Page 74 of Beauty
The receptionist brightens, practically bouncing in her chair. “Oh, it’s her first day. That must be why her appointments aren’t on my list.” She picks up the phone and presses a button. A moment later, she clears her throat. “Hi, Ms. Langfield. I have a Mr. Harrison here for your appointment.”
I hold my breath, a niggle of doubt worming its way through me. What if she won’t see me? What if she’s pissed?
When the receptionist nods and says, “Okay, I’ll send him back,” I breathe out a sigh of relief.
One hurdle down, a fuck ton more to overcome.
With each step I take toward Sienna’s office, the nervous energy zinging through me amplifies. We haven’t been alone in the same room in six years.
The thought of stepping into her space turns the nervousness into excitement.
She’s it for me. For years I’ve known that. I’ve hoped and wished for this outcome. For the chance to reconnect. To find her again and give us an actual chance.
I hope like hell this is it. That we really have a shot, and damn, I hope the British guy is out of the picture.
I’ll deal with her brothers and I’ll work through the guilt plaguing me. Her last name doesn’t matter to me. Her family’s status, their reputation? I couldn’t give a flying fuck. I’ve never felt the way I do when I’m in her presence—like life makes sense, like my world is complete.
Admitting that, even to myself, is exhilarating. Freeing.
I’m not sure what our next step will be, but if she’s even half as elated as I am, then I’m the luckiest man in the whole fucking world.
I’m still several feet away when she appears in her doorway. At the sight of her, my feet move faster, like my body has finally caught up with my brain.
Head tilted, she watches me, her expression unsure. But damn does she look gorgeous in that tight black dress with those thigh-high boots.
The closer I get, the stronger the gravitational pull. When I reach her, my instincts take over. I back her into her office and push her up against the wall. With one hand on her hip and the other cuffing the back of her neck, I press my forehead to hers. “I’m so fucking sorry about last night.” Then my lips are on hers and I feel like I’m whole again.
TWENTY-FOUR
SIENNA
There’sa breath between when Noah’s apology slips from his lips and when his mouth is hot against mine. A single heartbeat in which I go from being certain he forgot about me to being reminded that what we experienced six years ago was unforgettable.
The ground tilts beneath me as his hold on my neck tightens, as he presses his body flush to mine and steals every one of my breaths like he can’t get close enough.
I clutch at his shirt and tug him closer. I should push him away, but suddenly, touching him feels as necessary as oxygen. And with each mind-numbing kiss, he breathes life back into me, reminding me of who I am.
It takes seconds for him to restart my heart, to bring color back to the world around me. Blood rushes in my ears, the sound like ocean waves crashing around us.
I’m transported back to the feeling of possibility he inspired in me long ago. To a different time, when I was a different person with an entire new life ahead of me.
Noah licks my lips and skims a hand down my body with the confidence of a man who has every right to touch me.
There’s no fumbling, no tremors. He knows my body better than I know it myself. Already my legs shake in expectation. It’s been years since he touched me, but the effects of that touch still haven’t worn off. They’ve reverberated inside my body, my mind, every day since I got on that plane in the Bahamas.
“Open your eyes, baby,” he murmurs against my lips.
That moniker sounds more natural on his lips than it has any right to. God, how could I have lived without this for so long?
I blink my eyes open, and when he comes into focus, a whimper climbs up my throat. I’d forgotten how beautiful he was. His glasses are slightly fogged over from our steamy kiss, dulling the color of his eyes.
I pluck them off his face and fold them up carefully, then study him in earnest. His expression is one of awe, like the man is wonder struck, as he surveys me in return.
“Is this real?” I mumble. It sure doesn’t feel real.
He towers over me, even in my five-inch heels, and crowds me against the wall, every inch of his body touching mine. Our hips press together, our chests heaving in sync, brushing against one another. He strokes a hand over my hip like he’s trying to ground himself to this moment as well. Like he’s searching for a sensation that will prove that this isn’t a dream.
Noah’s voice is all gravel when he responds. “Fuck, I hope so.” He plucks my nipple, his aim deadly accurate through the fabric of my dress and bra.
