What He Craves (2 page)

I should have been tired, because I’d
only gotten a couple hours of sleep before Josh had called about getting down
to campus.
 
But I wasn’t.
 
I was wide awake.
 
More than wide awake – full of
energy, wired on… I wasn’t sure what.
 
Lust?
 
Passion?
 
The afterglow of amazing sex?

“Right.”
 
Noah started pulling containers out of the
refrigerator.
 
His back was just as
built as his front, his shoulders broad and strong, the muscles sharply
defined.

I shivered.

He turned around.
 
“Are you cold, Charlotte?”

“No.”
 
I shook my head.
 
“I’m not cold.”

He set down an assortment of food on the
breakfast bar– blueberry bagels, apple Danish, maple croissants, cinnamon
butter, cream cheese, and tiny cheesecakes swirled with chocolate.
 
There was a French press sitting on the
counter, and he brought me over some coffee in a tiny white cup.

“I don’t drink coffee,” I said.

“Nonsense,” he said, setting it down in
front of me.
 
“Every lawyer drinks
coffee, Charlotte.
 
It’s good for
you.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Caffeine can lead to adrenal fatigue,” I
reported.
 
I reached over and grabbed
a croissant.

“Oh, yeah?”
 
He seemed amused. “And where did you hear that?”

“I read it in the American Journal of
Medicine.”

“And do you routinely read the American
Journal of Medicine?”

I shrugged.
 
“I used to read it a lot.
 
Back when…”
 
Back when I wanted to be a doctor.
 
But I didn’t want to get into that,
didn’t want to talk about it with him or anyone else.

“’Back when?’”
 
Noah repeated.
 
He seemed amused by this, too.
 
“Are you even old enough to have a ‘back when’?”

“I’m twenty-one.”
 

“So no, then.”
 
He pushed my cup of coffee over to me.
 
“The study you’re talking about involved
high levels of caffeine, the kind that no normal person would ever be able to
ingest.
 
And the same study also
proved that coffee is the biggest source of antioxidants in the human diet, and
as long as you don’t have any underlying health problems, you should be able to
drink it without consequence.”

I tried to remember if any of that was
true, but I couldn’t.
 
So I took a
sip. “Ugh,” I said, forcing myself to swallow.
 
“That’s disgusting.
 
It’s so bitter.
 
It needs
sugar.”
 
I glanced around for a
sugar bowl, but I didn’t see one.

“That is a premium French roast,” Noah
said.
 
“You can’t ruin it with
sugar.
 
And besides, sugar isn’t
good for you.”

“Says the man whose idea of breakfast is
pastries.”

“Sometimes you need to replenish your
energy stores.”
 
He grinned at me
and I blushed.
 
He leaned back
against the counter, his cut abs flexing as he moved.

I wondered again how someone who looked
like him wanted to sleep with someone who looked like me. Not that I thought I
was ugly – I knew I wasn’t.
 
I was cute, maybe even pretty, in that girl next door kind of way.
 
But Noah.. Noah could have been a
model.
 

Or
a murderer,
a voice in
my head oh-so-helpfully reminded me.

“Would you like to go out for a proper
breakfast?” he asked me.

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now.
 
There’s a twenty-four hour diner
downstairs.”

I looked at him.
 
“You eat diner food?”

“Yes, Charlotte.
 
I eat diner food.
 
I’m not a total snob.”

“I don’t have any clothes here,” I said.

“What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

“Your t-shirt and a pair boxer
shorts?
 
I really don’t think
that’s appropriate, even for a diner.”

He looked at me and pretended to nod
seriously, like he could see my point.
 
He set his coffee down on the counter and walked over to where I was
sitting.
 
He stood behind me and
brushed my hair to the side, then kissed the back of my neck softly.
 
His hands slid down my shoulders, down
my arms, stopping at the bottom of my t-shirt.
 

“Honestly,” he said, as he ran his hands
up under the fabric, over the sides of my body, “I’d have to agree with
you.
 
This outfit is entirely
inappropriate.”
 

I leaned into him while he kissed a
searing line up my neck and his hands explored under my t-shirt.
 
He caressed my stomach and then stopped
just under my breasts, teasing me.
 
My nipples hardened.

And then his lips were on mine, soft at
first, and then harder, more searching.
 
Our tongues moved in rhythm, sending fire radiating from my center all
through my body.

I was sure he was going to fuck me again
right there, throw me down on the counter or the floor, push my t-shirt up and
have his way with me. But a second later he pulled back from our kiss.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him.
His eyes were dark and fiery, and I could feel the want radiating between us.

“Where did you come from?” he whispered.

“Upstate New York,” I whispered back.

He laughed, throwing his head back.
 
“Is that right?”

His hand moved up over my breast then,
finally, taking the whole thing in his big hand and squeezing before moving to
my nipple.
 
His index finger drew a
slow circle around my nipple, until it was tight and hard and I was
panting.
 
Then he squeezed so hard
it hurt, and I cried out.

This seemed to excite him, and a second
later, his mouth was back on mine, only this time, the kiss was hard and deep
right from the beginning, the intent behind it clear.
 

He was going to fuck me again.
 

And I wanted him to.

But then his phone rang.

He groaned and pulled it out of his
pocket, checking the Caller ID.

He frowned and took a step away from me.

“Cutler,” he barked into the phone.
 
“Yeah… on a fucking Saturday?
 
No, Colin, I’m not going to be interrogated
on a fucking Saturday… well, I never wanted to cooperate with them anyway… You
and I both know that’s bullshit…”
 
He shook his head.
 
“Fine.
 
Fine.
 
No, I’ll be there.”
 

Noah ended the call and stood there for a
moment, looking down at his phone.
 
His body language had changed – where just a moment ago he had
been loose and sensual, now he seemed annoyed and tense.

“Was it about your case?” I asked
carefully, not wanting to upset him, but also wanting to know what was going
on.

“It was Worthington,” he said, his tone
cold.
 
“You’re going to have to
leave now.”

“Oh.”
 
I nodded.
 
“Oh.
 
Um, okay.”
 
I stood up.
 
“Is there anything… I mean, should I – ”

“No.
 
You should go home, Charlotte.
 
I’ll have my driver take you.” He began dialing another
number. “Jared,” he barked into the phone. “Can you bring the car around?
 
I need you to take my guest home,
she’ll be going to… “ he trailed off and looked at me expectantly.
 

“Sugar Hill,” I said, naming the part of
the city where my apartment was located.

“Sugar Hill,” Noah repeated into the
phone.

My face burned when I realized he didn’t
know the most basic facts about me – where I was from, where I
lived—and yet we’d done and said things that were shockingly intimate.

“Thank you, Jared.”
 
Noah hung up the phone and began
gathering up the breakfast things.

I sat there for a second, feeling
awkward.
 
What was I supposed to do
now?
 
I couldn’t very well wear his
clothes home.
 
It was just boxers
and a t-shirt, no bra.
 
Definitely
not appropriate for wearing outside.
 
At all.

“I guess… Um, I guess I’ll go get my
things,” I said, and Noah gave me a curt nod.

I walked to the bedroom, confused by what
had just happened.
 
Why was Noah
suddenly shutting down giving me the cold shoulder?
 
Had I done something?
 
I ran the last few moments over in mind, but I couldn’t figure out what
had happened.
 
We’d been sitting
there, talking and joking around, and then he’d kissed me… it seemed like the
call from Professor Worthington had made him upset.

Jesus.

Professor Worthington.

My
law
professor.

The professor I was technically working
for, the one I would need to write me a recommendation for any internships I
wanted to pursue, the one who would be responsible for giving me a grade this
semester.
 

The sheets in Noah’s bedroom were in a
tangle just the way we’d left them, and I had to hunt for my clothes.
 
I gathered them up then changed back
into the skirt and shirt I’d been wearing yesterday.

My face was burning with
embarrassment.
 
How could I have
been so stupid?
 
Getting involved
with a client?
 
Sleeping with him?
 
The first time could be forgiven, but
the second….

When I got back to the kitchen, Noah was
pouring himself another cup of coffee.

“The car is waiting for you downstairs,”
he said.

“Thanks.”
 
I stood there for a moment, not sure what I was supposed to
do.
 
“So I guess I’ll be seeing you
around… um, on the case, I mean,” I added quickly, just in case he thought I
meant I wanted to see him again.

It was obvious from the way he was acting
that he didn’t want to see me again.
 

“Good bye, Charlotte,” he said, his tone
dismissive.

“Bye.”

***

When I got back to my apartment, I took a
long, hot, shower, letting the water pulse over me, hoping to erase the memory
of Noah Cutler.
 
I wasn’t sure it
was going to work, and I was right.
 
I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
 
There was a lump in my throat, and for some reason, I felt
like I wanted to cry.

Which was ridiculous.

How could I feel like crying over a man
I’d just met less than twelve hours ago? But I couldn’t get away from the fact
that it hurt.
 
The way he’d
dismissed me, the way things had seem to change so drastically.
 
One moment we were joking around, then
kissing, his hands moving up my body, giving me goose bumps… and then the lust
in his eyes had disappeared in an instant, replaced with a devastating
hardness. Maybe it was true that you couldn’t have amazing sex with someone you
didn’t know.
 
Or you could, but then
you’d be left with these upsetting consequences.
 

I stayed in the shower until the water
ran cold, then got out and wrapped myself in a towel.
 
My phone was on the counter by the sink, and it began
buzzing with a call.

It was a number I didn’t recognize, and I
answered it immediately, hoping it was Noah, hoping he was calling to tell me
he was sorry about how we left things, that he didn’t mean to seem cold, that
–

“Charlotte?”

I recognized the voice immediately.
 
It wasn’t Noah.
 
It was Professor Worthington.Was he
calling to fire me?
 
Had Noah told
him what had happened between us?
 
Had Noah insisted that I be taken off the case?

“Hi, Professor,” I said, combing through
my brain and trying to think of anything I could possibly say to save my job.

“Where have you been?” he demanded
gruffly.
 
“I’ve been calling you
for the last half an hour.”