One Last Time(22)

He’s wealthy, gorgeous, and probably has some huge house while I’m living rent-free in my best friend’s place.

On the other hand, why do I care? This isn’t a date. I don’t have feelings for Noah. He’s just some guy I’m supposed to write about. No reason to care what he thinks of me.

None at all.

Who the hell am I kidding? I’m a bad liar and as parts of last night come back to me, I don’t know how I’m going to look at the man with a straight face.

Nervous energy pulses through me as I move around the house. I place a few photos on the end table, arrange and then rearrange the table decorations, and then I head to the couch to wait.

After a whole three seconds, I can’t stand the sitting and jump up. As I’m heading to once again fix the table, the doorbell chimes.

Okay, this isn’t a date, it’s a work function.

At this point, I should just hope I don’t pee myself, which is pretty much the bottom of the barrel for me.

I take two deep breaths and open the door. Noah’s face is right there as he leans against the frame. His emerald eyes are deeper than before thanks to the green shirt he’s wearing. His dark brown hair is pushed back from his face, and I can’t breathe.

He flashes one of his luminous smiles, and I think I actually hit the bottom of that barrel.

“Hi.” His voice washes over me.

I stare, and my legs go all mushy. I lean my head on the edge and smile back. “Hi.”

“I brought these for you.”

Noah hands me a large bouquet of calla lilies. “They’re beautiful.”

And I want to make sweet, sweet love to you.

I need a therapist.

I look at the flowers, which are an array of pink and white, and am grateful for something to distract myself with.

“Not half as beautiful as you are,” Noah says, bringing my attention slowly back to him.

My cheeks burn, and I swoon. I’ve never swooned before, but I rise up on my toes, sigh, and drop back down. Like a freaking teenage girl with her first crush.

If I could slap myself right now, I would. Instead, I straighten my back and vow to get a handle on my shit. “Thank you again. I’ll just put these in water if you want to come in.”

“Sounds good.”

Noah enters the house, and I head to the kitchen, realizing too late that Danni organized the place and I have no bloody idea where my vases ended up. I end up grabbing the first cup I find and put the flowers in my ghetto version of a vase.

“So this is Heather’s old home?” he asks from the other room.

“Yup. I spent countless nights here as a kid so it kind of feels like home to me,” I reply as I look around the cabinets for anything better than Aubrey’s pink Barbie cup. I search high and low, but there is nothing to be found.

Anxious, I close the drawer quickly, catching my finger. “Shit!”

“You all right in there?”

No, I’m the walking definition of a hot mess. “Yeah, everything’s great!” I call out and roll my eyes. I should assume this is how the rest of my evening will go.

Not wanting to keep him waiting or show my ass, even more, I grab the cup and place it in the center of the table.

Classy is my middle name. My mother would have a coronary if she saw this.

“Sorry,” I say as I turn to find him watching me. “Ready?”

Maybe I can distract him and he won’t notice? I move over a smidge to block his view and lean against the edge of the table.

“You in a rush? I figured we could talk a little, get to know each other.” Noah’s voice is deep and smooth.

Couldn’t he sound like a girl? Anything to make him a little less appealing. I don’t feel like that’s asking too much. I need to find anything to keep me from embarrassing myself.

He moves toward me as I study him. Looking for that thing . . . he has to have one. I search his face, finding nothing but beautiful green eyes and a come-fuck-me smile. My gaze roams lower, already knowing this is a bad idea but unable to stop myself. His shoulders are broad and the angle tapers into a triangle. I remember how my legs fit perfectly around his waist and wish I could forget the way my hands moved against the muscles on his arms.

“Kristin?” Noah breaks me out of my trance.

“Oh! Umm,” I stammer. “Yeah, no. We should . . . you know . . . go.”

Real freaking smooth, Kristin.

Noah chuckles. “Did you hear me?”

Crap.

“Sorry, I must still be a little hungover.” Or a little smitten and unable to focus.

He pushes back a strand of my hair that fell forward and tucks it behind my ear. “Well, you look beautiful.”

My fingers grip the edge of the table, tightening at his compliment. “Thank you.” I look at my toes, hoping to hide the blush on my cheeks. I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous around a man.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m free from Scott, but it’s strange and unnerving. This shouldn’t be how I’m reacting to him. He’s an assignment, and as a journalist—which I’m calling myself even though in actuality I’m writing for a gossip blog—I should be professional. Noah brings the doe-eyed girl in me out.

Noah’s finger moves to my chin, and he lifts it up. The intensity in his eyes causes butterflies in my stomach to flutter. Has a man ever looked at me like this? I don’t think so. There’s so much desire there that I could drown in it.