The Bachelor's Promise (Bachelor Auction) (10 page)

“An epic love story,” she added.

He grunted.

“Say what you want, Aiden. I do believe there may be a fourteen-year-old girl buried inside you just longing to break free.”

He arched an eyebrow, his expression bland. Except for the corner of his mouth that curled the smallest bit.

She snickered, returning her attention to the television. Huh.
Twilight
. Maybe he wasn’t all bad.

Eight hours later, she’d decided he might not be all bad, but the man definitely had a screw loose.

After
New Moon
, they’d traded the televised versions for the DVDs—because, yes, he had all five director’s-cut editions of the movies. Mind. Blown. But as the credits for the second half of
Breaking Dawn
rolled, an offhand comment about Jacob and Renesmee had evolved into an out-and-out debate.

“I understand Jacob had to come to terms with losing Bella, but having him imprint on a baby? Weird. And illegal,” Aiden drawled. At some point in the marathon, he’d shifted from the chair to the end of the long couch. And if her legs were just a little longer, she would’ve kicked his thigh.

“It’s
not
weird. Bella and her daughter shared the same DNA. It was the soul of his future mate that called to him, not Bella. It made perfect sense as wolves have only one true half of themselves,” she argued. “And he’s waiting until she’s of age, so not illegal, either.”

He snorted, rising from the couch and stretched, revealing a slice of golden skin between the hem of his knit sweater and the waistband of his jeans. Glancing away, she busied herself with turning off the DVD player, refusing to become distracted by the glimpse of taut flesh.

“That’s another thing. He goes from brother and guardian to husband? That’s confusing. He’s imprinted on her because he’s a wolf. But she’s half vampire, half human. What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if she doesn’t want to go from bestie to wifey? I’m just saying, doesn’t seem probable.”

“They’re freaking vampires and shape-shifters. Of course it’s not
probable
,” she snapped. “You’re a damn killjoy.”

His chuckle floated back to her as he exited the room. She glared at his back, but soon the scowl faded, replaced by a reluctant smile. The day had been…wonderful. The best she’d had in…well… Since the last time they’d had a movie night. She’d always enjoyed his company, his humor, just sitting next to him and feeling his body heat seep into hers. That night—the one time he’d touched her—had started out watching movies before ending with his mouth on her lips, breasts, his hand between her legs bringing her the most devastating pleasure she’d ever experienced.

A ball of pressure lodged itself at the base of her throat, slowly expanding until she could barely breathe past it.

Duty. Obligation. Duty. Obligation
.

She ran the mantra over in her head on an endless loop. They weren’t friends, weren’t even roommates. Too much lay between them to ever achieve the status of friends. The past. His resentment and hatred of her father and brother. The promise she’d forced his hand to fulfill.

And even if all those obstacles somehow magically disappeared, there was still her wariness of him. Of his ability to leave, disappear, expunge her from his life so easily. He’d done it before, and she didn’t trust him not to do it again. No, she was a temporary lodger that would be out in no more than two weeks. Then they wouldn’t have anything to do with each other as the admissions office at Boston University had already contacted her about her fully paid tuition.

This temporary cease-fire had an end date. Once she moved back into her apartment, she would return to
persona non grata
in his life. And he… Well, he would return to the man she tried to forget.

“Are you hungry?” Aiden asked, jerking her from the morose turn her thoughts had taken. He carried a tray in his hands, and her stomach sent out an SOS at the delicious aromas. He snorted. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She blushed, but eagerly leaned back and let him settle the tray across her lap. Inhaling, she hummed, her eyes closing and her belly grumbling louder. “Butternut squash soup. My favorite.”

Smiling, she lifted her lashes, and her gaze clashed with his. For once, that stare wasn’t shuttered. All the moisture the lovely scents had brought to her mouth fled. Her heart gave a hard thud before sinking. His eyes reflected the warmth coiling low and hot between her legs. She squeezed her thighs against the sweet ache.

No. She had to be imagining that need, that hunger. Maybe the fever had returned, was clouding her judgment. Or eight hours of watching movies about love and romance had her seeing things that weren’t there.
Couldn’t
be there. Because Aiden went for sophisticated, cultured, wealthy women—women like Jocelyn.

And Noelle was… She was herself.

She blinked, and the desire disappeared. Releasing a soft, heavy sigh, she picked up her spoon and stirred the soup. Of course she’d been mistaken. She swallowed a hard crack of laughter. Besides, what about her right now could he possibly find attractive? The sloppy ponytail? The circles under her eyes? Or wait. Her provocative hoodie and sweatpants. Yep. That was definitely it.

Shaking her head, she dove into the soup with undignified greed. Half the bowl remained by the time her stomach cried “uncle” and came up for air.

“I was going to offer to take your plate, but I was afraid you’d bite my hand if I got between you and the soup,” Aiden said.

She arched an eyebrow. “I can’t make any promises I wouldn’t have.” She smirked. “I guess my appetite’s returning. It’s been years since I’ve had this. Your mom used to cook it all the time.”

As soon as the words popped out of her mouth, regret pulsed through her.
Damn
. The amusement drained from his eyes, and his lips flattened into a somber line. Just
damn
.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, setting her spoon next to the bowl. “I didn’t think…”

“She used to fix it when I wasn’t feeling well. Much better than chicken soup,” he said. He emitted a soft grunt. “I haven’t thought about that in years. I guess ordering it was just instinctive.”

Noelle didn’t speak, warring with what to say. If she should say anything at all. There were days when she couldn’t bear to think about her father; the pain stole her breath away. And even though it’d been six years since Caroline had passed, she suspected sometimes the agony of losing his only parent, witnessing her waste away and not be able to do a damn thing about it, tortured Aiden. Frank had opted to drink his life away. Cancer had given Caroline no choice.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. But when he waved her apology aside, she shook her head. “No, please. I know I’ve intruded on your life…just like Dad and I did when we were younger. I don’t blame you for resenting me then. Or now. I’m sharing your home. Eating your food. Sleeping in one of your bedrooms. And all because of a promise that wasn’t yours. Even after what my father did…” She swallowed hard, attempting to dislodge the shame and guilt blocking her windpipe. “I know an apology doesn’t fix his actions. But I’m still offering it to you.” Because even if he was alive, her father still wouldn’t have given Aiden one.

“Apology not accepted.”

She should’ve expected the rebuff. Still, the pain and embarrassment punched her in the chest, expelling the air from her lungs on a pained gasp.

Aiden leaned forward, propping his elbows on his thighs. His penetrating scrutiny pinned her like a butterfly to a corkboard. Instinctively, she flinched away from that stare. It saw too much, and she couldn’t bear if he glimpsed how much his rejection had hurt.

“I don’t blame you for your father’s theft, Noelle,” he murmured.

“Bullshit,” she breathed. “Besides, you can’t look at me without thinking about him.”

He dipped his chin, his blond hair gleaming in the lamp’s light. “That’s true,” he admitted. “Turn around,” he ordered, voice soft but with a vein of underlying steel.

Even before her mind questioned the command, she was twisting, facing the back of the couch.

“Lift your shirt.”

The hell?
“What?” she asked, her head snapping around. “Excuse me?”

Instead of replying, he shifted forward until he perched on the edge of his chair and grasped the hem of the back of her shirt. Before she could turn around and demand to know what he was doing, he raised her hoodie. Cool air brushed over her skin.

Followed by the heat of his touch.

She stiffened, her muscles locking.

Aiden was touching her again
.

A fingertip caressed her lower back. Traced the tattoo there. The butterfly with the rainbow-colored wings…and a body fashioned out of a pink ribbon. A pink cancer ribbon.

She shivered as his hand fell away, leaving a tingling in her flesh. As if a phantom finger still stroked her skin.

“She loved butterflies,” she said, not lowering her sweatshirt yet. Not when she could feel his gaze still on her.

“Yes, she did,” Aiden rasped. “Why this quote?” He gently drew a path along the right loop of the ribbon.

“We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.” She smiled, joy tinged with sadness pulsing with every heartbeat. “It’s from
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
, your mom’s favorite book. I would read
Charlie
to her in the middle of the night when she couldn’t sleep.” When the pain had been too bad for her to sleep. Aiden had visited the house often after his mom became sick, but most times in the middle of the night, it was her and Caroline. Because Frank had been God knew where. “That was one of her favorite lines. Mine, too.”

The quiet between them deepened, and after a moment, she tugged down her shirt and turned around. An awkwardness that hadn’t been there all day crept in.

“She used to read it to me when I was a kid.” A smile ghosted across his mouth before it disappeared. “It seems I’m the one who needs to apologize,” he murmured, rising and picking up her tray.

She stared after him as he left the room, his cryptic words echoing in her head.

Chapter Nine

“So what do you think?” Aiden asked, striding through his office door, Lucas behind him.

His friend dropped into the visitor’s armchair in front of Aiden’s desk and templed his fingers underneath his chin. “Danvers is going to play hardball because of his pride and nostalgia. Up until a year ago, he believed he would be passing his company down to his son, not selling it to a competitor. He needs to feel in control, and we can afford to give him that. At least for a little while.”

Aiden lowered into the seat behind his desk and cocked his head to the side, grinning.

“What?” Lucas grunted.

“Nothing.” He held out his hands, palms up. “It’s just when I start to believe I should place my call to the pope on hold, Sydney once again goes and shows me why she should be canonized. The woman is clearly a miracle worker. And a saint.”

“Shut up.”

Aiden loosed a bark of laughter. “The Lucas Oliver from a year ago would’ve gone in for the kill as soon as he smelled emotional blood in the water. But A.S. Lucas—After Sydney Lucas—is considerate to an old man’s feelings.” He gave a slow clap. “I’m impressed.”

“Are we going there?” Lucas drawled, arching a dark eyebrow. “Okay. How about we discuss where you’ve been for the last few days. First you ditch a business dinner on Monday. Then you’re MIA for the following three. To take care of Noelle. Noelle Rana. Apparently there’s a fire sale on miracles in Boston.”

That
effectively sucked away all his amusement. Bastard. “Fine,” Aiden ground out. “You win.”

Lucas chuckled, the sound dark, evil. Reminding Aiden his friend hadn’t changed that much. “Hell no. We’re not dropping the subject so easily. How is she doing anyway?”

Aiden sighed, picking up his pen and flipping it through his fingers. “Much better today, although she hasn’t returned to work yet,” he said.

When he’d left that morning, she’d still been asleep. Unlike the past days, though, it had been deep and peaceful instead of restless tossing and turning. Comfortable that she was on the mend, he’d left for work, but the previous evening—or rather their conversation from the previous evening—had come with him.

We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams
.

How many times had his mother quoted that line from Roald Dahl’s famous novel? It’d been her way of telling him he was in control of his fate and was limited only by the stretch of his imagination.

And Noelle had inked that line from his mother’s favorite book in a tattoo that memorialized her.

He sighed, falling back against his office chair. For so long, he’d resented her for being a burden on his mother. For being another responsibility Frank had laid on Caroline. As a child, Noelle hadn’t had a choice, obligated to go where her father went. But when she’d come of age, she could’ve left, been one less burden on his mother. Especially when she’d become sick. And then later, his feelings for her had become more complicated…convoluted. He couldn’t look at her, think of her without guilt mixing with lust. After her father’s actions, he’d been so angry, believing that she had betrayed him, betrayed Caroline. But a part of him…the part he’d buried under a sheet of ice… He’d known she couldn’t have done what Frank had accused her of. Believing she’d been another user with the last name Rana simply made it easier to dismiss her from his mind, his thoughts…

But he couldn’t deny what he’d known deep inside all along. What Caroline’s devotion to her had told him without words. What that beautiful tattoo on her smooth, honeyed skin had proven wrong.

She’d cared for his mother. Comforted her. Loved her. And after her death, honored her.

No way could she have been in on trashing her house and her memory.

Still, the past was a living, screaming thing between them. He couldn’t look at her without remembering…without hating…

Without burning.

Fuck.

An image of her standing in her bedroom, bared to the waist, all that thick, raven hair piled on top of her head. The sight of her had been like a physical blow, punching the air from his lungs. For such a petite, slender woman, she possessed the curves of a 1940s pinup model. Slim shoulders flowed into a graceful back and a nipped-in waist that flared into hips he personally knew would fit his hands perfectly. Even now, his fingers itched to map those elegant, sensual lines.

And then there were the tattoos.

The stunning explosion of color that adorned her skin. Standing there, his feet rooted to the floor, he’d never seen anything—woman, painting, photo, hell, a damn coloring book—that had rivaled Noelle in beauty. What would all that ink look like damp with sweat? Would it appear more vibrant, even more alive? Would the flowers and ribbon flow as her back arched when she knelt on her hands and knees before him? Would they prove to be a distraction as he thrust deep inside her? Or would the visual stimulation only heighten the exquisite sensation of being squeezed by flesh he knew would be soaking wet and tight as a fist?

He clenched his teeth as his dick hardened, volunteering to find out. A woman who wore her passion on her skin would undoubtedly bring that same wild appetite to bed…or the couch…or the table…or the wall…

Damn it
. Lusting after the daughter of the man who had used and hurt his mother, and the sister of the man who had betrayed him in the cruelest way possible, was lunacy. He could never—would never—forgive them. And a part of him would resent Noelle for loving them. That same part couldn’t separate the greed, that hunger for her, from his guilt. That made him a hard bastard, but it changed nothing. And even if their past didn’t haunt them like a restless, raging poltergeist, there remained the hugest issue: him. He didn’t do relationships, commitment. Because they required trust. And that virtue he was incapable of offering. Not to another woman. Peyton had irrevocably damaged the man who had believed loyalty given was loyalty earned. The searing pain had crippled him. And call him a coward, but he wasn’t willing to open himself to that agony again.

But none of that mattered. A memorial in ink didn’t change any of those facts. Besides, Noelle’s tuition to Boston University had already been paid. Shortly, she would be returning to her apartment, and he could return to the life he’d built for himself here in Boston. A life he enjoyed. A life that was free of the past.

“Glad to hear she’s better,” Lucas continued, “because Sydney’s planning a dinner party for next Saturday and plans to invite Noelle.”

Aiden stiffened. “What?” he demanded. “Why? She met her for all of five minutes.”

“Exactly. But this is Sydney we’re talking about.” Lucas shrugged. “She sees Noelle as new to a strange city, someone who doesn’t know anyone, and wants to make her feel welcome.”

“Does she know about Chicago? About Frank and Tony?” And Peyton. But he couldn’t bring himself to mention his ex-fiancée in the same sentence as the man she’d betrayed Aiden with.

“Of course. I don’t keep anything from Sydney anymore.”

“And she still intends to invite Noelle? Damn it, Luke,” he growled, frustration pouring through him. “I agreed to come to Boston with you to leave all that behind.” The memories. The places he couldn’t go without the ghosts leaping up to taunt him.

“Yet you moved her into your home,” Lucas reminded him.

“What the hell was I supposed to do? She had nowhere else to go,” Aiden ground out, shooting from his chair and stalking over to the window to stare blindly out at the view. He jammed his fingers through his hair.

“Did it ever occur to you that, at this moment, you might need her just as much, if not more, than she needs you?” Lucas pressed. “That, considering your history, maybe she’s your chance to finally heal? I, more than anyone, know you’ll never forget, but it doesn’t mean you can’t be free of the pain and anger.”

Aiden snorted, shaking his head. “Does she have a big-ass, magical eraser that can wipe away fifteen years of my life?” He loosed a humorless bark of laughter. “Can she somehow change the fact that every time I look at her, I remember that while my mother was sick, I was with her? I was having a good time with her while my mom was dying,” he ground out.

“Aiden, there’s no way you could’ve known—”

But Aiden slashed a hand through the air as if slicing through Lucas’s argument. “Can I forget how much I wish I had her brother’s neck in my hands so I could snap it for fucking my fiancée behind my back? That her presence reminds me that my mother refused to let me move her out of that drafty house and crime-ridden neighborhood because I refused to give Frank a free ride? Unless she has some kind of Disney-inspired magic up her sleeve, I don’t see how she could possibly heal me,” he growled.

“Why are you so afraid to let it go?” Lucas murmured, turning the penetrating gaze he usually reserved for recalcitrant clients on Aiden.

The question stunned Aiden, stealing his voice and his anger. What the hell was Lucas talking about? Was he scared? Of what?

The intercom on his desk phone buzzed, and feeling as if he’d been granted a temporary reprieve, he reached over and pressed the button.

“Yes, Sylvia?”

“You have a delivery, and it’s marked confidential. Would you like me to bring it in?” his executive assistant asked.

“Yes, please.”

Seconds later, his door opened, and the handsome, older woman entered, a manila envelope in hand. A glance at the label above the red “confidential” stamp revealed the contents.

“Thank you, Sylvia,” he said, distracted by the unease that crept under his skin. With a nod she exited, and Aiden turned to Lucas. “Would you give me a minute, Luke? I’ll come by your office a little later.”

“Is everything okay?” A concerned frown darkened Lucas’s scarred features. “Anything you need me to do?”

In spite of the heaviness of their discussion, Aiden couldn’t deny his gratitude and love for the only man he’d ever trusted. Lucas Oliver would always guard his back and never shove a knife in it.

“Yeah, just something I have to handle,” Aiden reassured his friend. “I’ll be in shortly.”

Aiden waited until Lucas closed the door behind him before turning his attention to the envelope containing the report he’d requested from Wilson Investigations last Saturday morning. The report on Noelle Rana.

Sliding a finger underneath the flap, he worked it open. But instead of removing the thin sheaf of papers, he paused, his fingers clutching the mail. The unease tripled, crawling through him and leaving an oily stain behind. The morning following the auction and Noelle’s unexpected appearance, he’d been justified in calling a private investigator and ordering an inquiry into her background. What had she been doing the past few years? Who had she worked for? What debt did she owe? Had she been arrested? Had she turned into a chip off the ol’ block? He would’ve been a fool to accept her word as truth. Not when he knew from personal experience that the truth and Ranas rarely mixed.

But now… Now, after he’d held her on a bathroom floor while she’d been sick… After he’d cared for her and washed her body to keep down a fever… After he’d discovered how much she loved his mother… After all that, reading the report didn’t sit well with him. It seemed like a…betrayal.

“Shit,” he muttered, tossing the envelope and the report onto his desk and stalking back to the window. A betrayal. Of what? That instant in time they’d shared so long ago? Hell, he’d torn that bond in half himself. Then what was left? The pseudo-step sibling relationship filled with resentment and hurt? Until that November night, he’d tried his best to ignore her and that eerie, too-perceptive blue gaze. The gaze that had stirred an unwelcome sense of protectiveness inside him. But none of it explained his reluctance to pry into her history now. He laughed, and the hollow, serrated edge of it echoed in the empty office. The fucking irony. He should be guarding himself against her, and instead, by his hesitation, he was protecting her.

Scrubbing his hands down his face, he sighed. He wasn’t reading the report. At least not now. Not that it meant he trusted her; he didn’t. Very few people had earned that from him. Then there was the anger, the pain, the grief. The need. This inexplicable hunger for her made him even warier. Of her. Of himself.

Because one other time in his life, he’d allowed desire to blind him. And he’d paid a price that still left him scarred.

Not again.

Never again.

Tired, Aiden slipped his key into the lock of his front door. And waited. This had been the day from hell. Meeting after meeting. Projects that had seemed solid a few days ago were shaky. Executives suddenly didn’t seem to know their heads from their asses. Today had been a real bitch.

When six o’clock had arrived, he should’ve headed out with Lucas, his only thought of getting home and away from the madness. But Lucas had Sydney waiting for him. And Aiden had…Noelle.

That thought had pushed him toward the company gym to pound out his frustration on the punching bag and try to outrun it on the treadmill. He could’ve come home and did the same thing in his gym, but again…Noelle. So he’d run faster. Punched harder. Lifted weights until his arms resembled limp noodles. If he wore himself out, maybe the weariness of his body would override his mind, and his brain would finally shut the fuck up.

But as he stood outside his home, key stuck in the door, he admitted all those two and a half hours had accomplished were sore muscles and fists.

“Pussy,” he grumbled, twisting the key with more strength than was required to unlock the door. Striding inside, he dumped his briefcase and gym bag by the table in the shadowed foyer and headed toward the library. And the bottle of Jack in the minibar.

Silence greeted him, and he couldn’t keep his gaze from venturing toward the staircase and the second level. The living room, dining room, and den were all dark, Noelle most likely holed up in her bedroom again. Good. They needed space, distance…

Hell
.

The glow from the kitchen seemed brighter in the dark apartment, and as he tread closer on heavy feet, a leaden ball of pressure seemed to squat on his chest. Like a halo, the light over the stove illuminated the covered pots and pan sitting on the extinguished burners.