Page 33 of Million Dollar High

“What the hell does it matter?”

“Maybe nothing. But women—at least the ones who don’t set out to fuck with your head—use excuses to stop themselves from getting hurt. Your girl might mean what she says about not wanting to be saddled. Or there may be another reason why. I’ve spent four ball-strangling days learning to read between the fucking lines when it comes to women. No reason why you shouldn’t endure that torture for the sake of getting that someone-just-killed-my-puppy look off your face.”

Noah raised his beer in a mocking salute. “Crazy-good pep talk, buddy. Thanks.”

Gabriel slapped him on the shoulder and turned to rile Damon about his cowardice during the phone call to Noah the week before when he’d failed to mention Ashley was in Miami. Damon hunched his shoulders and cursed under his breath. The table erupted in laughter.

Noah was about to raise his beer and drain it when the ten-ton clanger dropped.

Groupie-ing on you like she wanted to have your babies…

“Jesus! Oh, fuck.” His head swam at the depths of his own stupidity.

His friends exchanged looks. Mike rubbed his jaw. “You okay there, buddy?”

Noah vaulted to his feet. “I need to go.” Grabbing his wallet, he dropped a stack on the table.

“Care to fill us in on what just happened?”

“No. I don’t.” He looked at Mike. “But thanks.”

Mike frowned, then shrugged. “Gentlemen, I think he’s just found his personal woman-deciphering holy grail.”

Noah paced his suite after he left his sixth message, debating whether to storm that Palm Beach monstrosity of a mansion where Leia lived.

Two things stopped him. One, it was past midnight and he didn’t want to come across like a desperate stalking creep, even though he could probably talk his way round that. Two, he was drunk enough to make good on the temptation to do bodily harm to Snyder should the other guy get in his way, a scenario that was highly likely to unfold if he attempted to reach Leia at—he peered at his watch—1.23a.m.

Gritting his teeth, he pressed the button on his phone again.

“Dammit, Leia, you have your fucking phone back now. Use it and call me back. Making me wait to hear from you isn’t doing my disposition any good. And you sure as hell don’t want to keep doing it.” He stabbed the end button, then immediately redialed. Voicemail.

“Oh, and I know why you ended us. But I need you to have the balls to tell me to my face. After which, I’ll tie you to my bed and make you pay for the shit you’ve put us both through. Good fucking night.”

11

I know why you ended us.

Leia’s hands shook as she replayed the message for the twentieth time on her way to the office. Part of her felt relief that Noah had finally remembered she couldn’t have children.

But elation had turned to despair very quickly. He’d called her a faithless little liar long before she’d told him the lie in his office about not wanting to be saddled with a kid. A brief moment after she’d uttered the words, he’d looked highly skeptical. She wasn’t sure what had changed his mind, but it didn’t matter anyway.

Why would he want anything to do with her when she remained a broken body and soul he would tire of eventually?

Or maybe that was the problem. Maybe he just wanted a fuck toy to play with until the more serious business of becoming a father kicked in for him. Lying in bed, pondering everything his message meant, she’d veered toward the temptation of being just that—his fuck toy for the next seven months. A few months of Noah was better than an eternity of nothing, right?

But could she walk away after that time?

It had nearly killed her to walk away after a few days of meeting him. Months would rip her soul to pieces.

Because being with Noah would only deepen her feelings for him. Look at what had happened in the parking lot on Sunday night. Even at his most icily domineering and condemning, he’d made her want him to the point of insanity.

She’d craved his merciless hand and his wicked tongue so badly, she would’ve given her life for a taste of his brand of pleasure. She’d goaded him into letting him leave his marks on her, marks she still treasured because she was that pathetic.

Hell, she’d briefly panicked this morning when she’d noticed the finger marks around her neck were beginning to fade.

Prolonging contact with him was asking for trouble. He’d become so ingrained into her sexual psyche that she’d been unable to get herself off in the shower this morning. Despite the residual pain and pleasure of a frenzied masturbation, her body had held back on her, wishing for Noah’s hand, his mouth, instead.

Dear God, she was in serious trouble?—

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