Page 68

I take the turn that leads to downtown, but before I hit the main street, a face pulses through my mind. A smile. A promise.Dimples.
But then . . . another face flashes—nothis, but his father’s.
I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white and force my thoughts back to Noah—how he showed up tonight, how he somehow charms me even when I’m feeling uncharmable.Hecan make me forget.
I turn the steering wheel and make a sharp right at the last second. No longer headed for the bar and a drink and a stranger, instead headed for Noah.
His house is dark, silent. I glance at the clock—9:40. Nottoolate. He did say he’d be home. But maybe he went to the bar instead, or maybe—maybe he went to sleep? I slip out of the car, unbothered by the idea of waking him. At the front door, I knock lightly, then almost immediately try opening it, and it whispers as it swings wide. Never in a million years would I have let myself into a man’s house before today, not even Sam’s. But my adrenaline is pumping, and I justify my actions by telling myself Noah left it open for me.
I step in, listening for him—for any sound at all.
But there’s nothing.
I remove my shoes and pad silently through the downstairs of his dark home. No one is down here, so I continue over a rug, up the stairs, until I reach the hallway leading to his bedroom. A shallow stream of light slices across the floor. I inch up, lean forward until I can see him. He’s sleeping in bed, head resting on a thick pillow, the comforter pulled up over his hips, but his chest is bare, abs showing. Their definition is apparent, even in this gray half-light. I standthere for too long, just watching him, tracing the outline of his jaw, his straight nose, with my gaze.
The way Mr. Sawyer watched me.
A rush of emotions hits—anger, vulnerability, sadness, hatred, and last, though not least,desire. Isn’t that what always got me in trouble? Mysins, as my mother would say. Maybe. Definitely. But right now I don’t care. The desire is too strong. I picture it: stalking across the room, waking him from his slumber by biting his collarbone or gripping his hair in my fist, drawing a cry of pain. I’m not in a healthy place mentally, but I’m with it enough to know that my wanting to inflict pain, on Mr. Sawyer’s son of all people, isfucked up.
Maybe I’m more Jocelyn right now than Elizabeth, and I want revenge. There have to be a million psychological reasons for me wanting tohurtNoah Sawyer, but I’m not willing to stop and analyze any of them.
I unzip my dress, slip it from my shoulders, leave it in a pile by the door. The cool night air sends goose bumps over my body. I exhale, walk to the bed, slowly lift a knee and climb on, feeling the plush fabric of the comforter against my skin.
I’m just about to straddle his hips when Noah’s eyes flicker open. A rush of adrenaline races through my body. His lips curve into a cocky grin.
He knew.He knew I’d come tonight. Probably left the door unlocked because he wasthat certainof himself.
And from that smile, I’d say he’s pretty damn happy he was right.
I settle my knee, finish straddling his hips, and drape myself over him, pressing my lips to his. His hands come up, cup my jaw, pulling me closer. As we kiss, Noah reaches down, grabs my hip, and starts to move me, taking control.
But that’s not how this is going to go. Not today.
I smack his hand away, catch his wrist, and press it to the bed. A rush of power floods me as I pin it at hisside. My other hand reaches for his jaw, caresses its way down to his throat, where my fingers splay wide. When he tries to sit up, to push me back, I bring my weight forward, onto my hand at his neck, andsqueezehis Adam’s apple. My heart slams against my rib cage as his face starts to turn pink.
A half laugh comes from his throat, and his eyes light up—excited—as he gives in and settles beneath me.Good boy.
I make my way down his body, raking smooth skin beneath my nails as I go. When I reach the waistband of his boxers, I stop, wait until our eyes meet, then slide them slowly down, peeling at the elastic until he springs free.
My hand wraps around his girth. “Is this what you want?”
Noah’s eyes close, his lips part, and he inhales soft, shallow breaths. It takes him a moment to come back, to look at me, to nod fervently.
“Good,” I say. “But too bad . . .”
And then I stop and climb off him.
“What are you—”
“Out of bed.” I stand, snap my fingers, then point to the ground. “On your knees.”
He watches me, trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing. But then that intoxicating grin comes back, the one that has reeled me back time and time again, and he slides out of bed, onto his knees, gazing up at me like he’s ready for anything, like he trusts me.
Just like I trusted his father.
But Noah doesn’t know what he’s in for, not yet.
“Don’t look at me.” I grab his hair, force his head down. “Eyes on the ground.”