When in Rome(82)

He sighs after a thoughtful pause. “Yeah. Is that a terrible idea?” But his fingers are already tracing my collarbone. His touch is dazzling.

“Most definitely.” I’m struggling to breathe. “And very dramatic. But I’m up for it if you are.”

He tilts forward, lips pressing into that tender spot on my neck, just under my ear. “Mm-hmm. I love drama. You can call me Mr. Drama from now on.”

I laugh and nudge him back so his shoulders are flat on the mattress. And then I climb over him, placing my knees on either side of his hips, feeling (as do the Regency heroines in my favorite romance books that Noah doesn’t own a single one of) very wanton. “Don’t intrude on my nicknames. I’m in charge of those. And Mr. Classic fits you too well. Just look at you lying here all buttoned up in your cotton pa-ja-mas.” My fingers bounce like a skipping rock over each button.

I can barely see him in the dark, but I can sense his smile. His hands lightly grip my outer thighs. “They come as a pair. You don’t like the shirt?”

“I like what’s under it better. Can I?” I ask, my hands hovering at the top of his collar. My fingers tremble, giving away that I’m feeling some serious nerves under this cool and collected facade.

“Go ahead.”

Green light.

My heart beats painfully as I pop open the first button. I trace that warm sliver of skin at his chest and my finger comes away burned from his heat. With each button I undo, nerves twist my gut and pump into my heart. My pulse is a jackhammer. I fumble with the fourth button and I think it gets snagged on a thread because it won’t release. I yank it a little. Inhale and exhale in a rush. Tug a little more and it’s not budging. My movements are sharp and clunky.

Noah’s hand covers mine with a chuckle. “You’re shaking.”

“Yes, and it’s ungentlemanly of you to point it out.” My voice sounds embarrassingly breathless.

“Is this too much? You want to stop?” He’s cocooning my hands. Won’t let them go—not that I’m trying to free them.

“No, I don’t want to stop. It’s that…” I let out a little whimper and slump over, resting my forehead against his broad chest. “There’s been certain expectations for me in the past. Because I’m…a celebrity and all that, guys have thought I would be a certain way in bed and then seem disappointed when I’m not.” I wince feeling major embarrassment slide around me. “I don’t know. Sometimes I get in my own head about it.”

Noah makes a hum of understanding so deep that I feel it reverberate from his chest through my skull. He nudges me upright again and then ruthlessly rips the thread that is snagging his button before finishing the rest for me. He sits up, so we’re chest to chest with my legs wrapped around him, and he shrugs out of his shirt. Ah—skin. Noah’s skin. It’s perfect under my fingertips.

He cups my jaw and I can feel the intensity of his eyes. I think Noah can see right through to my bones. “To me, you’re Amelia. Maker of shitty pancakes and a smile that rivals the sun. All I want is you.” And just like that, I feel safe.

I give his mouth one soft kiss before pulling back. I trace my hands over his wide shoulders and biceps, his taut chest and then his lips. I sweep my fingers up to feel the lines where he’s now grinning. I will memorize him if it’s the last thing I do. I will carry the feel of his smile in my pocket for the rest of my life.

In one fluid motion, Noah flips us over so he’s pinning me in. The weight of him against me is earth-shattering. Euphoria. Delight. I’m finally anchored after drifting for too long, and in some corner of my mind I realize that his hands are the only ones I want against my body for the rest of my life.

Noah’s lips caress mine slowly, giving me rich kisses, sparkling with pleasure. His broad palms smooth and knead over every inch of my body with quiet confidence until my pulse is languid again and my limbs are melted. He whispers things against my skin and I feel coddled and held and like I’m absolutely darling to him. I want this forever, I think.

Outside, the storm continues to rage, but neither of us notice. For the rest of the night, we’re lost together as Noah proves that I am all he wants.





Chapter 32


    Noah


“Are you ready?” I ask Amelia as we both round the truck and stand shoulder to shoulder, facing the town. She is wearing tight checkered capris today with a white tank top tucked in (which I was lucky enough to watch her slip into earlier this morning). Her long braid hangs over the front of her shoulder, and the fabric of her shirt fits her smooth curves like a second skin. I have to tuck my hands into my pockets to keep from sliding them all over her out here in broad daylight.

“Should I be worried or something?” The tone of her voice, paired with the skeptical look in her eyes, tells me she thinks this town is innocent and harmless. So naive.

I tilt her chin up to look away from the town and at me instead. She has faint charcoal-colored shadows under her eyes that make me smile, because I helped put them there. But I can’t think about last night again. I already have too much residual desire I’m trying to stuff back down. This morning after a shower (together, nudge nudge wink wink) we both drank our coffees on the porch while reading our separate books until it was time to come in to work. Of course she tried to get me to read to her aloud from mine, but I refused because it’s too much fun watching Amelia pout. Also I’ve wavered on all my other resolutions concerning her, and I want to keep at least one of them.