Page 57 of Stolen for Keeps
“Just hold on to me,” he murmured.
I looped my arms around his neck, grateful for the reprieve.
I wanted to lean into him, tuck my head against his chest, and maybe nudge his tie askew just enough to feel the warmth of him through his shirt. Just a little closer. Just for a moment.
But we were surrounded. A room full of people, laughter, clinking glasses, and champagne flutes held high.
Not now, Maya.
I pulled in a slow breath, every inch of his hold more honest than I knew what to do with.
He chuckled. “Told you—I’ve got you.”
I knew he did.
“So, Maya,” he asked, a gentle curiosity in his tone. “What’s your last name?”
“Belrose,” I said. Then, after a beat, I added, “It used to be spelled the French way, with two Ls and an E tucked in there.Bellerose.My granddad swore by it. Said our family came down from French trappers, when wild frontiers were still a thing. They staked their claim near Bridger Canyon. Somewhere along the line, someone trimmed it down and made it Belrose.”
He nodded as if tasting it. “Maya Belrose. Suits you.”
I ducked my head a bit. “Thanks. Guess it’s grown on me.”
“Where are you from, anyway? I mean, more recent than the wild frontiers.”
My heart stuttered.Here we go…
I should’ve dreaded the question. But something about the way he looked at me made me want to tell him the truth.
“You don’t know?” I said lightly, trying to deflect.
“No. I’m just a back-of-house guy. Never snoop around, don’t really ask questions.”
“Would you believe me if I told you I’m from Bridger Canyon?”
He whistled. No, of course he wouldn’t. “You didn’t look convincing,” he said.
Fair enough. Even if it were true, I didn’t do it like I was telling the truth, becauseIdidn’t believe it.
But his smile sealed my fate.
For the first time, I felt tired of lying. And the vibe I had with him was like talking to Sheryn. Trust. Calm. Sincerity.
“I just got out of prison,” I murmured.
I braced for it, for his hands to tense, his arms to drop away, and that flash of judgment people try to hide but never quite can. But Noah?
There was surprise, sure. But no recoil and no polite step back like I was something moldy left too long in the fridge.
He just held my gaze, as if he were listening to something important.
“For what?” he asked.
My eyes drifted to the other couples dancing and the laughter bubbling around us, a stark contrast to what I was about to say.
“Three generations of the Belrose family used to live under one roof in Bridger Canyon. Mansion. Butlers. Stables. The whole thing. But after my grandparents died, it was our branch of the Belrose family that crumbled. My uncle played it smart. He outmaneuvered us and scooped up everything. The house, the money, the name. All of it.”
Noah’s gaze didn’t waver.
