"The bedroom's that way," Noah points upstairs and joins Miss Renee in the kitchen.
Taking the will power in me not to eavesdrop on their conversation, I head towards the stairs and mount them two by two. At the top, I hit a switch. A stream of slightly yellow illumination cast shadows on the walls.
The three bedroom doors yawns wide-open. One door is painted pink with a paper sign glued to it that reads: JANE'S TERRITORY. STAY OUT.
How friendly.
I slip into the last room I'm guessing is Noah's, hugging the shadows while my gaze roves the space before slapping the wall switch. The large room is a hedonistic delight to the eyes. I survey the room, taking in the small details as I do so. It seems like it's been years since someone had stayed in the room, yet it's so fully decorated and warm.
I stride into the bathroom next. The tub sprawls on a raised dais, twice as wide and half again as long and deep as a normal tub. Jets are built into the sides so it could be operated as a whirlpool. A sinfully appealing skylight looms overhead, and there's a separate, oversized shower with multiple heads so that water could run freely over a person from both sides.
Miss Renee looks like she's fully loaded.
An enormous double vanity fills the far wall with mirrored glass. The glass is partially fogged. My blurred vision stares back at me.
Running a finger over the inside of the tub, I discover it's extremely dry, which means no one has used here recently just like I suspected.
I step back into the bedroom to find Noah filling the open doorway.
"Renee likes interior decorating, even if all this is a little too much," he says.
"Do you come here often?"
"No. First time here since she moved."
"Why'd she leave?" I wonder.
"I don't know. My mom, I guess."
With an understanding nod, I watch him reach out and pluck the white queen from a chessboard. My gaze focuses on the ornately carved onyx piece as he twists it between his fingers.
"This set is quite beautiful. Do you play?" He asks.
Puzzled, I nod.
"Then you know what a beautiful piece the queen is. Bold and brazen, it often comes down to her challenge at the end of a game."
His eyes lifts, nailing my feet to the floor. His thumb rubs the polished onyx with slow, sensuous strokes. "You've been challenging me since we met." Noah tells me. It's surprisingly difficult to pull my gaze from the mesmerizing movement of those long, masculine fingers.
"You haven't also been so easy to deal with."
For a moment that lasts entirely too long, he stares at me without speaking. It takes all the courage in me to hold my ground as he deliberately crosses the short distance that spans us.
Noah comes to a towering stop only inches away. He extends the white queen on the palm of his hand. Automatically, my trembling fingers closes over the piece. He snares my hand, trapping it inside the incredible warmth of his palm. His grip is firm, but not hurtful. I could pull away.
Why didn't I?
His gaze holds mine captive as he strokes the skin on the back of my hand slightly with his thumb— the same way he stroked the white queen only moments ago.
I inhale sharply at what that intimate touch implied and shiver at the contact. The chess piece falls to the floor at our feet.
"Are you cold?" He asks.
"No."
On the contrary, I'm heating up all too nicely. He's so close— close enough to speed the rhythm of my blood. This is bad. I need to step away and I need to do it now. Unfortunately, my feet refuses to accept the message.
His fingers lightly traces the side of my face, coming to rest on my chin, millimeters from my bottom lip.
My brain stops functioning.
"You are the most unusual person." The husky sound of his voice ripples over me. Before I can wonder at his words, his fingers lifts my chin. With tantalizing slowness, he lowers his head.
He's going to kiss me!
My lungs forgets how to breathe.
And I'm about to let him!
The tension that pools in my lower body explodes as his mouth covers mine. Hunger, shocking in its intensity, sends my arms sliding around his neck. My lips parts to invite more contact even as a tiny moan slips from my throat.
He meets my insistent demand with an answering fierceness, drawing me more tightly against the hard walls of his chest. His fingers glides along the skin of my abdomen beneath my shirt.
"You aren't wearing a bra," he breathes.
I would have told him I hadn't thought it was necessary beneath the thick sweatshirt. But his palm keeps sliding upward across my bare flesh and words fails me at the incredible friction.
"What are you doing?" I manage.
His smile is slightly predatory. "Seducing you."
"You can't!"
"No? Let's find out."
"Noah!"
"Yes. Say my name again," he commands huskily.
I think I might die from the fantastic rush that melts my senses and steals my ability to remember why this is all wrong. He eases me back against the wall— a good thing since my legs has gone mush along with my brain. Not until his fingers begin to tease the elastic at my waist does my brain reconnect.
"No!"
Noah stops instantly. "No?"
"We can't!"
"Are you sure? I certainly can."
Oh God, so can I!
My heart's slamming wildly against my chest. He's staring at my mouth with so much concentration, his breathing coming out in short gasps.
Eventually, he sighs and pulls away from me. Then he walks out of the room.
And I let him.
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