Unravel Me (16 page)

Then he kissed her.

The last dregs of anger evaporated. Embarrassment fled. Everything but the feel of him against her dropped away. Juliet stepped closer to his solid strength and moaned into his mouth, parting her lips so that his tongue could push inside. Sweet, heady intrusion.

Her fingers curled around his biceps and she hung on as he took her mouth, took it without hesitation or doubt. It was all confidence and need and when he sucked her bottom lip, she could only press into him with her hips and breasts.

His hand slid upward to cradle the back of her head and hold her steady for more searing kisses, one after the other, creating a string of perfect, burning sensation. She dug her fingers into his resilient skin and opened her eyes to marvel at the moonlight on his face, his eyelashes feathery shadows against his cheekbones.

His mouth was coarse-edged with whiskers and she reveled in the rough burn of them against her chin, her cheeks, the corners of her lips. “Juliet . . .” It wasn’t a question, she thought, it was just her name, an extension of the desire she could feel running through his veins. Noah desired her.

Noah desired Juliet.

A woman, not a widow.

And suddenly the kisses and the embrace weren’t enough. They were hot, but still too chaste, and remembering the other times they’d kissed, she worried that she might only have this moment, this chance. Grabbing his hand from her shoulder, she yanked it down to cover her breast.

His groan made her womb clench.

Her head fell back and his whiskers abraded her skin as his mouth followed the column of her neck. She felt the prickly burn everywhere, could imagine it everywhere, on her shin, behind her knee, against the tender flesh between her thighs.

His hips pushed against hers and she felt the heavy weight of his erection along her belly. She tilted the cradle of her pelvis toward it—taking the heavy male thrust of him against her softer abdomen, wishing right now that she could take him into the softest, hottest part of her.

“Noah.” How far was a car, a couch, any comfortable flat surface? “Noah.” His hand kneaded her breast and her urgency only flared higher. “
Please.
”

His hair was cool against the palms of her hands as his head dipped toward her breasts. Flat surface forgotten, Juliet only thought of more. More of his touch, more of this pressing desire, more man against her.

More knowing she was, indeed, alive.

His fingers brushed over her nipple. Not enough, not enough. But then she realized he was pushing the edge of the velvet robe away, tucking it below her left breast so that it was only covered by sheer blouse, sheer bra. The surf below them roared, but her blood was louder in her ears as she waited, breathless, for what he would do next.

His mouth latched onto her breast. With his tongue, he wetted the fabric. His lips drew hard on her nipple.

Her knees buckled. Her womb clenched. Wet heat rushed between her thighs and she wanted to cry with its goodness.

His arm was a steel band around her back, and his mouth was as relentless at her swelling breast. She felt her flesh there expand, as if it wanted to fill his mouth like she wanted to be filled by the erection pressing heat and life against her belly. Her fingers bit into his scalp and he nipped her in return.

Her hips jerked against him, helpless against the sweet sting. He nipped again, and it wasn’t so sweet, only better, and she yanked his shirt from the waistband of his pants so she could touch skin. Noah’s hot, smooth skin.

He lifted his head as she explored beneath the soft cotton. His mouth was full, redder than usual, and his eyes were intent as he worked on the other side of her robe. “More,” he said, glancing up at her. His eyes glittered in the moonlight. “More.”

“Yes.”

At the word, beneath her palms, goose bumps rose on his skin. Her blood raced, guessing the physical reaction meant he was as turned on as she, and then she was certain he was, because he jerked the blouse down, taking her bra with it, exposing her breast to the night air.

To him.

He stared at it a long moment. She clutched his sides, feeling a matching set of goose bumps rise along her flesh from the top of her head, over her exposed chest, and down the sensitive insides of her legs.

Noah’s gaze lifted as his mouth lowered. He was watching her, she thought, excitement a booster rocket to her already speeding pulse. He wanted to see how she reacted when he took her bare nipple in his mouth.

Heat and wetness closed over her tight bud. His tongue stroked, drawing a delicate circle around her areola. She heard herself whimper. Surely he could see the plea in her expression.

Yet still he kept up the subtle strokes. Had she imagined that earlier bite?

Could
she have imagined it? No man had ever touched her with less than gentleness. During lovemaking she’d always been treated like a breakable piece of expensive crystal.

She dug her fingers into Noah’s scalp and his gaze intensified.

“More,” she whispered the word this time, desire and the desire to be more than a precious object making her voice husky. Demanding. Would he understand what she needed? “More.”

His lips locked onto her flesh.

She bowed in his embrace and gave herself up to the fire and pressure of his mouth. A shiver raced through her, shaking her bones, her thoughts, her understanding of herself. After years of living with a dying husband, she’d considered herself a woman of mild desires and low-level libido, but now she only wanted strong sensation after strong sensation: the rasp of a beard, the clutch of strong fingers, the stinging edge of a man’s teeth.

Then she could be sure she was living.

Suddenly, Noah’s head jerked up. She jerked, too, startled by the movement and how much she already missed his mouth. The night air was cold against her wet nipple.

“Someone’s coming,” he said.

She whimpered, less disturbed about being seen than being cut off from this dark, delicious round of sensation.

A grimace crooked the corners of his mouth. He bent his head swiftly, and then there it was, that little sting.

She moaned, her nipple throbbed, Noah yanked her clothes back into place. Then he pulled her to him, tucking her face against his chest. “That’s what you want?” he asked, repeating the question he hadn’t let her answer earlier.

Her arms wrapped around his waist and she shivered again, reacting to all that she desired and all that she was being denied—at least for the moment.

“That’s what you want?” he said, again.

She lifted her face to look at him. “It’s a start.”

 

Noah pushed through the doors leading into the restaurant, towing Juliet behind him. He had to get her somewhere, somewhere private, before he woke up. Because if this was merely a dream, he intended to stay within it as long as he possibly could.

Juliet pulled back on his arm.

Should have known this was too good to be true
. He closed his eyes a moment, then looked back.

Her eyes . . . the Iraq sky, the green of spring. Her cheeks were pink from the cool breeze and her mouth was reddened, the edges blurred from the scrape of his whiskers. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and using his thumb to outline her lips. “Second thoughts?”

Her tongue darted out to taste his skin. He hissed in a breath, then his hand shifted to cup her chin. “No second thoughts?”

She shook her head. “I came with Nikki and Jay. I need to tell them I’m leaving.”

“I’ll do it.” He was already scanning the crowd, looking for the couple. “You stay right here.”

Catching his hand, Juliet squeezed his fingers. “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

And wasn’t that just another sign he was asleep? But he wove through the crowd anyway, in case it really was Juliet he’d been kissing outside, in case it really was her unspoken demands that had caused him to tighten his hands and his mouth on her. Perfect, classy, golden Juliet had begged him in every way for a rougher touch.

Hell, his body was telling him he was well on his way to wild monkey sex with Juliet Weston. He
must
be dreaming.

But there were Jay and Nikki, dancing, and he shouldered past a Raggedy Ann and Andy to tap the mermaid on the shoulder. She turned her bicolored eyes on him, the ones so like her sister’s, and it halted his thought processes.

It was Juliet’s face he saw, full of frustration and unexpected anger.
Is it too much to ask that I could have a man to hold me through one simple, single night?
She’d said that.

A man I admire.
She’d said that, too.

“Noah?”

He shook his head, and focused again on Nikki’s questioning expression. So that she could hear him over the band’s rendition of “Thriller,” he leaned in. “I’m taking Juliet.”

The younger woman glanced back at Jay. He was all innocence and no comment—practically gazing up at the ceiling and whistling. She turned back to Noah and narrowed her eyes. “
Taking
her?”

“Yes.” Then he realized how that sounded and amended his response, eager to get back before Juliet disappeared like the soap bubble he was afraid she might be. “Taking her home.”

Nikki put her hand on his arm as he started to turn.

“I’ve only known her a short while . . .” she started.

He could read her concern, and because he cared for Juliet, too, he was grateful for it. His biological family had given him nothing, but he’d found brothers in the Army and he knew how valuable those bonds could be.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” he told Nikki. Juliet only wanted a simple, single night, and he could do that, without jeopardizing hearts or secrets.

He had to do that for her.

It took him moments to get back to the spot where he’d left her. She wasn’t there.

The soap bubble had already burst.

But no—no,
there
. There she was, in the restaurant foyer. He hurried through the archway and took her hand. “I thought I’d lost you.”

He registered the frozen look on her face and her odd, stiff posture, and wondered if he just might be right after all. She glanced at him, her expression that careful blank, then slipped her fingers from his as she directed her attention back to an older woman standing nearby.

“Noah, you remember Helen, don’t you? Wayne’s—our—old friend?”

Helen. Helen Novack. In her early sixties, the woman had the chic but no-care haircut of a woman who spent her days on tennis courts and golf courses. Her face was tanned but relatively unlined and her eyes were a shrewd brown. Noah had grown up without learning shit about high society, and if he’d thought about it at all, he’d have figured that the southern end of wet-behind-the-ears California would be without such pretensions anyway. But then he’d met the general and the old-moneyed families like the Westons who called places such as San Marino, Bel Air, and Pacific Palisades home.

There was the new-ink reek of the money made by studio heads, movie producers, and the DUIs-by-the-dozen actors, and then there was Helen Novack’s money that smelled like century-old bricks of cool adobe and acres of orange blossoms.

Juliet was still speaking. “And, Helen? I’m sure you recognize Noah Smith, my . . . um . . . Wayne’s assistant?”

“That’s right,” the older woman said, acknowledging Noah with a flick of her eyelashes. “He’s working for you now.”

Noah didn’t give Juliet a chance to reply. “Correct, ma’am.”

“Only until I’m settled in the new house,” Juliet added, her lips curving in a pale imitation of her usual smile. “Noah just passed the California Bar exam.”

Helen Novack’s brows rose a fraction. “But for now he’s your—what exactly? Driver?”

“Um, well . . .” A flush rose up Juliet’s neck.

“Driver, gardener, house painter, whatever’s required,” Noah injected himself into the conversation again, not that he thought for a moment that Juliet would confess she wanted him to be more. And not that he considered for a moment that Helen Novack herself would ever dream that the general’s beautiful wife would go slumming with the likes of an enlisted soldier who hailed from some scrub-and-sand desert hamlet—law degree or not.

Staring him down, Helen’s eyebrows rose a half-inch more, but he’d never withered under the disdain of his drill sergeants and he didn’t twitch now. After a moment, she transferred her gaze back to Juliet. “Well, it’s convenient we ran into each other.”

“You said your niece persuaded you to join her tonight.”

“A charity event, she told me.” Helen frowned as the band took up an old party song and the crowd shouted for
Tequila
! “I didn’t expect it to be quite so raucous, though I should have known.
Malibu
.”

It was said in the same tone as Noah imagined she’d use when uttering, “Drugs.” “Rock ‘n’ roll.” “Sex.”

The crowd yelled again—
Tequila!
—and Juliet glanced over her shoulder then sent Helen another one of those half-hearted smiles. “I was just leaving myself.”

“I must say I’m surprised to see you out
partying
.” The older woman’s obvious disapproval made Noah’s hackles rise. The general had been gone for nearly a year and Juliet had devoted herself to him during his long illness before that. Wasn’t she entitled to experience a little music, a little laughter, a little—

Tequila!
the crowd shouted.

—even a little of that, too, if she liked?

“I’m sorry, Helen,” Juliet said, her voice low.

Noah stared. Sorry? Sorry about what? Why was she apologizing?

“Never mind,” the other woman replied. “But as I said, it’s convenient I ran into you. I want you to know that I’m planning a party—a party to launch Wayne’s book.”