Page 13 of Rolling 75 (The Noire Brothers #1)

“Oh, that one.” A half-laugh, half-strangled scoff tumbles out of me.

“I interpreted that to mean items like a laptop, Post-it Notes, and a staple gun, but cashmere, Birkin bags, and Jimmy Choos make sense, too, I guess. In your mind. I just …” I twirl around to face him fully, wondering if all these years apart and all the messiness I experienced with Dalton has caused me to lose touch with reality, to misconstrue things. “You’re mad at me.”

“Yes.”

“And we’re not friends?” I prod further.

“No.”

Frustrated with his unwavering one-word answers, I fling my hand back to the toy kingdom he threw together for my three-year-old. “And Remy is Dalton’s son.”

He shrugs, though his jaw could cut glass. “With your beautiful smile and my goddamn middle name. Your point?”

That hint of my unhinged Ryker urges me to press. His restraint the last twenty-four hours has been so unnerving. He’s been hot and cold and everything in between. From flirty to all business, his only definitive statement is that we aren’t friends. I’m stumped.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head, scouring my mind for the right question. “Why the overtures?”

“I kidnap in style.” Inside his pockets, his fists curl, and he huffs, showing me more of the man who can’t hold things in. “When have I not fucking taken care of you?”

“You always have, but … something’s different.” I don’t bother concealing the ache in my voice when I launch my accusation. “You’re hiding things.”

“Yes,” he responds without apology.

“Why?” My pulse gallops ferociously. I feel dizzy.

Again, he stares right into the deepest crevasses of my heart, making me feel both naked and seen for the first time in years. “You’re not ready.”

I blow out a choppy breath, heeding that caution. I might not be prepared to hear what I’m about to ask, but I’m desperate for a scrap of truth to piece things together. “If there isn’t anything about Dalton’s father to tell me, is it about my parents? Is that what you’re hiding?”

In a single stuttered heartbeat, he’s in front of me, crowding me near the tall shelving, hands still in his pockets, possibly strangling the life out of those dice he was fiddling with earlier.

“What are you talking about? Did you remember something?” At my silence, he grinds his teeth, and his rumbling tone is lethal. “You’re hiding things too.”

“Yeah,” I admit, working through an arduous swallow.

Even without him touching me, his intensity seeps into my skin.

“Why?” He repeats my query, provoking me to follow suit.

“You’re not ready.” The scope of what’s going on here is still hazy, but elements are becoming clearer. “Was the indefinite time frame more accurate than the five months you amended?”

His icy blues thaw with both anguish and empathy. “What do you think?”

Nothing is adding up. Or everything is.

“Maybe that I need a minute.”

“Hey.” He smooths my hair away from my forehead, his touch so tender that it almost hurts, his gaze romping all over my face, his voice an alluring blend of satin and gravel. “You said it. We’re not the same. So, we need to find our way through this. Together.”

A pause that is teeming with unspoken messages severs his reassurance, until he carries on.

“The clothes and accessories are to give you a strong start. I want you to feel like yourself again, to show up as part of Axel’s team and know you’re an asset, the most badass attorney La Lune Noire has ever seen.

Whether that’s the Mercy from five years ago or a brand-new one. ”

His belief in me is disarming. It’s been a long time since someone has championed me that way—not since him. But it’s more complicated now.

Whatever this tantalizing spark is zapping between us, it elicits pandemonium in my mind and tingling in other places .

I want so many contradictory things. To melt into him or run far away, to explore a path that was never supposed to be mine or blockade it so I don’t lose everything.

It’s too much to process. Things I once denied are living and breathing, morphing me into a liar.

And the things I thought were lies suddenly have a thread of truth to them. Everything is upside down.

“I might not be showing it well, but I really am grateful.” That admission emerges through a whisper, like part of me views this exchange as a secret, my eyes flicking to his lips until I force them away. “I’m just confused and wondering if it’s … going to blur lines.”

“Ahh, lines. We’ve been there before.” His scowl has a trace of lust in it, but it appears he’s primarily stuck on how I pushed him away in the past. “So, here’s some clarity. I’ll be drawing new lines. You robbed me of the past three years. I’ll spoil you and Remy the way I want.”

“Impressive,” I deadpan. “It takes talent to make caretaking sound like a punishment.”

A knock on the closet door has us turning to find Maddox, grinning ear to ear, his eyebrows arched, as if he caught us in a sex swing, not merely having a private conversation.

“Sorry to interrupt. Nah, that’s a lie.” He chuckles, crossing his arms and bracing his shoulder against the threshold molding. “I’m here to rescue you, Mercy. Since you’re officially a La Lune Noire employee, a trip to the Underground is in order.”

Relief washes over me. I could use some air. “That’s your employee club?”

“Yep. Cash and I are headed out in a half hour. We’ve got an event tonight. Axel and Jax are having a blast with Remy, so you should come.”

“Well”—I hedge, rethinking my initial reaction—“we did just get here. I’m not sure I should leave Remy.”

“He’ll be fine,” Ryker interjects. “He’ll be going to sleep soon, and you’ll be right downstairs. It will be good for you to make friends, have fun, take a break.”

Such a simple sentiment that means more to me than he could fathom, just like the one he extended last night. “All I want is to be the man who builds you back up.”

“I’d love to. I’ll be ready in twenty-five minutes,” I tell Maddox, and once he dips his chin and swaggers away, I return my gaze to Ryker. “Thanks for not objecting.”

“No objections. Just remember who you are, Merce.” He palms my head and leans into my ear, his scruff tickling my cheek. “That you’re mine. Behave yourself.”

“Right.” I nod, enhancing that alluring prickle from his stubble. “The contract.”

“That too.” He smiles against my temple, his hushed chuckle cascading over me, inducing a shiver.

It seems he’s back to flirting. I’m at a loss.

My fingers crawl over his chest as I try to put some space between us, but his hands clamp on to my hips, and I feel the scorch of his fingertips through my clothes.

That’s new. There were brief—very brief—beats in the past when we stilled, our eyes meeting with something too heavy to vocalize, too messy to act on, but we always shook it off and went on our platonic way.

But this … the air in this closet is soupy and oppressive.

“This will be good. You can lay the groundwork for us being together however you’re most comfortable.” A crooked smile bleeds into his dimple—the charming trait that hurls a middle finger at his stony edges—as he lifts me up and sets me aside, like a traffic cone blocking his path.

He pulls open a drawer from the shelving we were standing in front of, and I’m stunned. He was only moving me out of the way. Maybe the sparks are all in my freaking head. That’s better, I suppose.

“I’ll take care of it.” Those words are strained. Suddenly, I can’t breathe, not because I’m suffocated, but because I’m thrown by how the loss of his warmth stings.

I need to get ahold of myself. I’ve missed his presence in my life, and I want my friend back. Anything else is old ghosts taunting me.

He waves his hand over the drawer. “You can pick whichever you like or wear a different one every day of the week. There’s other jewelry to match as well.”

When my vision snags on what he’s referencing, my jaw falls slack.

There are seven huge, gorgeous diamond engagement rings.

Four white diamonds in various cuts sit beside three that are truly unique in color and design.

There’s one that catches my eye though—a vintage, pear-shaped champagne diamond, encircled with white diamonds that trail down the rose gold band.

“They’re stunning, but why are there so many?”

“I told you, I intend to spoil you. I couldn’t choose, and you shouldn’t have to.”

This was never part of who we were. He took care of me, surprised me with gifts, bought dinner, insisted I drive his cars when mine were in the shop. Best friend stuff. Not Ryker Noire, the billionaire. This is all new—the imagined heat on my end and the sweeping gestures on his.

This would be so romantic if …

My head is so messed up. “You know I don’t need this, right? I would have helped you with this just because you asked me.”

Maybe that doesn’t ring true because I took off, but that’s so much more complicated than my willingness to be here for him. He has to know that.

“Of course.” He studies me before he heads for the door. “This is how I planned to handle an engagement, so let’s keep things as authentic as we can. Make sure you always have one on.”

How he planned to handle an engagement?

The Ryker Noire I knew never pictured himself married. What changed?