Tides of Love (Seaswept Seduction Series) (16 page)

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"How can you lie when we each need a friend so desperately?"

His hand shot out as his gaze snagged hers. "What if I lie? What the hell difference can it make to reawaken issues best left dead? How can admitting help either one of us?"

"Dead
issues?
Is that what you think of your past, your family, your childhood? As something dead?" She searched his face, observing too much. "You carry this grief around like baggage. It's foolish. Your brothers love you. You're blessed to have them, to have Rory, and yet, you have no perception of the miracle of family. Love is a gift. Not an obligation, not a burden."

Noah turned to pace the length of the alley. She had twisted him into a knot, as usual. Strong words and high-minded ideals. Brutal honesty. And what had he been trying to do? Comfort her. Protect her from harm because of the damned
connection
she spoke of. "I'm repairing the damage I've done to my family. In my own way, in my own time."
Without completely ripping my soul from my body,
he silently added. "What would you have me do? Cut a vein and let everything inside rush out?"

"Yes, if the rush brought you some level of serenity."

"Serenity?" He ripped his spectacles off and rubbed his eyes. "Don't I look serene to you?"

"You look haggard."

"A problem at the lab yesterday. The freight company lost a shipment of materials. And, I took beach patrol with Zach and Rory last night." He shook his head. "They're trying so hard to reach me and... I don't know what to do."

"None of this disappeared when you left."

"Stay out of this, Elle."

"Quit looking at me like a wild animal cornered by a predator. How can I make you believe I only want your friendship, which I would think you'd be willing to give? You can talk to me, even if you can't talk to anyone else. You always could."

She spoke of love and friendship, but what he wanted from her had nothing to do with those things and everything to do with her melting like butter over him. The cherished boy from her childhood wouldn't be contemplating throwing her to the ground in an alley, tangling his fingers in her hair as his body covered hers.

Noah fought the urge to run.

"Don't shut me out." She took a step closer.

"I
want
to shut you out. Better yet, shut you up."

A small wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows. "I don't know how to help with that."

He expelled a ragged hitch of laughter. "Yes, well, makes two of us." Pacing from her, emotion bombarded him. Did she honestly think what happened in Widow Wynne's parlor occurred between
friends?
Blessit, was she that naive? He'd wanted one brief taste, to see if she would equal his dreams.

Similar to an experiment.

Relief flooded his mind, and he smiled.

An experiment. So damned simple. Most of his torment the last week had been self-induced, pure conjecture. He had taken an instinctual sensual response of adolescence and transformed it into a man's carnal desire. The images crowding him were not drawn from past experience. In all probability, they were as spurious as a storm cloud that never brings rain.

Before he changed his mind, he dropped his satchel to the ground and turned to her. Elle flattened against the wall, chin angled high, frightened but defiant. She wouldn't run. Not this woman.

And for once, neither would he.

The humming in his ears the only sign of his discomfiture, he leaned in, pressing his palms to the rough brick on either side of her head. He had no choice, no longer able to live at the mercy of his emotions.

To expunge the temptation, he must yield to it.

"Noah," she said, half question, half plea. A warm breath skirted his cheek, one that smelled of apple. Her gaze skimmed his face, lingering on his mouth before lowering. She made a faint sound of protest.

"Friends, Elle." He lifted his hand and outlined her bottom lip. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the way the moist skin clung to his. Continuing to the curve of her cheek, the crescent of hair above each eye. Expelling a strangled sound, she stiffened and left his hand dangling before her face.

"Friends," he whispered before he dipped his head. He paused, savoring the scent of her. With her next apple-breath, he guided his mouth to hers.

He felt her tremble. "Trust me, sweet." He dug his palms into the wall, thinking only of his goal, intent on ending his fascination.
Today
, right this
minute
, he would find out.

Find his dreams were simply dreams.

On a sigh of surrender, a shared release of passion, her mouth parted. Seizing the opportunity, he plucked her bottom lip between his teeth. He moistened and suckled, skimming back and forth. Grasping his forearms, she groaned into his mouth, and his mission dimmed. He deepened the kiss, sensation pricking every nerve. The scent of scorched rose petals; the rough edge of her front tooth; her tentative effort to get closer. She edged up the wall, her breasts chafing his chest, her eager hands tangling in his bib straps.

His heart slammed hard, out of control. "No," he said, and twisted away from her.

A rush of air shot between them, and Elle blinked, looking into his impossibly young, unguarded face. Eyes closed, his lips parted to allow a throaty breath free. She captured the image, realizing she would not see it again unless she caught him sleeping.

Merciful heavens, he looked like the boy she remembered. Her first day of school, a classroom smelling of chalk and vinegar. Herman Stanley apologizing for making fun of her accent. Noah giving her a smile of acceptance and unwittingly propelling love between two beats of her heart.

Just now, he had touched her with his beautiful hands before he touched her with his lips. Had stroked her face with the intent of enlightenment. Some of the gentle-hearted child had to be left inside him.

She curled her fingers around his bib straps and tugged.

This is your chance, Elle. Take it.

She ignored his grunt of protest and bounced to the balls of her feet, thanking her father for the ballet lessons. Slanting her head as Noah had done, she fit her mouth over his. She would use him for her own purpose, just as he used her for his. She threaded her fingers through the damp curls at the base of his neck, and, not sure how to ask for more, touched her tongue to the corner of his mouth.

Noah uttered a low groan of defeat and crowded her into the wall, his arms stealing around to cushion the impact. His heat scorched her skin; the taste of butterscotch filled her mouth. He had a sweet tooth, she remembered, dazed and dreamy.

Raising his hands, he held her head steady as his mouth,
finally
, truly captured hers. Her body slumped, a gradual melting. Caution, fear, logic, her father's cruelty, all liquefied, roaring like the ocean at high tide.

Lightly at first, then using greater pressure, he teased, raising the point of pleasure. He angled his head, drew his tongue across her lips, showing her what he wanted. She didn't care if the action was right or wrong, foolish or wise—she opened.

And he took.

The kiss was unlike any she had dreamt of. His mouth aggressive, his whiskered cheeks rough, his hands eager, gliding past her neck, her shoulders. Control slipped as he delved, bending, wrapping her in a gossamer web of need.
His need.
Of course, he would deny the lapse later. But right now,
this minute,
with his body joined with hers, she knew.

She had wondered the other night but now she knew.

He wanted her.

She did not mistake his need for love or consideration, kindness or respect. This blind ferocity, wild and undeniable, amounted to nothing more than overwhelming urgency.

A tortured sound rumbled deep in his throat. His lips trembled, his hands snagging in her hair. Her knees weakened, and he steadied her, fit her to his body.

Desire.
Christabel had explained in vague terms what it meant to want a man so much you would do anything to have him.

"Closer," he whispered against her lips, his breath skimming her face.

Juste Ciel,
she wanted to get closer. Already, his back bowed to accommodate for their disparity in height. The notion burned: they would not have this problem in a bed.

She stretched, trying. Almost... she almost—

He caught her under the arms and settled her astride his thigh. Her dress snagged between her legs as his knee wedged against the wall. His lips never left hers. Not once.

My, how ingenious,
she thought.

She explored everything accessible. The muscles in his arm had grown from hauling nets and icing fish, his chest seemed broader, harder. Her mouth traversed the edge of his jaw, nipped at the skin below his ear.

How could a man who smelled of fish taste so wonderful?

She wiggled on his thigh, heat pooling between her legs. Whatever she searched for, she couldn't find.

"Let me show you," he breathed against her ear. Grasping her waist, he moved her forward, then back—a tantalizing abrasion.
Oh, yes.
She buried her face in his neck, a moan escaping before she could stop it.

A rusty creak penetrated the haze surrounding them; she lifted her head. Noah's mouth traveled to her cheek, to her lips. Elle fought the urge to close her eyes, drift on a cloud of moist, fervent kisses.

A gentle cough. Then another.

Elle pushed on his chest. "Noah." She forced the word between breaths, finally taking his face in her hands. "We're not...
alone,
" she said, mouthing the last. Gradually, the music from the Nook filtered in. His eyelids flickered, opened, widened. Smoldering, charcoal gray. His nostrils flared on a rush of released air.

"Christ," he whispered, throat clicking on a hard swallow, chest rising and falling as he fought for control.

Bewildered, Elle could only stare, wondering if she looked as disheveled as he did. As appealingly undone. Gaze unfocused, lips swollen, hair plastered to his head in swirls of wet gold. Another burst of heat lit her. She wanted nothing more than to pull his mouth to—

"Stop looking at me like that. Do you want to end up beneath me?" He spoke harshly, but he was slow to release her, even slower to lift her from his thigh. The whole time, he shielded her from view, waiting for her to stand as she braced her palm against the wall.

Expelling a sigh, he slipped his spectacles on and turned.

Elle peeked around him to find Christabel standing in the Nook's doorway, hands fisted on her hips, her expression vacillating between amusement and curiosity. "Sorry to come across you in an indelicate state, but better me than some lonely fisherman." She glanced over her shoulder. "You take the back way, Noah. Honey, you come through the kitchen with me."

"What the hell do you have to do with it?"

"I'm the woman who's going to keep every gossip on the Isle from making your life hell, that's what I have to do with it."

Elle laid her hand on Noah's arm to diffuse his rigid stance. And, she couldn't stand so close and not touch him. Not when he had brought her body to life.

"Trust me, the men will be streaming in from the docks any minute, ready to drink now that the sun's set. Some are already in there raising the devil. End of the week and pockets full of money. No need to advertise you've been here. Poor man's bedroom, they call it."

Noah cursed beneath his breath and turned to Elle. His somber gaze captured hers as early evening shadows danced across his face. "I'm sorry, Elle. Sorry for this."

She stared at his lips as they moved, helpless to do anything but remember them covering hers. "I don't want you to be sorry. I'm not sorry."

"You will be." He stooped to grab his satchel. Frowning, he fiddled with the leather strap, his lips parting as if he would say more. His hand hovered near her bruised cheek. "I'm sorry," he said, his hand dropping.

The snap of shells beneath his brogans rang hollow and final in his wake. The mystical appeal of the alley departed with him, leaving only a slight chill, deepening shadows, and the stink of whiskey and fried fish.

"I waited as long as I could, but you don't need anybody seeing you tangled up like that," Christabel said.

Elle had no idea what being caught
tangled up
with a man was like. Although Christabel was right, of course. It wouldn't be good. Well, wouldn't be
wise.
Her father, Zach, Caleb. All of them would find out. She dropped her head to her hands. Her skin smelled of him, her mouth tasted of him.

How did a woman get past that?

"I didn't think he would stalk outta here. Boy, he has a nasty temper. Sure is a Garrett, that one. Do you reckon he remembers I carved
Elle loves Noah
into all those tree trunks?"

Elle laughed through her laced fingers. "Oh, Christa, however this ended, he wasn't going to handle the situation well. For a brief moment, the appalling happened, and he lost his beloved control. It's not your fault he's—" Scared. Stubborn. She wagged her head, frustrated to the core.

"Do you want to come inside? Have a cup of coffee? I make a mean pot."

"No." She glanced at Christabel. Blond and robust, she carried a lot of responsibility on her shoulders. Elle never underestimated her wisdom, no matter the packaging. "Thank you. I realize you did what you thought best. And you're right. I know that, too."

"Makes no difference if I'm right. Doesn't lessen the wanting. Anyway, no need to fret. I'll take care of him when he comes in tonight."

With a feeble half-turn, Elle swayed against the wall.
"What?"

Christabel gave her a sympathetic look. Never had the contrast in their upbringings been more apparent. "He'll be back. Not a man alive who can walk away from what he walked away from and not seek a little relief." She winked. "And unless he comes knocking on your door, I provide the only relief in town."

Jealousy shot through Elle, vicious and unwelcome.

Christabel snorted and slapped her hands together. "Oh, honey, not
that
kind of relief. Whiskey is all I'm talking about. Sure, he could find the other if he wanted, but Noah's not that kind of man. Trust me, I can spot the scamps a mile off."