Never Mine by Clare Connelly
Chapter 3
IT WASN’T JUST THE food that was gin soaked, but the people as well, every single attendee looked as if they’d had their bodyweight in gin or cocaine by the time they arrived. It reminded Noah of the many reasons he’d given up working with celebrities. Give him a staid politician any day of the week over this vapid, high-octane, self-destructive lifestyle.
There was also the paparazzi and the sheer crush of people; from the moment the car pulled up, Max was surrounded, the frenetic energy of people wanting to see her, to have their photograph taken with her, of women coming up and hugging her, men drawing her close. He had experience with this kind of work but he hated it – there was too much out of his control, too much that could go wrong. Trying to stay close to her required too much concentration and she seemed, at times, to be doing her level best to shrug free of him, so he wanted to grab her hand and remind her that she’d agreed to this, and he could leave again if she didn’t want to play by his rules.
But he already knew he wouldn’t.
He couldn’t.
She was in very real danger, and now that he’d met her, and seen her with Gray, he knew he’d do whatever he could to help her.
So he shadowed her, blending in, watching, scanning the crowd for anything that stood out, his expert gaze knowing what to look for when he couldn’t even put it into words. There were a thousand minuscule ways a person could communicate their ill-intent, and Noah had experience identifying all of them.
“Having fun?” Max asked, about an hour after arriving, sidling up way closer to him than he’d expected, her body too damned stunning to ignore completely, the low cut blazer showing just enough of her lace bra to make him want to see more, to see it all. He ground his teeth together, hating the involuntary direction of his thoughts, struggling to corral them back into order.
“A blast. Such an erudite group of friends you have.”
“Intellectual snobbery, Noah?” She asked, as though she couldn’t imagine such a thing from him. She’d only had two drinks since arriving, but coupled with the wine at home and the fact she’d barely eaten all day, and her frame being naturally slender, it had evidently gone halfway to her head already.
“Just an observation.”
“Baaaabe!” A woman with tizzy red hair and a barely-there sheathe dress threw her arms around Max, hugging her tight then kissing her on the lips. “I’ve missed you! Can we do dinner tomorrow?”
“Can’t, I’m in Paris,” Max responded, and even though she smiled at the other woman, Noah had the distinct impression Max was pushing her away a little.
“What for?”
“I’m doing a runway show. It’s a charity thing,” Max immediately added, as though to diminish her inclusion in a couture event.
“Lucky you. Do you get to keep the dress?”
“I don’t know. I think it gets auctioned actually.”
“Well, when you get back. Call me, okay?”
The red head staggered off, a wisp of a woman who should be dispensed in a cab and taken home to sleep it off.
“We should talk about Paris,” Noah said quietly, glad it was just the two of them again, even when surrounded by this throng of revelers. “Your assistant didn’t have an itinerary beyond flights and the fashion show.”
“That’s because I don’t have one. I’m just going to play it by ear.”
“I’d recommend keeping your outings to a minimum.”
“It’s Paris. Do you really think he’s going to follow me there?”
“Have you heard of the Eurostar?”
“Okay, but…”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said, dropping his head and whispering in her ear. He might have done it because they were in the middle of the party and he wanted to respect her privacy, but if he were honest with himself, he’d admit that he simply wanted to be closer to her, to breathe her in, to test himself and his strength of will. “Circulate. Have fun. I’m watching.”
She was an expert at this. He stayed close enough to hear her and watch her, and he was in awe of her deft handling of myriad social faux pas and interrogations, her easy deflection of bitchy comments, her ability to have a conversation without being drawn into gossip or speculation. She had the ability to make everyone think she was their best friend but by the end of the night, Noah knew that wasn’t the case. Max hadn’t shown a single one of these people her true self. She’d been a construct, playing a part, and as soon as they slid into her car, her act fell, her long, blonde hair forming a curtain on either side of her face as she stared at her phone, scrolling through social media, responding to comments, her face pinched in a mask of determination.
He wondered if she was happy with this life? Then he wondered why he cared.
“Oh, shit,”she muttered, struggling for the third time to undo the strap of her heel. She pressed a hand to the wall, fumbling some more, cranky at how difficult she was finding this. And she blamed Noah. If he wasn’t standing over her, watching, she’d be able to focus, but his eyes were boring into her, his lips quirked in that sardonic, cynical way of his, and her temperature was about to break the thermometer.
“What?” She grumbled, finally succeeding in liberating the buckle of one shoe before turning her attention to the other.
“Did I say anything?” He crossed his arms over his chest and she gave her entire focus to the shoes rather than look at him and his broadly muscled wall of abs.
“I can hear what you’re thinking,” she muttered.
“And what’s that?”
“You’re thinking that I’m drunk and that I’ve come home drunk and if I do this often I probably leave doors unlocked so whoever this creep is has easy access to the house. You’re thinking this is all my fault.”
“No.” He moved towards her suddenly, catching her chin and drawing her face to his, his eyes staring right through her, into her soul. “I’m definitely not thinking that.”
“I don’t do this often. I hate being drunk. I was just nervous tonight, after the last few days, and the gin was yummy.”
“None of this is your fault,” he said firmly, so that even in her present, frazzled state, the words reached into her, soothing her, making her feel whole all over again. “I don’t care what kind of lifestyle you have, no one has a right to hunt you like this. None of this is your fault.”
Tears unexpectedly filled her eyes and she blinked them away quickly, hating to appear weak in front of him. “Thank you.”
“When I ask you questions, I’m not doing it to be critical. Not of you, anyway.”
“Of who, then?”
“Your security arrangements aren’t sufficient. Not given the current threat. I’ll talk to Gray about it.”
“You’ll talk to me about it,” she corrected, hiccoughing as she reached down to her ankle strap. She would have toppled to the side if Noah hadn’t caught her, his hands wrapping around her arms, holding her steady.
“I’ll do it.” His voice was gruff, throaty, so sensual. Was she imagining that? Was it wishful thinking? She wanted to lean forward and kiss him. To hell with that; she wanted to kneel down and taste him.
But it was Noah who leaned down, his fingers deftly unfastening the strap of her shoe, loosening it so she could step out of it.
“I’m hungry.”
“Sit down. I’ll get you something to eat.”
“You don’t have to do that. You must be off the clock or whatever.”
“Your safety is my concern, remember? I can’t have you falling and knocking your head on the kitchen bench on my watch. Sit down.”
A thrill of pleasure fibrillated in her chest. Ordinarily, Max would have said she loathed being told what to do by anyone, but with Noah, there was something so intensely rewarding about just falling in with his wishes. Not for long. Just for tonight.
“Fine. Thank you.” She added, ever so meekly, as she moved as steadily as she could to the bar stools at the kitchen bench.
He removed his jacket, showing the crisp white shirt he wore beneath, pushing the sleeves up, so her mouth filled with saliva at the picture he made. Even the sight of his gun, heaven help her, was sending arrows of desire shooting through her system. A gun? Since when? That was so not like her.
“You’re really hot, you know.”
The only sign he’d heard was that he stood completely still, mid-way through reaching into the fridge. He withdrew a glass bottle of mineral water, filled one glass and passed it to her, a hint of amusement in the lines of his face.
“Drink this.”
“Also ridiculously bossy.”
“Trust me. You’ll feel better in the morning if you hydrate.”
“How d’you know?” But she chugged half the water gratefully. She was thirsty. “You don’t even drink.”
“Personal experience isn’t a prerequisite to common sense. There’s pasta, a chickpea salad, a quinoa dish I can’t pronounce, and some dumplings. What do you want?”
“You’re the one who should eat. You’ve only had a bagel and half an apple all day. You must be starving.”
She couldn’t catch the words in time; they fled from her mouth and heat suffused her cheeks as she realized what she’d just revealed – that she’d been watching him, mentally noting his consumption as though she were some kind of stalker.
“I remember details,” she snapped, before he could point out her slip.
“Remembering details is important.” He grinned though, and her insides began to bubble as though she was filled with just-shaken soda.
“You know, if you were anyone else, I’d have interviewed you before letting you work for me.”
He pulled out a container and held it for her to see. She nodded, without looking at the words inked across the top in Alice’s neat writing. “And you’re annoyed you didn’t get to interview me?”
“Not annoyed,” she shook her head, wishing her brain were a little less fuzzy. She sipped the water, wincing as the glass dropped more heavily than she’d intended onto the marble counter.
“You don’t like having the decision taken away from you.”
“Not really.”
“So interview me. See if you agree with your brother’s judgement.”
“Would it make a difference if I disagreed?”
“That’s between you and Gray.”
“So you’d leave if I asked you to?”
“We’re giving each other a week,” he replied cryptically, as he finished filling a bowl with the quinoa salad before looking through drawers and removing a fork. He pushed the meal towards her, watching, arms crossed, as she ate. She shoveled some of the meal into her mouth; it was delicious but she was far more interested in him and this conversation than she was Alice’s exceptional cooking.
He pulled another container out – the pasta – scooped it in a bowl then placed it in the microwave.
“What time do you need to leave for Paris?”
She frowned. “I thought I was going to interview you?”
“You want to do that now?”
No. She wanted to do something else right now, but the very X-rated direction of her thoughts spelled trouble with a capital ‘t’ and she was already in enough of that. “Yes.” She couldn’t meet his eyes.
“You’re going to need more clothes,” she realized belatedly. “And where are you staying?”
“My office will send a suitcase tomorrow. I’m staying here with you.”
Her lips parted. “You’re – what?”
“What part of me becoming your shadow don’t you understand?”
Her heart was thumping so hard she was surprised he couldn’t hear it. “But…once I’m safe in the house, surely…”
“No. Move on.” The microwave beeped.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re bossy?”
“You did, about five minutes ago. Eat your dinner.”
She glared at him, her heart pounding, and she wanted to tell him that while he undoubtedly made her feel safe from whoever was stalking her, his presence made her feel wild and dangerous in a way that terrified her.
“I presume you have a guest room somewhere in this place?”
“I – yes. Of course. Gray stays in the room across the corridor from mine. You can use that.” But oh, heaven help her, that was so close to her room. How in God’s name was she going to sleep?
He shoveled some food into his mouth and she watched, fascinated, as he chewed then swallowed. He washed it down with a glass of water. How could the man make even something as ordinary as eating sexy?
“How long have you been doing this?”
“I started the security business seven years ago. I worked as a bodyguard initially. Now I mainly run our operations, occasionally taking on assignments when personally requested.”
“Like this?”
His lips flashed in something that could have been agreement or otherwise.
“But you don’t really want to be here, do you?”
He lifted a full fork to his mouth, not answering for some time, as he finished the mouthful. “I prefer the work I do at present.”
“It’s more than that. You don’t want to work for me.”
“I don’t consider myself to be working for you.”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, I’m not getting paid to be here.”
“You’re – what?”
“Gray’s a friend. He asked me to do this as a favour for him.”
“Why’d you agree?”
“You think I could have lived with myself if I’d said no and something happened to you?”
Her heart lurched. “Because Gray would be upset?”
“Gray would be devastated.”
“So you’re here for him,” she mumbled, nodding, wondering why his admission of something so patently obvious should set her heart a skitter.
“Yes.”
It was her turn to eat. She barely tasted the salad, but took two scoops anyway.
“Our business went from small jobs for people we knew to word of mouth recommendation meaning we could expand to offer a coast to coast service, and then, within the space of eighteen months, we were booked so steady we needed to hire a team.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“My business partner, Ashton Perry.”
“Gray knows him too,” Max commented, tilting her head to the side. “I’m sure I’ve heard him mention his name.”
“Probably. We were in Iraq together.”
Max’s eyes widened. “That’s how you know each other?”
Noah dipped his head in silent agreement.
“He never talks about his time there. I have no idea what it was like.”
Noah didn’t elucidate. Even in her gin-infused state, Max noticed.
“How long were you over there?”
“Two years. Keep eating.”
“Stop telling me what to do.”
“You’re going to feel like shit in the morning unless you get some food into your stomach. Would you prefer toast?”
“No. This is fine. I just want to find out some more about you, given that we’re basically joined at the hip now.”
“Then let’s make a deal.”
“I’m still stuck in the middle of the last deal we made.”
His smile warmed her from the inside out. “You eat, I’ll answer your questions. If you don’t, I won’t cooperate.”
“You’re holding me hostage to food?”
“Something like that.”
“Ughhh,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re so like Gray, you know.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Wasn’t it?”
Now it was Max’s turn to smile. Noah was quick, and more importantly, he clearly thought as highly of her brother as she did.
“Who else have you protected?”
“I have confidentiality clauses with all my clients.”
“Even me?”
“Technically, you’re not my client, but yes, even you.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not interested in a pat on the back. I get in, do the job and get out again.”
“How noble.”
“Sarcasm?”
“Yes, but I didn’t mean it.” She sighed, placing down her fork. “I’m going to keep eating,” she muttered, before he could bark another order at her. She clasped her hands in her lap.
“So how do I know you’re good at your job if I can’t check your references?”
“You could try to attack me and see how far you get,” he suggested in a sardonic tone, clearly joking. But Max stood, curiosity and something far, far more urgent propelling her around the bench and into the kitchen. Alcohol and adrenaline were powering her.
“You think I couldn’t take you down, Noah?”
She liked the feel of his name in her mouth.
His laugh was hoarse, sensual, like sun-warmed honey. She smiled tightly, her knees no longer unsteady because of how much she’d drunk on an empty stomach, but because of the man standing in her kitchen.
But he wasn’t the only one who knew martial arts. She’d done several courses over the years, usually at her parents’ insistence, and she was glad now, because it gave her some idea of where to start. She kicked quickly, hitting him behind the knee, knocking him off balance – just enough to give her the advantage, then she went to grab his arm, to twist it behind his back. But whatever advantage she’d had with her sudden kick, she lost almost immediately. He righted himself, moving swiftly, instincts kicking in. He caught her hands and before she could so much as move to his back, he pulled hers down at her sides, her body pressed hard up to his. Their breathing was equally rushed, their chests touching as each struggled for air. Not from exertion but awareness and intrigue.
“That’s not fair,” she mumbled.
“You think anyone who attacks you is going to care about fairness?”
She tried to pull her hands free and for a moment, he resisted, holding her, to make a point? She wasn’t sure. But then he dropped them, and took a step back, impassive and calm again. Frustration cracked like a whip at her spine. Damn him!
She watched as he ate some pasta, days’ worth of frustrations spilling over so she made a primal grunting sound as she launched at him again, this time reaching for his shoulders, as if to push him over. He reacted swiftly despite being mid-mouthful. He turned, caught one arm and twisted it behind her back, and held the other at her side. It brought their bodies into close contact and she didn’t struggle. If she did, he might have pushed her aside, and she didn’t want that. Her breath tore from her lungs and her eyes strayed to his lips, caught there like a bug in a cobweb.
“So you can defend against me, big deal,” she said after a moment, the words raw and husky. “Show me what you can do.”
The challenge was layered with sensual heat, and she hoped, hoped, hoped he would rise to it.
“You’re sure?”
Hell, yes, she was sure.
She moved closer, her brain foggy, not working properly, her lips tingling with a need to be kissed, and then suddenly he was moving, his leg hooking behind hers, catching her completely off guard, so she fell awkwardly and would have crashed to the floor if his hands hadn’t been there to catch her, to guide her, so she was practically lowered to her back by Noah, and a second later his body was pinning hers to the tiled floor.
Oh, hell. She stared up at him, her pulse in her throat, needs and wants roaring through her.
“You’re strong,” she mumbled, the words falling from her lips without forethought. She could have cursed them for how naïve and innocent they sounded.
“You’re drunk. Not exactly a fair fight.”
She frowned. “I am not drunk.”
“Aren’t you?”
She shook her head just a little, not wanting to do anything that might dislodge him and put space between them.
“I have a lot of experience keeping people safe. You can trust me.”
He didn’t move though, and so Max didn’t either. She wanted to feel his body just like this, the weight of him an almost unbearable aphrodisiac.
“You have an amazing body.” More words blurted from her without Max’s consent.
Her hand lifted so her finger traced a line at his cheek, running towards his lips. She hesitated a moment, her eyes flaring as her finger traced the outline of his mouth, and heat spiraled through her like lava and fireworks.
“You should stop.” The words were gruff, a command he didn’t make it easy for her to obey. He stayed where he was, his breath powerful enough to make his lungs move, pressing to hers.
She bit back a knowing smile.
It was a short-lived triumph. A moment later, Noah was pulled up to standing, then held a hand down to her, in an offer of help. She stared at it, instantly bereft by his absence, by his rejection, and then she stumbled to her feet, a rush of blood filling her head, making her wish she hadn’t had that second gin. Embarrassment curled her toes.
“I –,”
“Forget about it.” He nodded towards her plate. “Sit. Eat.”
Her stomach churned. She should probably be grateful he wasn’t making a big deal but she felt thwarted, annoyed, irritated, impatient, infantilized, a thousand things she’d been made to feel in her life, and had always, always resented.
“I’m not hungry.” Her eyes bore into his, a challenge in their depths, waiting for him to fight with her, to command her to sit down.
“Suit yourself,” he responded a moment later, a casual shrug drawing her attention to his broad shoulders.
She hesitated, not sure exactly what she should do, but knowing, suddenly, that she desperately needed space from this man.
“Am I allowed to go to bed?” She asked tartly.
His eyes flamed when they met hers, speculation in their depths. “I think it’s a good idea.” He looked to the stairs and for the briefest moment she wondered if he was contemplating joining her? But then he turned his attention back to her face, so her gut kicked in overt appreciation. “Good night, Maxine. Sleep tight.”
He formedfists with his hands at either side, out of her field of vision, doing whatever he could to bring his body back under control. He’d played with fire tonight and he should be damned glad he hadn’t got burned. But it could have easily gone another way.
He’d liked the way she’d felt beneath him. He’d liked the way she’d touched his lips, his mouth, as though they were the most fascinating thing in the room. He’d liked the way she’d touched him, stared at him, the way her eyes had roamed his face, asking, seeking, needing, wanting.
He’d liked it way too much, so he’d put an end to it. It was the right thing to do.
He finished his dinner then washed the plates before heading up the stairs towards her room, checking every door and window as he went, before switching off the lights. On the landing outside her room, he hesitated. Her door was open – he supposed she was used to living alone and it simply hadn’t occurred to her to close it. He hesitated on the threshold, looking in when he knew he should keep walking. Telling himself it was purely to ascertain her safety, he scanned the room. The space was elegant and chic, surprisingly simple – a large bed against the far wall, a bay window that overlooked the street, Scandinavian looking furniture, and a green velvet armchair. A small light was on her bedside table, ceramic with tiny pin pricks in it so it cast a spotty constellation of gold across the ceiling. On closer inspection, he noted a type of steam rising from the centre of it – a vaporizer. He stalked to the window, double checked the lock and alarm then steadfastly refused to look at her as he strode from the room with the strangest feeling in the pit of his gut.
The room across the hallway was distinctly more masculine in furnishing, a heavy oak bed with a dark grey cover, a single nightstand, a matching nightlight to hers, and an ensuite. He stripped down and showered quickly, pulling a pair of boxers from his briefcase – he always travelled with one spare pair of clothes – and then loaded up his laptop. Reviewing Max’s staff was complex and time consuming. While she only employed a handful of domestics, there were dozens of executives who had access to her level at work, and a plethora of services to whom various jobs were outsourced, like her car cleaning, travel arrangements. His first recommendation would be to hire another PA and bring all of those arrangements in-house.
Noah always slept lightly. It was a habit honed by childhood, strengthened by war, and so beneficial to his career that he never tried to overcome it. He could hear a twig breaking a mile away so the moment Max woke, his eyes sprung open, his heart rate firing, adrenaline pounding his system. He sat bolt upright, looking around, taking the briefest moment to familiarize himself with his assignment, memories slamming into him as he stood and moved to his bedroom door in time to see Max push out of bed. Their eyes locked across the hallway and his heart began to pound for another reason altogether.
Yesterday he’d seen her as the successful CEO, a tycoon heiress in her element, then a stunning socialite on the party circuit, dressed to the nines and so glamorous and beautiful it had ached to look at her. But now, dressed in a simple cotton nightgown with her long blonde hair fluffy and loose down her back, she looked so sweet and vulnerable, every single protective cell in his body went into overdrive. He wanted to go to her and pull her close, to whisper that everything would be okay, that he’d make sure nothing happened to her. But that was a weakness he’d never allow himself, a promise he knew he could never make.
He stepped back into his room and shut the door, pushing her away as best he could.
