Page 45 of The Photo
To my surprise, he ambles around the coffee table, folds his arms and widens his hips in a standoffish stance. “Is that my tee?” he asks with a frown.
“Yeah,” I reply, nodding too many times.
“Why are you in my apartment, wearing me tee and waving my baseball bat around?” he questions calmly.
“We need to talk,” I pant, suddenly aware of how his voice shivers through me.
“Take it off,” he says all too seriously. I’m aware of how his expression hasn’t changed. He’s not asking politely, he’s ordering me. “It’s my tee.”
“Noah.” I shouldn’t be turned on by this, but I am. He’s angry. What is wrong with me? “I’ll get changed, and then we need to talk.”
“We don’t need to talk. Take off the fucking tee, Rowan,” he grits out. My heart levitates. He prowls forward like a wolf and prizes the bat from my curled fingers, tossing it to the floor with a deafening clatter. “Off,” he growls.
Either he’s pissed off that I’m wearing his tee, or he wants to play. I can’t tell. He’s so closed off. His eyes are unreadable.
Deceitful tingles careen over me at a wild rate. I did not come here for this. I'm not doing a good job of convincing myself of that when my thighs clench. He’s a dirty, sexy model who wants me naked. It is his tee. I reason with myself internally. I should give it back. Although, being naked won’t help. I’m done for.
I pinch the hem skimming my thighs and glide the tee up and over my head. Prickles dance over my bare breasts, and my nipples poke out instantly. He exhales loudly and rounds his shoulders in a mini stretch.
“Now what?” I clutch the tee to my chest.
He levels me with a glare, and my hands start to tremble. “Hand it over,” he replies. But his lashes don’t flicker. He’s waiting for me to reveal my boobs.
Bit by bit, I drag off the tee and fling it. We watch in silence as it smoothers the coffee table. “There. Do you want me to strip your bed too, because I was sleeping in it before you came home?” I am so naked right now. His unhurried glower has lifted from his tee in a deliberate assessment of my trembling limbs. Dark eyes sweep from my feet to my panties and dawdle on my erect nipples. “Before I came home?” he repeats, rubbing his temples. “Who are you–Goldilocks? Were you trying on my clothes for size and my bed for comfort? Sure, why not, you’ve already tried my dick for fun?”
My arms wrap around my chest in a self-hug. “Noah! I’m angry about this too!” I hiss. “You don’t even know what happened.”
“Yeah, I do, Rowan.” His forefinger prods the air. “Is that even your real name? I was a dumb fuck to think I needed you. Well, I don’t need jack shit, except another whiskey. I can see you don’t have a bottle hidden anywhere on that perfect body. So you need to leave.”
I suck in hard. “My real name?” I cock my head. “Do you think I’m a criminal mastermind?”
A flippant laugh escapes him. “I trusted you, and guess what?” His eyes narrow. “When Alexa showed me the photos, all I could see was how happy we were. I was captivated by your stunning eyes and your infectious smile that always makes me smile right back.” He stops speaking and blows out his lips. “I thought you were different.” His posture shifts. Guarded with folded arms. “Until I contacted the website, and you know what they said? They told me a woman with tawny hair and emerald eyes sold those images for a big chunk of fucking cash.”
A jolt of anger pushes a grunt out of my throat. “Oh? How obvious, how contrived. They would say that,” I snarl, stung by his accusation. “I was in the photos with you, Noah. They have a good idea of what I look like. It saves their neck because they bought stolen property.” I stamp my foot, wincing when my ankle twinges, and a sharp pain rockets around my shin. “Did you hear what I said? They were stolen!” I emphasize the word with a strangled whimper.
He snorts like he doesn't believe me, or he’s too tanked to keep track of the conversation. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?” His lashes lower, and his gaze lingers on my panties.
“I came here to talk and figure out where we go from here, but you're too drunk to give a shit. Now I know why you don’t drink, because you turn into an asshole.”
I spin around and limp towards the bedroom in a very unflattering zombie like strut. Heavy steps rush behind me. A hand wraps around my wrist, and I’m propelled sideways with a rough jerk.
My shoulder blades hit cold plaster. His body crowds me against the wall. “Idogive a shit, baby.” I'm imprisoned by the man I dreamed about for over a year, and in this lust daze I’m scared we won’t survive the fallout of this mess. “Why are you walking funny?” His voice hints apprehension, but his expression stays stern.
“The floor is cold,” I lie. There’s no need to tell him tonight. He’s too wasted to focus on the facts, and his commanding presence is softening my temper.
The truth is, I worship Noah Adams. From my knees to my heart, he weakens me. He will always own me, whether he deserves it or not.
Stale beer and spearmint thicken the heavy atmosphere. With one palm slammed above my head, his other secures my jaw. A silvery trickle of light brightens stony features, sprinkling the layer of thick scruff covering his jaw. Anthracite eyes search mine. “You know what makes me so fucking angry.” He squeezes my cheeks, not too hard but enough to steer my mouth to his. “Now that you’re here, with those tits and these lips.” He inhales deeply. “I forgive you. I give you permission to take as many photos as you like and sell every one of them because you’re back where you belong, Rowan. You’re home.” Hurt flashes behind his eyes. Heated puffs land on my face in a warm whisper. Firm fingertips hallow my cheeks. “But I should punish you for leaving me hanging.” The tip of his tongue slips inside my mouth and retreats.
He truly thinks I’m capable of betrayal. My hand reaches up to peel off his long fingers. “Get off me, Noah. I came here to explain. It seems like you’ve already accepted your own version before hearing mine.” He doesn’t budge. “You’ve already punished me.” I push into him with my pelvis. My boobs smash into his chest. His dominance immobilizes me. It always has and always will.
A finger drifts to my mouth. Noah holds it to my lips, stopping me from saying another word. I hold a nervous breath. He drags down my lower lip until the tip of his finger meets my tongue. His forehead bows, so we’re utterly connected. It’s intimate and gentle. Whatever anger and hurt we’ve stored away is quickly forgotten. I lick along his index finger and quiver when it slips past my lips.
I’m surrendering. Foolishly giving in.
“Rowan.” A throaty rasp rumbles around my heart, sending a feverish message to my muscles. I exhale with a shudder of anticipation. The finger retreats, and he traces it along the seam of his lips.
I can’t deny the chain reaction of flutters in my chest, born from the weight of him pressing into me, or the atomic explosion in my belly when he says my name, or even the electromagnetic waves vibrating through my soul when he looks at me. Every reverberation from his body to mine doubles my heartbeat.
