Page 26 of Vicious Arrangement (Alpha Billionaire Daddies #7)

Chapter Twenty-One

ARIA

Wednesday of the following week, I sit outside the hospital, eating a salad for lunch. There’s a tiny park across the road that I like, even if it isn’t much. There are usually kids playing with a parent or a nanny.

I sigh and take a sip of the juice I stole from the fridge that morning. Kale, green apple, beet, and ginger, according to the label Andre makes with his little label gun he seems to love.

Who’d ever have thought I’d be living somewhere with regular staff that included a personal chef?

I close my eyes and let the breeze brush over me as kids scream in delight and traffic honks on the road. Then I open them and take a bite of my salad.

After the fishing trip with the adorable Josh, where I saw a side of Noah a girl could fall head over heels in love with—soft, patient, happy, a man who was as comfortable in a boardroom as he was praising a small child for catching a waterlogged plastic bag, one Noah removed from the hook and binned and helped the kid recast—I really don’t know where I stand.

When he opened up to me… and a handful of words about his family was for Noah opening up, I hugged that to myself.

Not the horror story that he told me about in all the spaces of his matter-of-fact words, but I hugged the idea Noah and I seemed to reach a place where it wasn’t just sex. We could have meaningful dialogue.

It was, in essence, a giant step for Noah.

But Noah’s still Noah. Complicated. Difficult. An asshole.

He’s cold and seemingly unfeeling, with all the little arrogant things that add up to “asshole” if one isn’t looking properly.

For the longest time, I didn’t look properly.

I take another sip.

He has scars. Deep ones, and ugly festering ones I suspect. But the difference is that he has a perfect golden child exterior. He plays the man who’s had it all, and still does, and takes it for granted.

Except…

After seeing him with Josh, both when we went fishing and when he came home ready to rip Asher and me apart over nothing at all, listening to what he told me and what he didn’t, the way he sometimes touches me… after everything Gramps and Asher have said about Noah…

I think there’s more to him. So much more. And I think he isn’t taking it for granted. I think someone hurt him badly after he was hurt by his father, after he lost his mother, and he thinks he’s unworthy of… things… like maybe love… and so he wears a disguise.

Just like Superman wears Clark Kent.

Or maybe like Captain Sexy wears Noah’s suits instead of the velvet one.

I don’t know, and as much as I desperately want it all to matter, to mean something, I can’t be the only one playing and trying.

I take another bite of my salad, my stomach rocking with a touch of nausea.

He’s shut down again. It’s like living with a ghost for a roommate whose language skills each monosyllabic words. That’s when I see him, which is rare.

The man goes from one extreme to another and it drives me insane.

With a sigh, I snap the lid on my salad as my pager beeps, and I rush back to work, hoping the day won’t be too long.

That night, Angus and I go for a long run after I get home.

He barks at me joyfully as we push the speed for a while.

Then we settle into our normal pace, his seemingly boundless energy in need of a workout, and running still seems to be the only way for me to have a clear mind.

The high-octane music with the powerful beat keeps the thoughts at bay.

But when we walk back, they start creeping in once again.

There’s no Noah when I get home, and I shower and fall asleep, Angus climbing up to curl next to me, stealing a large portion of my bed.

We repeat the same process Thursday, and when I shower, I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s like he’s burst some kind of dam in my head, and the water seems to make my libido flare. The water’s like the slide of his tongue or the brush of his fingers, and it makes my clit throb, my nipples hard.

I swallow hard, finishing with my shower. I dry off and pull on an oversize shirt. What I need is a glass of wine and something light to eat. A good aged cheddar and crackers. Or maybe just the crackers and no wine.

Or perhaps what I need is Noah’s commands and my hands tied above my head as he buries his face between my thighs.

Everything buzzes.

Outside, Angus is racing back and forth, lapping water, enjoying the space he has as his own and the night air.

I want to see Noah. And if he won’t talk, I want the next best thing, him with me, talking through fucking, because in a way, it’s what he’s doing.

At least in my mind he is. Each touch of tenderness contains the soft words he can’t find, the rough sex is his way of telling me how much he wants me. The domination and dirty talk that riles me up is his claim on me.

I lie on the bed and pick up a book, but the steamy thriller is at a hot scene and I can’t help seeing it as me and Noah.

I let it fall from my fingers, and the book hits the bed with a thump. Since no one’s home, I slide my hand down between my thighs and start to touch, trying to mimic the ways Noah touches me.

I’ve got a vibrating rose, and I’d grab that; as for me, a rabbit or the rose gets me off.

But I’m not sure that’s my goal. I want to relive the times with him, see if that can push me over the edge.

I’m wet, and I spread my juices over my sex, up to my clit as I run a finger through my folds, revving the engines and the outer parts most men—not Noah—forget when they’re after the prize. I then slide up and start to circle and tease my clit, and the tendrils of excitement spread through me.

Pleasure starts to swirl inside me, and I rub a little harder when I hear a sound.

My eyes snap open.

Noah’s standing against the doorframe, arms folded, jacket gone, tie undone, and an intense expression on his handsome face as he stares at me.

At my pussy.

Then he lifts his gaze to me.

“What the fuck, Noah?”

“I came to talk to you. And your door’s open. It’s a hell of an invitation, princess.”

I start to pull my hand away; but he shakes his head, and for some reason, I stop.

“Keep going,” he says. “Get yourself off. One minute or I get a belt and whip you so you can’t sit for a week.”

As an empty promise, it makes me shake with delight, and the deviant undertone pushes the pleasure higher.

Noah would never hurt me. Not physically. My heart could be a different matter, but his father might have been an abuser, but not Noah. He’d have shown it when he loses his temper.

But I don’t care about that right now.

I care about the meaning of the words. The command. The threat of pleasure wrapped in pain he’d never inflict. The fantasy’s enough. The command’s totally real, and I keep looking at him as I continue to circle my clit, to rub.

With him watching, it doesn’t take long, and in my head, the tick of the clock is a metronome to pleasure.

The first electric wave hits in moments, and I bite my lip. His eyes darken, and he straightens.

It pushes me over the edge, and sheer orgasmic pleasure cascades over me as I come.

He moves then, undoing his pants.

There’s a feral vibe as he jacks himself, climbing on the bed and pushing my thighs wider. He bites my neck, hard.

“Good girl.”

Then Noah pushes into me.

I thought I was done, but I’m not. I wrap around him as we fuck each other hard, a frantic, desperate edge to it, like we haven’t touched in years instead of days, like we both need this to live.

He comes, setting me off again, and his cum spurts inside me, as I scream and he groans.

Noah starts to pull out, and shame hits me, a different pain, too. He’s going to walk out. He’s going to?—

“Fuck, no. You don’t get to push me away, Aria,” he says as he pulls off his tie and gathers my hands. “I’m not done, and I don’t think I’m going to be done for a long fucking while.”

“Noah…” I whimper.

He kisses me as he ties my hand. “I’m going to fuck you slow now, eat you out, and make you scream.”

And he does just that, and more.

He’s gone when I wake Friday morning, and the clock in my head has stopped. I go to sit up, looking at the watch. I’m going to need to run in to work, I?—”

Slam a hand over my mouth as nausea hits me hard, and I just make it to my bathroom before I hit the porcelain and throw up.

After I feel a little better. Christ, a lot of sex and a half salad for a meal yesterday will make anyone so hungry they throw up, but I don’t feel good.

Noah’s gone, which makes my bones heavy and lethargic. I’m not shocked, but… maybe it’s the back and forth adding to not feeling good. And I’ve been working hard, a lot of doubles.

I call in sick, and since I never do that, I’m told to rest up and take it easy.

Shit, maybe it’s lack of food, and my period is…

I stop in the middle of my room as Angus lifts his head from his bed to look at me. It isn’t due, this isn’t PMS.

I’m late.

By at least two weeks.

“Shit, shit, I can’t be…” I don’t say the word. Instead in a blind panic, I call Katie, and she picks up immediately.

“Fine, I had a fun coffee date with Asher when you took his boy fishing. Sue me. What did he say?” she asks.

I file that away. “I didn’t… I’m not… I’m late.”

“Then why are you calling me?” she asks. “Go to work.”

I sit on my sofa, and shut my eyes for a moment. “Two weeks late with my period.”

There’s silence, then, “Oh.”

“Katie, what if?—”

“I’m there, Ari.” Her voice is determined, like a warrior woman going into battle. “Now. In ten.”

“You’re at work.”

“It’s my lunch break.” She sniffs.

I look at my watch. “It’s eight a.m.”

“That’s when I eat lunch.” She hangs up, and it’s seven minutes later, that she buzzes my door frantically. I let her in, and when she gets off the elevator, she has five bulging bags with her.

I stare.

“I’m an Olympic gold medalist at speed shopping, Ari.” She shoves a bag at me. “Here’s some tea. Black tea, Rooibos, honey bush, toasted brown rice, and the airplane vodka’s mine.”

“Katie!”

She shrugs. “What? I’ve got a meeting with Dave today. I hate Dave, he’s a drive-you-to-drink guy. This is self-bribery. I have a collection. One day, I’ll see if I have enough to put in a bottle.”

“What else did you get?” I ask.

She hands me bag two. “Baby stuff, just in case, you know.”

“Oh, God.”

Then comes bag three. “Tissues. In case you aren’t, or are. Plus vitamins, snacks, and chocolate. And…” She picks up the fourth bag. “Not this one… wait… this one. Bag five.”

I’m not sure if I’m ready for the fifth bag.

She counts the final bag’s contents. “Twelve pregnancy tests.”

“One is enough.” I half-collapse against the sofa in the great room, and Angus sniffs the fourth bag, which, when he drags a chew toy out of it, I see that’s an Angus bag.

“You can’t be too careful.” She scratches Angus behind the ears. “Right? Mama can’t be too careful.”

“I’m a nurse.”

“And still,” Katie says, “she needs to learn about safe sex.”

“I’m married.”

“Technically.” Katie collects the bags and waits expectantly.

I groan. “Oh, come on. You and Angus can wait on my terrace.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Katie agrees.

“Woof,” Angus barks.

We all stare at the sticks. All twelve of them. I might be a nurse, and if one says positive, the fact I’m late, the fact I’m nauseous, and how I feel inside, I know it’s right, but I needed to suddenly make sure.

And now…

I’m sure.

“I thought this would be end times or joyous, depending, clearly, on the circumstances,” I say.

“Which is it?”

“I don’t know how I feel.” I look at Katie. “A mess?”

“I’ll blow off work if you want. Dave can wait. You know I hate Dave, right?”

“I’ve heard the rumor,” I say drily. “You could tell me about your secret date.”

“I’m not dating Dave.”

“Asher.”

She shakes her head. “We had coffee. Do you want company?”

“I think… I think I need to think.”

“I guess I have to see Dave, then. Worst luck.”

I walk her to the elevator and give her a hug.

“Call if you need anything, okay, Ari?” Katie says. “I mean it.”

“I promise.”

When Katie leaves, Angus and I trail up to my room, and I close the pocket doors, leaving a sliver open. The breeze from outside is nice, and Angus joins me on the bed, cuddling up, his doggy warmth comforting against my back.

I don’t know what makes me do it. But I pick up my phone and google Noah Templeton and tragedy. I type in murder and, at a guess, add suicide.

What pops up is truly awful.

My heart breaks for the woman who died protecting her child and for that child that’s still inside Noah. I can see him blaming himself when it wasn’t his fault.

The father hunted the child, and witnesses heard him shouting it was Noah’s fault and he’d kill him, too. And then he shot himself.

Noah didn’t speak for weeks.

I close the tab, heart hurting. Oh, that poor little boy. A man locked himself in with his dead wife and hidden son and killed himself before anyone could get in.

I can see how Noah would blame himself.

And I see how he’s closed himself off from a full life because of that.

Worse, will me being pregnant push him further away?

I just don’t know what to do.