The Bachelor's Promise (Bachelor Auction) (8 page)

A faint snort echoed from behind him, and the corners of Jocelyn’s mouth tightened, that confused frown appearing again. “I thought we could have dinner and go over the details of our date. I didn’t know you would have company.” She paused, cocked her head, and offered Noelle another bland but polite smile. “You were at the auction, right?” Then, turning back to Aidan, she asked, “Family visiting?” The hopeful note practically begged him to declare Noelle a long-distant cousin.

Jesus Christ. “Not exactly—” he growled.

“Family, yes,” Noelle said, stepping to the side, wearing a bright smile. The urge to cover her again swelled inside him like a latent caveman gene gone active. She tipped her head back and peered up at Aiden, slashes of pink bright on her pale cheekbones. “We’re siblings, actually. Of sorts.” She grinned, and reluctant amusement warmed his chest.

“Really?” Jocelyn blinked, faintly resembling a pretty little owl. “I didn’t know you had a sister, Aiden. How sweet.”

“Yes, sweet,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “Noelle, would you mind waiting for me by the elevators?”

“Of course,” Noelle drawled, hiking her oversize purse higher on her shoulder. “So nice seeing you again,” she said to Jocelyn and, with a wiggle of her fingers, headed across the lobby.

Aiden studied the proud tilt of her shoulders, the straight line of her spine, and the determined, almost defiant stride that carried her there. With another woman, he would swear the sexy glide was purposeful—a manufactured weapon in a flirtatious arsenal.

But this was Noelle. And she didn’t do flirtatious. At least not with him.

With who then?
The thought crept into his head before he could get rid of it, dragging jealousy behind it. What type of man softened those blue eyes? What type of man was able to get that full, lush mouth to curve in a teasing smile? Who did she lower her impenetrable guard for?

Why do you care?

The question, whisper soft, jarred him, as did the immediate answer: because he’d once been that man. And he would be a liar if he told himself the question of who she’d given her body to hadn’t been torturing him the past week.

“Aiden? That’s kind of you, letting your sister stay with you,” Jocelyn praised, placing a hand on his arm and fluttering her lashes.

Why the gesture he’d witnessed from countless women suddenly irritated him, he couldn’t explain. “Noelle is actually a family friend rather than a sister.”

“One you invited to live with you,” Jocelyn added, skepticism painting her tone. “Okay.” She shrugged. “Now about dinner. I made reservations hoping you could join me tonight…”

He swallowed back a sigh. “Jocelyn, I know I left the auction before we could discuss the particulars of the date, but now isn’t a good time. I actually have dinner plans.” It was a dinner with Lucas and the CEO of a corporation they were interested in purchasing, but that, too, fell under the umbrella of none-of-your-business.

Her smile quickly dropped, disappointment filling her hazel eyes. Her lip protruded in a small pout.
Hell, did I ever find that attractive?
If he had, he needed a lobotomy.

“I’ll give you a call tomorrow to set up the particulars,” he promised, already guiding her toward the building’s entrance.

“Of course. This is my fault. I should’ve called before I dropped by,” she said. Giving him a sensual smile, she stroked his arm, squeezing his wrist. “I look forward to hearing from you tomorrow. Good night.”

She swept past him, and he waited until she exited the building and the valet brought her car around. But once she slid into the vehicle, he strode toward the elevators and Noelle, who silently watched him approach with a guarded expression.

The muted ding of the elevator announced its arrival, and she wasted no time stepping through the open steel doors. She’d dropped the friendly act from moments ago, leaving her quiet and aloof once more.

He should’ve been thankful for the return to their “normal”—avoidance, silence. But instead, an edginess set up shop inside him.

Contrary to the image of him portrayed in the social and gossip columns, he was a private person who jealously guarded his personal space. His home was his inner sanctum, and very few people made it past the lobby. Including the women he slept with. Usually he went to their homes or a hotel. He wouldn’t have permitted Jocelyn inside his home, just as he hadn’t allowed any woman.

And now he was letting Noelle inside his home.

He pressed the button for the penthouse, studying her reflection in the mirrored wall.

Blue eyes clashed with his in the mirror, challenging him even as the smudges under her eyes made her appear vulnerable, fragile.

“She’s…” Noelle paused. “Sweet.”

Boring. Bland. Plastic.

The same as the other women he’d been with in the last few years.

Maybe Noelle hadn’t meant that description, but it was true. Still, he wasn’t trying to marry Jocelyn or any of the women he socialized with. The women he took to bed… He gave them his attention, his cock, and orgasms, but not his heart.

Peyton had been his redemption, his sign of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could have happiness in his life. Being with her had been—easy. No guilt, no anger, no past. He’d given his heart to Peyton. And in return, she’d stabbed him in the back with Tony Rana’s knife.

“It’s just a date,” he finally said.

“One she paid thousands of dollars for. I can’t say I blame her for being…anxious.” She cocked her head to the side. “Does that make you some kind of gigolo?”

He snorted. “She’s paying for a trip, not sex.”

“Really?” she drawled, disbelief dripping from every word. “So you don’t plan on fucking her? Is that a sudden moral decision or a physical problem?”

Slowly, he turned to face her. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pushing me.”

“Pushing you?” she scoffed. “For what?”

“I don’t know. Details about my sex life? Do you want to talk about it?” he challenged. He shifted forward, eliminating the space between them in the already close quarters of the elevator. He leaned over her and planted a hand on the back wall, his arm nearly brushing her ear.

“No,” she rasped. “And I don’t care.”

He tilted his head. “You sure about that?”

“Yes,” she said, but her gaze dropped to his mouth before quickly returning to his eyes. But not quickly enough. Lust licked at him, sent heat surging through him like a torch. And all because of a glimpse at his mouth. A hungry glimpse. A glimpse that, whether she acknowledged it or not, asked him to taste her. And fuck if he didn’t want to give it to her.

Her sweet, floral scent drifted to him, and damn if he couldn’t help pressing closer, inhaling more of her into his lungs. “You want the truth?” He waited for her nod, and when it came after a long moment, he placed his mouth next to her ear, letting his lips graze the outer shell. “Sex is a release, a pleasure. I love the sound of it, the scent of it, and damn sure the feel of it. You know what I’m talking about, right, Noelle? The burn of a man pushing inside you, stretching you, filling you until he’s so deep you don’t know whether to beg him to stop or give you more? The sound of bodies sliding over one another, screams of pleasure? Do you like that, Noelle?” He dropped his voice, roughened by the need that had been riding him like a fucking saddle. Leaning back, he gently pinched her chin and lifted her head. He wanted to see her eyes, needed to see them. Needed to read the answer to his question in them.

She didn’t reply, but with mere inches separating them, he caught the flash of apprehension in her gaze. If it’d only been nervousness he read in her eyes, he would’ve backed off. But underneath…underneath he spied something else.

Curiosity.
Desire
. There and gone so fast, hidden by the sweep of her lashes, but he’d caught it. Fuck, for both of their sakes, he wished he hadn’t.

Heat curled in his gut and wound a sinuous path south, settling in his cock. Even as his mind rebelled, his flesh throbbed in adamant demand to be balls deep inside this woman. Because a part of him—the part not ruled by logic or reason—wanted to satisfy that curiosity, that hunger. That part didn’t give a damn that she was the daughter of the man who’d stolen his mother’s spirit and the sister of the man who’d screwed his fiancée behind his back. Didn’t care that not only could he not trust her, he couldn’t trust himself.

No, this part only hungered to instill full knowledge in those blue eyes. Witness them widen with revelation…darken with pleasure.

The elevator gave a smooth, almost imperceptible bump as it came to a stop. Still, neither one of them moved. And in the stillness, only her soft wisps of breath punctuated the silence.

The chime pealed, followed by the sibilant hiss of the doors sliding open. They might as well have been the reports of gunshots. He jerked away from her. Away from the thoughts infiltrating his head. Away from unexpected,
unwanted
temptation.

Dragging his fingers through his hair, he turned sharply on his heel, cursing under his breath. When was the last time he’d gotten laid? Before the auction. Maybe that was the problem. Lack of sex, and then talking about it. Damn it, that
had
to be the reason. What other explanation would suffice for why his dick was hard for a woman who was a living, walking reminder of the pain and loss he’d suffered? A reminder that while he was watching movies with her, eating dinners with her, laughing and touching her, his mother had been dying?

He stalked from the confines of the elevator as if hunted. Games. He’d never been one for playing them. So what the hell had he been doing back there? Pushing her. Teasing her. No,
taunting
her. Big difference. Because he’d wanted her to react. By doing…what?

An image of “what” waved in front of his mind like an erotic red flag.

Noelle, pressing that pretty, lush mouth to his to shut him up, to punish him.

Noelle, sliding that tight, petite body against his, letting him discover how high that tattoo on her thigh rose.

Noelle, digging those short, no-nonsense nails into his shoulders, silently demanding he show her what it meant to be under him. Rising over him. Kneeling in front of him.

“Damn it,” he growled, punching his key into the front door and turning it with a vicious twist before stalking into the foyer. He threw the ring onto the table, the clatter echoing like a struck gong.

Behind him the door closed with a soft click, and he forced himself to stare straight ahead and not glance over his shoulder.

“I’m going back out,” he informed her, deliberately leveling his voice, masking the lust that still clawed at him like an angry, caged animal. “A business dinner. I won’t be home until late.”

“Fine,” she murmured, skirting past him and climbing the stairs to the second level.

He frowned, studying her slow gait. The defiant woman in the elevator had disappeared, leaving this weary one behind. The transformation surprised him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, taking a step in her direction.

She nodded, not pausing or looking back at him. “Fine,” she muttered again, reaching the second level and disappearing down the hall.

Ten minutes later, he followed, a tumbler of whiskey in hand. An aberration. An anomaly. That’s what the incident in the elevator had been. Anger and sexual frustration from a celibacy he wasn’t used to had momentarily weakened his restraint and common sense…

He slammed to a halt in the middle of the hallway. Frowned. Motionless, he stood, straining to catch the noise that had caught his attention. Several seconds passed, but all he heard was the low hum of the heating and air system. Shaking his head, he started forward again—

There it was again. A low whimper.

He jerked his head and stared at the closed door on his right. Noelle’s bedroom.

Unfamiliar indecision immobilized him, his grip on the glass of whiskey tightening. He hadn’t been in her room since the day she’d moved in. Damn, he’d just vowed to maintain his distance and…

A soft moan, followed by an even scarier sound—silence.

“Shit.” He pushed open her door and charged inside. Quickly scanning the room, he almost missed the form huddled under the covers. But another stifled cry drew his attention back to the bed.

“Noelle?” He slowly crossed the room, nearing the bed. “Sweetheart, are you okay?”

When she didn’t respond, he tugged the cover back, and she shivered as if an earthquake had centered right under her bed. She hadn’t bothered removing her coat, and her dark hair covered the side of her face. Still, when she lifted her lashes, her eyes, dull with pain, focused on him.

“Please,” she whispered, the plea hoarse and weak. “Please go away. I don’t want…” A racking cough cut off the rest of her words. With a sob and moan, she rolled over and away from him, curling tighter into herself.

She wanted him to leave. And he should’ve honored her wishes. Yet he moved forward, sliding off his suit jacket and tossing it on the chair. He strode into the bathroom, grabbing a washcloth and wetting it with cold water. Seconds later, he returned to the room, and she hadn’t moved. He set the cloth on the bedside table and gently went about stripping off her coat and shoes, opting to leave her in her work clothes for the moment. Murmuring a warning, he pushed aside her hair and laid the cotton cloth over the back of her neck. She flinched but then loosed a whimper that might’ve been objection or appreciation.

With economical movements, he kicked off his shoes, then eased the covers farther back and slid into the bed behind her, curling his body around her smaller one.

“Aiden,” she whispered, going still.

But he only held her tighter, lending her his body heat and his comfort. The anger and confusion ebbed, leaving him emotionally stripped and just a little raw. Since his mother’s battle, any sign of illness—whether in him or others—left him teetering between fear and anxiety. Between vulnerability and the need to protect. With Noelle, those feelings were amplified. He wanted to cover her, both figuratively and literally. He needed to be there for her. To make sure she would heal, gain her strength back. Be okay.