication that made her heart hurt. Jealousy? Or resentment? Because, despite being twenty six years old, Max couldn’t have said with any certainty that she had a friend who’d do the same for her. Not even close. Oh, she had dozens of buddies, people she liked to hang out with, go to parties with, attend club openings with, but this was different. This was a willingness to upend your life because someone asked it of you. And she’d never known what that was like.
It was summer and the sun stayed high in the sky well into the evening. Sometime after eight, Max stifled a yawn and pushed shut the lid on her laptop.
“I’m finished.”
Noah looked up at her, his eyes a little bleary, a tangle of paperwork spread out around him. “Give me five minutes.”
She compressed her lips, biting back a desire to point out having him shadow her was one thing, but dictating her schedule quite another. But he was Gray’s friend, and he’d upended his life just for her, just for Gray. She couldn’t be rude to him, no matter how scared and pissed she was.
“Fine. I’ll freshen up.”
Her own bathroom was attached to her office; Noah had already done a preliminary inspection, so she slipped inside and bolted the door, pressing her back to it as she met her own eyes in the mirror. She couldn’t have described what emotions she saw there. She was a mess.
And was it any wonder?
Since finding her car, her life had taken on a surreal quality. She felt as though she were at the centre of a space ship that was hurtling wildly out of control, loose in the galaxy, flotsam, gaining weight and jettisoning her to some unknown destination. Noah Storm should have been an anchor of sorts but he wasn’t; he was propulsion, flame, speed, terror. There was nothing safe about a man who could make her heart rate shoot up like this.
He was ready when she emerged a few moments later, his laptop packed into a slimline leather bag. “Where’s your car?”
“Garage,” she murmured. “Underground.”
“You drive yourself?”
“I have a driver – Felix.” And then, for no reason she could think of, she added somewhat defensively, “I use the commute time to work.”
He nodded curtly. “How do you notify your driver you’re ready to leave?”
“My keycard.” She lifted a credit card size piece of paper from her purse. “When I swipe it in the lift, it alerts him.”
“Efficient.”
Why did she feel as though there was condemnation in the neatly-drawled word?
“I’m going home to shower and change, then out for a thing.”
“Where?”
She named one of the hardest to get into rooftop bars. “A friend is launching a drink.”
“A drink?”
“It’s a gin mix.” She ignored the feeling he was laughing at her. “I told her I’d go.”
“Because where you go, publicity follows?”
“Because I’m being supportive,” she responded, annoyed that he was right and that yes, it had been a calculated choice.
“Has your presence been advertised?” He asked, opening the door wider for her to step through. As they moved out of her office, into the executive level of Fortescue Tower, he looked around, his eyes not simply scanning the room but pinging through it as though for danger. A shiver ran the length of her spine and unconsciously she moved a little closer.
The top level was deserted though.
“Maxine?”
“Max,” she responded, striding towards the lift as though she didn’t have a care in the world, forcing herself to remember her number one mantra: you are as you seem. “Only my parents call me Maxine. And I hate it.”
“Fine, Max,” he said, with no idea how hearing him say the shortened version of her name made her veins flow with lava. “Has your presence been advertised?”
“It’s not like that,” she said, a hint of impatience in her words as she pressed the lift button. “It’s not like the guest list runs in the Times the day before or anything.”
His eyes seemed to bore through her. “Believe it or not, I have a reasonable working understanding of celebrity events.”
“Then why ask if my presence is advertised?”
He compressed his lips in frustration. “Is it widely known that you will attend?”
“Yes,” she clipped. “To industry insiders. I can’t back out.”
“I’m not asking you to back out. I’m asking who might have the information, so I can ascertain the threat.”
The lift doors pinged open but Max didn’t step into them. “Threat?”
“You’re being stalked, remember?”
Her heart twisted uncomfortably for a wholly different reason now. “I’m – I have no reason to think he’s ever been – to an event.” She swallowed, hating how nervous she sounded! “This isn’t something just anyone can walk into off the street. It’s really exclusive. There’s no way he’ll be there.”
“So you know for certain that your stalker isn’t a member of your inner circle? Or a member of the staff of someone in your inner circle?”
Her lips parted and then, the hand at the base of her spine took her breath away, as he guided her forwards, into the lifts. It was a pragmatic touch, his hand dropped away as soon as they were inside, but that didn’t stop the lightning bolts exploding just beneath her skin. Desire quivered in the pit of her stomach.
“This individual has gained access to the foyer of your home, the interior of your car. It seems likely they will be there tonight.”
Fear – a familiar emotion she had sought to conquer time and again – spread like water over rocks. She stared straight ahead, refusing to give into it, refusing to allow it to dominate her.
“Well then, I guess it’s a good thing you’ll be shadowing me.”
“I guess so.”
The lift began to drop, smooth and fast. The rush of adrenaline was familiar to Max. She enjoyed it for a moment – the evidence she had triumphed over her old fear of heights – then turned to face him. “So how exactly would you protect me?”
“In what circumstance?”
“Any.”
“It depends on the situation.”
“You’re what, a black belt in karate or something?”
“I’m trained in martial arts, yes.”
“Of course you are.” She kept her voice light, almost sarcastic sounding, because she needed to disguise the rush of heat pooling between her legs. Just the idea of him shirtless, performing martial arts moves, made her knees wobbly.
He wasn’t amused, if the set of his square jaw was anything to go by. She wasn’t intimidated though, mostly just curious. “Do you carry a gun?”
His eyes swung to hers, lancing her with the directness of his stare. His lips were a solid line and her eyes dropped to them without her consent, flooding her body with an awareness she didn’t want.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
The lift continued to plummet down, nearing the bottom.
His fingers caught at his shirt, removing it from his pants to expose not only a small handgun and a discreet holder inside his pants, but also several inches of midriff, tanned and taut, rippling with, as she’d guessed, muscles. Her mouth went dry and her lungs refused to cooperate.
“Is that legal?”
“I’m licensed to carry a firearm here.”
“Oh.” She spun away, her cheeks stinging with heat. What the hell was wrong with her? Max squared her shoulders and strode out of the lift, but a second later, his hand curled around her wrist, pulling her back. “Stay close to me.”
It was a security matter, nothing more, but they were close now, toe to toe, and her heart couldn’t handle it. She swallowed hard, hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt, but her nerve endings were going haywire.
“This is a secure garage.”
She heard how stupid that sounded, given what had happened to her car the day before in another supposedly secure garage.
“You’re my responsibility.”
A frisson of something hard to understand ran through her body. “This is all such an overreaction,” she said with a bluster she didn’t feel. “I’m fine. There’s no reason to think that just because someone slashed my car, he’d do anything to hurt me.”
“And you’re an expert on criminology?”
His rapier quick response took her breath away. “I don’t think we can presume to know what this guy is all about.”
He hadn’t released his grip on her wrist and she stood perfectly still, liking the way it felt to be this close to him, liking the way it felt to have his fingers wrapped around her.
“This is going to be a very long week if you second guess everything I say.”
“I’m not used to having the terms of my life dictated to me.”
“No,” he agreed, and for a moment she thought she saw something like sympathy soften the corners of his eyes. “But it’s the way it has to be.”
“Am I fighting you on that?”
His smile thundered through her, resonating as though she’d been struck with lightning. “Yes.”
“I’m not.”
“You have to trust me.”
“Perhaps you can understand why that’s not easy for me?”
He nodded, his thumb padding her inner-wrist. Did he realise he was doing that? “You’re being stalked. It’s natural that you can’t tell what’s safe and what’s not. You don’t know who to believe. But Gray does. He trusts me; you can too.”
Gray. This man was one of her brother’s best friends – she had to remember that. It was like being doused by a bucket of ice water. She pulled her wrist free, rubbing the skin where his fingers had touched.
“I just want to get this over with, okay?”
They drove in silence to her Chelsea townhouse. He sat in the front of the car, beside Felix, her driver, and she in the rear, as always. She pretended preoccupation with her phone, updating her Instagram stories, checking the news bulletins, getting back to friends’ texts and emails, but work that usually absorbed her completely barely scratched the surface of her concentration now. She found her eyes flicking to the side mirror every few seconds, his reflection unfairly fascinating. He wore dark glasses, so it was impossible to know where his eyes were, but his head was dipped, and he had pulled a tablet from his bag when he’d got into the car, so she was presumed he was engrossed in his own work.
Questions fired through her brain – the kinds of questions she would have answers to if she’d hired this guy herself. She would have done her due diligence, ascertained everything she could about him, before appointing him to this position. Where did he go to school? Where did he grow up? What’s his training background? Experience? She knew only this: if Gray trusted him, he was a good guy, despite the whole gruffer than anything appearance.
As the car slowed down, ready to enter the security gates of her driveway, Noah removed his dark sunglasses, his eyes landing instantly, directly on hers. It was like being trapped. He wasn’t touching her, but he might as well have been using those big, strong hands of his to keep her face right where it was, her eyes locked to his in the small, square reflection of the side mirror.
It was Noah who freed her, after only a few seconds, moving his gaze from her face to the driveway, scanning quickly, scoping it out.
“I’ll get out here,” he said to the driver, his American accent more pronounced because no one had said anything for at least twenty minutes.
She watched as he strode from the car, his every step athletic and powerful. He moved to the sliding gate, watching as it opened, analysing it – for God knows what – before stepping in ahead of the car. More analysing, looking, searching. The car drove in, the gate swung closed.
She’d lost sight of Noah and to her chagrin, shifted in the car seat to locate him before she could stop herself.
The garage door went up and the driver took the car inside, into the lower level of the townhouse.
It still gave her the creeps to think that someone had been here. She had no idea how they’d got in, but she did know there was an insufficient barrier between the garage and the house proper – a simple door with a single snib lock – easy for anyone of average size and strength to overpower.
The driver opened her door and she stepped out, almost bumping directly into Noah.
“Is there a problem?”
He shook his head once in response. “Just getting the lay of the land.” He reached out and took her handbag. She let him, not sure if it was a security gesture or good old-fashioned chivalry, but too tired suddenly to argue.
She needed a stiff drink and a hot shower.
“Am I allowed to go inside?” She asked at the door, lifting a brow in silent challenge.
“We’ll inspect the house together. Show me your security protocols.”
“Is that something I’m supposed to have?”
She didn’t catch his response but gathered it was neither flattering nor safe for children’s ears.
“What do you usually do when you first get home?”
“Go into the kitchen.”
“Show me.”
She nodded, walking through the mud room, kicking off her shoes, then climbing the staircase into the hallway. There was no door at the top of the stairs, and she spun, moving into the large, airy open-plan kitchen and lounge area. She placed her handbag on an armchair as she went.
The house was immaculate – less attributable to Max’s preference for order than a hardworking housekeeper who made sure the clutter was put away each day. Max rubbed her neck as she walked. She’d much prefer to get into yoga gear and put on a movie, order Uber Eats and relax, but she couldn’t pull out of her plans. It wouldn’t be fair to Bettina, and on top of that, there was someone out there who was trying to terrify her, and she refused to let them think she was cowered.
“There’s no alarm system?”
Her eyes flicked to his.
“There is an alarm system.”
“You don’t set it?”
“There’s a housekeeper here all day,” she defended, aware how naïve that must sound to someone like this.
“Alice Holmes?”
Of course he knew about Alice.
“She’s here on her own throughout the day?”
“No. I have a team. Gardeners, a cook, someone who does my laundry and my driver; there are seasonal changes. In summer, she hires more gardeners, or when I’m travelling she pares back to a skeleton staff. Alice is the only full time staff member though, the others come and go.”
“And each has a key and access to the alarm?”
“It’s not a key, it’s one of those pincode door things. You know, where you press in a number? The number gets changed every few days, and Alice is in charge of that. Many’s the time I haven’t even known how to get into my own damned house,” she said with a soft laugh, pulling open the fridge and removing a bottle of wine. She grabbed two glasses on autopilot, but Noah moved closer, putting a hand over the top of one before she could fill it.
“Right, you’re working.” She grimaced. “I’ll try not to drive you to drink this week then.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Ever?”
“No.”
“Alcoholic?”
“No.”
She frowned, pouring herself a generous measure of pinot gris and lifting it to her lips, inhaling it before taking a hefty gulp. She closed her eyes, letting the flavour seep through her body, into her exhausted cells.
“You do this every night?”
“Usually. Or make a tea,” she felt compelled to defend. “It really depends on the kind of day I’ve had and what I’m doing that night. I always come into the kitchen first.”
“Fine. Then what?”
“I don’t know, Noah. I’m not someone who lives like clockwork. My life is chaotic.”
“No, your life is routine, when you’re here. As I said, you run at the same time, you generally keep to the same rhythms.”
“Fine, but not within the walls of my own home. I just…do whatever I feel like.”
“And after you’ve had a drink, what do you generally feel like?”
“Showering. Speaking of which, I should get ready. I want to leave in half an hour.” She moved around the island bench, glad to create some space between them. “There’s food in the fridge. Alice will have made some meals. Just heat up whatever you want. I can’t vouch for the kind of stuff we’ll be served at the thing tonight – everything’s probably gin soaked.”
“Where is your bathroom?”
“Upstairs. Why?”
“Show me.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t seriously be expecting to watch me shower?”
His eyes flicked with speculation before he could tamp it down; the air between them sparked with electric awareness. “I’ll inspect your home personally tonight. Going forward, I’ll bring in my own team of operatives to watch the premises, and conduct a handover upon our return.”
“A team of…I feel like I’ve landed in the middle of some kind of GI Joe fantasy. This is my home, Noah.”
“And I want you to be safe here. Which way?”
She gave up fighting him. Time was ticking and she was nowhere near ready.
Besides which, his inspection did fill her with a confidence she hadn’t realized was lacking. He was ridiculously thorough, even checking under the bed, so she wanted to make a joke about her inner five year old and the bogey man. But Noah Storm wasn’t a man you made jokes to. He was all serious, all business.
“I’ll wait downstairs.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket, removing a small button, like a remote control for a car. “This is wired to alert my watch. All you have to do is press this button and I’ll know you need me. Keep it near you at all times.”
“Yessir,” she responded, teasing, even when it was something else that gave her a rush of reassurance. His eyes held hers, as though he was tempted to remind her this was no joking matter, but he evidently thought better of it, stepping away and turning, leaving the room.
It was her bedroom, but without Noah it suddenly felt cavernous and…frightening. She shivered, glad he wasn’t here to see the ridiculous emotion, and focused on the night ahead. She pushed all thoughts of a stalker and security from her mind, concentrating instead on cultivating the persona of Max Fortescue, billionaire heiress and ‘it girl’, the woman everyone expected her to be.
She’d chosen her outfit last week – a pair of skin tight leather pants, a lace bra and a blazer that cut in a generous vee towards her belly button, exposing a hint of the lace bra and her rounded breasts. It was couture, classic, and despite the revealing nature of the blazer, somehow elegant. But as she dressed, she could think only of Noah, and his reaction to the outfit, and suddenly she didn’t want to go out dressed like this. She wanted to stay home. Just with him.
The thought send her into a panic and she finished getting ready with more determination, fluffing her hair around her shoulders, slipping on a pair of sky high heels with slender ankle straps, before retrieving a Givenchy clutch from her wardrobe. She double checked her appearance in the floor to ceiling mirror, nodding at her makeup, hair and outfit, before sashaying from the room as though everything in her life were completely normal.
Noah was in the kitchen, and despite the fact she’d expected to find him there, her heart skipped several beats at the sight of him. He’d removed his jacket and pushed his sleeves up his forearms, spread some papers out on the counter, which he was busy reading, and there was a half-eaten apple to his side.
“You should have more than an apple, Noah,” she said, her voice higher in pitch than normal, as she moved towards him.
He looked up, and she was gratified by the look in his eyes, by the way he straightened and appraised her slowly, so slowly heat travelled her body as his eyes moved. Every treacherous thought she’d tried to quash came back to her with a vengeance. Stay home. Ask him all those questions. Take off the blazer.
“Who’s Caroline Bingham?”
Max had to rally to get her thoughts in order. “I don’t know.”
“She was employed by you six months ago. She’s not anymore. Why?”
“I’d have to ask Alice,” Max murmured, moving into the kitchen so she could look at the HR files Noah had. It brought their bodies side by side and she was aware of his every movement, so she wanted to lean closer, to brush up against him, she wanted him to grab her wrist again, to touch her. What was happening to her?
“See?” He reached across her, grabbing the papers and positioning them right in front of Max, a gesture that brushed his arm across her body, so she squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in, seeking stability.
She blinked down, into the woman’s face. “Yes, I vaguely remember her. I think she helped Alice out, but I really can’t remember the specifics. Alice will know.”
“I’ll speak to her tomorrow.”
“Great. Then let’s go.”
“You’re not going to have dinner?”
“I’ll grab something at the party. I don’t mind gin-soaked food.”
