Never Mine by Clare Connelly
Chapter 4
“MAX, OVER HERE!”
“Smile for us, Maxi Baby!”
“This way, this way!”
“You’re perfection!”
The Eiffel Tower was the ideal backdrop to the fashion show, the open-air event making the most of the early summer evening, the dusk sky glistening and golden so Max took a brief moment to appreciate the view.
“You’re gorgeous! Another smile! Who are you wearing tonight?”
The voices drew her back to the throng. She kept her expression pinned in place, a haughty half-smile she’d perfected years ago, aware of the crowd that spilled out onto the Parisian street, the red carpet lined with velvet ropes no match for the surging mass of paparazzi and fans who’d gathered to see fashion’s elite enter the tents just across from the Eiffel Tower.
To any onlooker, she was the picture of sophisticated elegance. No one could tell that a coil of anxiety was winding in her stomach, as every face in the crowd caught her attention, making her wonder if that was her stalker, or that, or him, or her.
But Noah was there, just a few feet away. His spare clothes had been delivered before their flight and he wore a dark grey suit now with a crisp white shirt, still as flattering as that which he’d worn the day before, so she wanted to strip it off him, piece by piece.
Out of nowhere she remembered how he’d appeared that morning at his bedroom door, a rippling wall of abdominals beneath a tan, swarthy chest, a tattoo just above his heart – too far away for her to make out the details of the cursive script, but just the sight of the ink on his flesh had made her belly flip and flop. His boxer shorts were dark gray but they’d done nothing to disguise his generous proportions, so now she’d spent the entire day unable to think of much besides Noah, his body, his ass, his everything.
It pissed her off.
Max didn’t like obsessing over anyone, and sure as hell not her brother’s best friend. He was arrogant and bossy and besides that, she was mortified that she’d run her finger over his lips the night before, practically begging him to kiss her – and more – and that he’d shut her down. Could he make it any more obvious that he wasn’t interested? And shouldn’t she be focusing on something far more important, like the whole ‘someone stalking her and getting into her home’ aspect of things?
Grinding her teeth with determination, she gave one last look at the paparazzi then sashayed towards the tent entrance, where two men in dark suits stood sentry.
At the gate, though, they stopped Noah.
“He’s with me,” she murmured.
“Identification?”
Noah pulled something out of his wallet, a badge of some sort. One of the security offices studied it then nodded, pulling back the curtains.
Was Noah wearing his gun even now? Again, that same frisson of anticipation ran through her, so she focused extra hard on looking as though she barely knew he existed.
Fashion shows were frantic and bedlam, and this was no exception. The tent was overflowing with models, celebrities, security and a select handful of photographers. Many were in a state of undress, or wearing lingerie as their hair and make up was completed.
“Darling, you’re here. Thank God. We’ve got you in the Stella McCartney,” Elvira Pepin, organizer of the event, dressed in an electric pink suit caught Max by the arms. “You’re over there.” She nodded towards a dressing area in the centre of the tent. “The necklace will have to go for the show.” She nodded at Max’s diamond, a piece she always wore. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a seventeen-year-old coked out of her brains I need to deal with.”
Max grimaced. “Good luck with that.”
She looked up at Noah, wondering how this must seem to him, and got nothing from his expression. He was like a stone at her side, his eyes flicking the room, scanning, always scanning, so she felt uneasy and wished, for a moment, that he’d stop doing that. She knew he was there to keep her safe, but she wanted to forget there was any risk, just for a little while.
“I’m fine here, Noah. You saw the security outside, right?”
His response was a tightening of his lips, a sardonic half-smile. “Pretend I’m not here.”
Easier said than done. It took a monumental effort to act as though she wasn’t aware of him, dressing into the stunning gown and sky high heels before hair and make up set to transforming her into something other worldly. When she was at home, Max preferred to wipe all her make up off and scrape her hair into a pony tail, but for events like this, she was painted like artwork, the eye make up smoky and thick, fake lashes applied so her eyes were impossible to ignore.
As the stylist chatted inanely and fashioned her hair into a teased, curled masterpiece, her eyes strayed to the mirror; specifically to Noah, who stood just to her right, his eyes roaming the room in an impersonal, watchful way.
“You’re up, babe!” Elvira was back. “Holy shit. You look smoking hot. How do you do it?”
Max deflected the praise. “This dress is amazing.”
“And how you wear it is,” she pinched her fingers to her lips in a gesture that said perfection. “Now go, go, go.”
“I’m going.” Max stood, appraising her own reflection for a moment, straightening the dress over her stomach and fluffing it at her thighs, then glancing at Noah on autopilot. Now he was looking at her, and just the briefest clash of their eyes sent her pulse into a dangerous rhythm.
“I’ll be watching,” he said quietly, an arm on her elbow as he led her to the door all the models were filing in and out of.
She nodded, a kaleidoscope of butterflies overtaking her stomach. It was ridiculous. She’d done this dozens of times – not because she had any secret penchant for modelling but because she was a sucker for a good cause and a charity fashion show always raised a small fortune. At one time, she’d believed that no publicity was bad publicity, hence the never-ending way she’d torn up the red carpet in her teens and early twenties, but it had never occurred to her she’d end up with some stalker obsessively watching over her, tracking her every movement.
Someone who’d broken into her garage, vandalised her car, who knew everything about her, who could be in the audience even now, watching her, fantasizing about her, wanting to hurt her.
Huge eyes flew to Noah’s face. His jaw was locked, his features an impenetrable mask.
“I’m here.” The words throbbed through her, firm, reassuring. “I’m watching. I’ve got you.”
It was everything she’d needed to hear. “I’ll be quick.”
“Don’t fall.” One side of his lips quirked, and her heart skipped a beat.
She opened her mouth to respond tartly then remembered her necklace. “Shoot.” She unclipped it hurriedly, handing it over to him. “Can you mind this?”
She didn’t have time to hear his reply.
“Go, go, go,” Elvira urged, appearing as if from nowhere.
Max jerked her eyes away from Noah’s face and focused on the runway and the walk she had to do. She waited for the music cue then took her step. She’d done this before. She knew what it entailed. A thousand flashes, like torches being shone in her face, murmured voices, more flashes, loud music, blood pounding through her body and finally it was over. It was ninety seconds at most, but the most electric, jolting ninety seconds Max could imagine. At some fashion shows, the crowds gave standing ovations, but not in Paris. Here it was all so tres chic, but there was muted applause, and that was saying something.
She stepped back into the tent, then the second she saw Noah, expelled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, before moving close enough to him that if anyone were to reach for her he could stop them, his arms would move quickly, blocking them, holding her, keeping her safe.
She was desperate to get out of the tent, away from the people, hundreds of people she didn’t know, any one of whom could wish her ill.
“I just need to get changed,” she said quickly, quietly, so he leaned closer to hear and she was hit with a wave of desire radiating from the pit of her stomach through all her nerve endings.
“You were phenomenal,” Elvira squeezed Max’s arm and she flinched at the unexpected contact.
“Thank you,” she recovered quickly.
“Sticking around for the after party?”
Max wanted to be in her apartment, away from the throng of celebrities, the noise, the lights, the attention, the risk, but she also wanted to run as hard as she could from fear, from allowing anyone to taunt and control her. She glanced at Noah; his face gave nothing away.
“Not tonight.”
“What? Everyone’s hoping to see you there.”
She winced. “I need an early night.”
“Come for one drink,” Elvira persisted, but Max shook her head.
“Another time. You’ve done a great job.”
“Thanks, babe. I’m so glad you could take part. I’ll email you about Fashion week, yeah?”
Max lifted one shoulder noncommittally. Charity events were fine, but fashion week was where she drew a line. “We’ll see.” She kissed Elvira’s cheeks, then turned back to Noah. Speculation glinted in his eyes.
“Two minutes.”
He handed over her necklace and her heart skipped a beat.
When she emerged from the change room she was back in her own clothes, a pair of leather pants and a silk blouse over a black lace bra, and she had to give Noah points for willpower when his eyes didn’t drop – even for a second – to trace the outline of her breasts. Had she worn the provocative outfit deliberately to stir a reaction? Absolutely. Was she disappointed that it had been an abject failure? More than she cared to admit.
“Your car’s out back,” Noah said, putting a hand just above the curve of her bottom, guiding her back to a side entrance of the tent.
“Not out front?”
His eyes probed hers. “No. Unless you want more photos?”
She shook her head. “It’s just how this normally works.”
“These aren’t normal times.”
Would they ever be again?
She didn’t ask the question; she wouldn’t give in to fear.
He opened the door for her, but instead of moving to the front passenger seat, he opened the driver door, spoke some words in French – he spoke the language? – then took the seat behind the wheel.
“What are you doing?” She leaned forward in the car.
“Driving. Buckle up.”
She frowned. “But why?”
His eyes met hers in the rearvision mirror. “Control.”
Goosebumps lifted all over her skin. It was the single word that most completely encompassed how she felt when she was with Noah. He was in control at all times.
She did as he said, relaxing back into the seat and doing up her belt as a click sounded to show that he’d locked the doors.
“My apartment is just off of the rue de –,”
“I know where it is.”
“Of course you do.” She wished she were sitting in the front seat, beside him, closer, more able to speak like equals rather than a strange employer/employee dynamic. But that’s what they were, she reminded herself quickly, even if he wasn’t technically being paid.
“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”
His eyes flicked to hers in the rearvision mirror, despite the fact he was navigating the busy intersection of the Place de Varsovie, with traffic streaming from all sides.
“Fashion shows aren’t really my scene.”
She suppressed a smile at the derisive tone. “You don’t approve?”
He turned left, away from the madness of the streets. She noticed the route was different to that which her driver usually took, but wasn’t worried. She trusted him.
“I don’t disapprove,” he responded laconically. “But if you’re asking if I’d be lining up to spend my spare time in that environment then the answer is no.”
“And what do you do in your spare time?”
From her vantage point, she could see the way his hands gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“Work.”
She pouted. “That’s work. I mean for fun.”
“Are the two mutually exclusive?”
“So that’s your social life?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re not saying anything,” she responded with a lift of one brow. “In fact, you’re doing an excellent job of dodging whatever question I ask.”
She saw the way his face shifted, a smile instantaneous then just as swiftly removed. “Did you have fun tonight?” He asked instead, turning it back on her.
“It was work for me too.”
“Charity work?”
“Same same,” she lifted a shoulder. “I committed to coming. It’s an important cause. But I’m glad it’s over.”
“You were a natural out there.”
She pulled her lips to one side, thinking of how hard she’d had to work to become good at that – looking confident and assured, to parlay her looks into an advantage rather than something she wanted to downplay and minimize as much as she could.
“Turn left here,” she said, nodding.
He didn’t. She frowned. “You know where you’re going, right?”
“Haven’t we covered this?”
“Then why are you heading right around Paris? My apartment’s in that arrondisement?”
He didn’t answer and something like fear trickled through her veins. “You’re worried we’re being followed.”
“No.”
She spun in her seat, looking behind the car. “What is it? Which car?”
He made a gruff sound of amusement. “You’re being paranoid.”
“No, you’re being paranoid, if you’re taking me on a joyride just for the sake of it.”
“No one is following us.” He said it with complete confidence, so she knew he’d been scoping the surrounding cars to be sure of that fact. “But it’s good practice to choose different routes than one might expect. Predictability is the enemy of proper security.”
She eased back in her seat, somewhat mollified. “I see.”
They were quiet for the rest of the drive, but it wasn’t a comfortable silence. How could it be when every second that passed stretched Max’s nerves almost to breaking point? She was aware of his every movement, of the way he filled out the car, she was aware of the way her body responded, wanting him, needing him, wishing she could touch him again then remembering with a burst of embarrassment how that had gone the night before.
No more drinking around Noah Storm, rule number one.
No more imagining him naked, rule number two.
He pulled the car up out the front of the exclusive building, coming around to open her door. Habit kept her in her seat, waiting for him, and as she stepped out, into the circle of his arms, she had to fight an impulse to lean in, to brush their bodies together. She was losing her mind. What had happened to her rules?
Two doormen stood just inside the foyer, and as she approached, one opened the glass doors, the other tipped his hat.
“Mademoiselle Fortescue, good evening.”
She smiled in response, waiting for Noah, who took one last look around then stepped with her into the building. He handed the keys to the doorman, clearly au fait with protocols in apartments like this.
“The place was built in the thirties,” she murmured, “but unlike a lot of old apartment buildings in Paris, the lifts were redone sometime in the late nineties. Thank God. My flat’s on the seventh floor, and on the handful of times I’ve had to use the steps it’s a workout, believe me.”
She was babbling.
“Anyway,” she forced her voice to resemble something crisp and cool, gesturing to the bank of lifts.
One came almost as soon as he pressed the button and Max stepped into it without thinking, without preparing, more to the point, for how close she would be to Noah in this tiny cubicle – all the space the building would allow for.
They were shoulder to shoulder, and Max barely breathed as the lift ascended, wanting to reach for him, to touch him.
The doors pinged open into a well-lit corridor that had three doors coming off it.
“Do you know the other occupants?”
“Not well. We’re not here often.” She angled her face to his. “Why? Do you think one of them has been secretly following me?”
His lips compressed. “I like to cover all bases.”
Control. The word burst into her mind and she knew it answered her question. He was chasing down every possibility because he wanted – needed – control over this situation.
“The woman next door is in her eighties. She’s lived here for a long time. Seems nice enough. The other door is, I believe, a corporate apartment like ours.”
“Your company owns the flat?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, Fortescue Inc is basically just Gray and me. We share a lot of property.”
“Right.”
“You guys don’t talk about this stuff?”
“Not generally, no.”
She wondered about their friendship – she’d heard Noah’s name from time to time, but not often, and they definitely didn’t move in the same social circles, so far as she knew.
She flicked on lights as she entered, tossing her handbag onto a chair then heading into the kitchen to pour a glass of wine, before she remembered rule number one and switched to soda water. “Want one?”
He dipped his head in silent agreement; she retrieved another bottle. She should have put it on the kitchen bench, but impulsiveness drew her across the room, her hand pushing the bottle towards him at close range, so that when he took it, his fingers curled around hers and something inside of her jolted, hard.
Pleasure began to build, to spin, anticipation throbbing low in her abdomen. She wasn’t drunk now, not even close, so she knew the decisions she was making were all powered by her own wants, her own desires.
“Why did you push me away last night?”
A muscle jerked low in his jaw, as though he were grinding his teeth.
“When?”
“Don’t do that,” she murmured, swaying forward, the water forgotten, his nearness all she could focus on. “Don’t act as if you don’t know what I’m talking about. If you’re not attracted to me, that’s fine. Just say it. My ego’s not so fragile…”
It wasn’t about ego though, so much as a thousand and one precious hopes, hopes that had formed deep in her soul since the moment they met, hopes she couldn’t untangle from her real self now, hopes that were taking over completely.
“Being attracted to you is not an option.”
“What does that even mean?”
He made a low, growling sound but when he spoke his voice was soft, patient. “I’m here to keep you safe, not take you to bed. No matter how…fascinating…I find that idea, it would be completely inappropriate.”
Stars shone behind her eyes. She heard what he was saying, but she clung to his admission, that he was as fascinated by the idea of being with her as she was with him.
“Do you think my apartment’s not safe?”
She looked around, then turned back to him, using the movement as an excuse to get even closer, so now their bodies were held together, her face tilted a little to stare up at him.
“You have no idea what you’re doing, Max.”
“Don’t I?” Her smile was impish. “How can you know that?”
Something sparked in the depths of his eyes. “You’re playing with fire and it’s going to burn us both.”
Even that – a warning – was only capable of inflaming her desire. “Do you really care right now?”
“Less than I should.”
“Me too.”
“I’m not here to do this.”
“Why can’t you be both? You’ve already said how good you are at taking pleasure from your work…”
Despite the tension, he laughed, a low, throbbing sound of appreciation. She caught his chin, running her fingertips over his cheek, so his laugh cut short and his eyes sought hers, as though he were lost and she were, somehow, a lifeline.
“You’re my best friend’s sister.” He said the words like an invocation, as though to remind himself as well as Max.
“I’m also a grown woman. Gray has no say in the men I sleep with.”
His eyes flared – the direct statement taking away any innuendo and inference, stripping it all so there was just the bald fact of what they were discussing.
“That doesn’t mean we should screw around behind his back.”
He was going to step away from her. She could feel it. Impatience lashed her spine, and she lifted up onto the tips of her toes. “Let’s make a deal.”
“What do you suggest?”
“I’m going to kiss you.” Her eyes fell to his lips and she licked her own, desire ravaging her nervous system. “If you want me to stop, then so be it. But I don’t think one kiss will be enough, Noah.” She paused, waiting for him to say something.
He didn’t.
“Shall we see if I’m right?”
He swore softly under his breath, and then it was Noah who was kissing Max, his head dropping to close the distance between them almost as if dragged against his will, his lips pressing to hers in what he’d possibly expected to be a chaste brush. But the second their lips were in contact it was like they were welded together, sparks flying as his hands caught her face, holding her right where she was, his fingers splayed wide at her cheeks so his mouth could move over hers, his tongue dueling with hers, his body tight and aching to lose himself in Max.
She groaned, lifting one leg, pressing it behind his, so her sex was close to his arousal, rolling her hips in a silent, desperate invitation for so much more than just this one kiss. But Noah was an expert of control and even when Max was spiraling well beyond the world they inhabited, well beyond knowing where and who she was, Noah was still Noah.
He dropped his hands to her hips, lifting her with ease and carrying her to the kitchen without breaking their kiss, sitting her on the edge of the bench, his hands resting on her thighs as he overpowered every single one of her meager defenses, showing the ravages of his own, his hands finding the bare flesh beneath her blouse, his fingertips brushing her there until goosebumps exploded over her skin. He pushed her shirt up, finding the lace of her bra and unceremoniously thrusting it aside so her breasts spilled out of the delicate fabric, her nipples taut and desperate for attention. He plucked them, cupping her breasts, whispering into her mouth as he kissed her, then moved his attention to her jaw, his stubble marking her skin pink as he brushed his mouth over her there, taking an earlobe into his mouth and wobbling it so she cried out at the unexpected explosion of need.
Her breath was frantic, like she’d run a thousand marathons, and her forehead was beaded in perspiration. She tore away from him purely so she could rip her blouse from her head, needing to be naked with him, needing him to take her to bed and make love to her until she couldn’t think about anything but the perfection of this.
“I need this tonight,” she groaned, tilting her head back, staring at the ceiling as his mouth sought one of her nipples, flicking it so she moaned, her fingers curling into his shirt. It was all too much – and over all too-quick. He pulled up, his skin ashen, his eyes filled with self-condemnation, as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just been doing.
“Jesus.” He stepped back from her like she’d sprayed him with acid. “Fucking Christ.”
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, even when the entire mood had shifted and it was abundantly clear that whatever had tipped him over the line into kissing her had completely disappeared. At least for Noah.
“That should not have happened.”
“Why not?” She demanded, without moving.
He reached for her shirt, straightening it out so the arms were the right way, then holding it over her head. It had been about twenty three years since anyone had helped dress her but Max didn’t fight his intervention – she punched her arms through the sleeves, her gaze on his face the whole time.
“What’s happened? Why did you stop?”
His lips formed a tight line. “The only reason I’m here is to keep you safe. I appreciate that you’re probably bored. I appreciate that men generally throw themselves at your feet and beg to make love to you, but I’m not like normal men, and I swear to you, Max, that’s never going to happen between us.”
Hurt washed over her but she fought it, clinging to anger instead. “Says who?” She sneered, amazed at how quickly she could turn from desire to derision. “You obviously wanted me.”
“Yes, I did.” She was gratified that he didn’t attempt to deny it. “But that doesn’t mean I want anything to happen between us.”
“Let me guess. You’re too virtuous to have sex with a woman you barely know?”
His eyes narrowed. “Actually, that’s my preferred modus operandi,” he contradicted with a flatness to his voice that was completely at odds with her lightning bolt of jealousy.
“So what’s the problem?”
“We’ve dealt with that. I’m here in a professional capacity. That’s something I take seriously. I appreciate someone like you is used to getting what she wants, but I suggest you listen to what I’m saying: it’s never going to happen.”
Hurt was a blade at her side. She glared at him, valiantly hiding any such emotion, even as it ran rampant through her. How dare he?
She dug her fingernails into her palm, hating the implication that she was spoiled, that she always got her way, hating that he was the one to say it, even when she’d heard it a thousand times before. It minimized her every struggle, every obstacle, it revealed that he saw her like the rest of the world did – some entitled heiress who’d been handed everything on a silver platter, when she suddenly wanted, quite desperately, for Noah to see her as she really was.
“Oh, go to hell,” she snapped, pulling away from him and sliding off the bench, stalking through the palatial apartment with no idea that from Noah’s perspective, he was already there.
