One Last Time(37)

The list. Yes. I need a list of rules.

“We need some ground rules,” I say, lifting my hand so he’ll stop encroaching on my much-needed space.

He laughs.

“I’m serious. If you want me to write this article,” Not that I have a choice, “then you’ll need to agree to my terms.”

He struts closer. “I’m listening.”

“None of this.” I point to him. “No trying to be close to me with your sexy moves and whatnot.”

Noah stops and raises his brow. “You think I’m sexy?”

“Yes, I mean, no. You know what I’m saying, damn it! You’re all flirty with me. No being flirty!” He knows exactly what I’m saying.

“Okay.” He stands straight. “No flirting.”

Good. I think.

“Next rule, no dates. You can’t take me out and schmooze me, thinking it’ll lead to sex. We’re not having any kind of sex.” I put my hands on my hips.

Noah’s lips form into a panty-melting smile. “What I’m hearing is that you think about sex with me.”

“I don’t.” I lie.

He moves closer. “Then why worry about a date?”

“Because we’re not dating. I’m writing about your life.”

“And you’ve already told the world that I have feelings for someone, haven’t you?”

I knew this article was going to be a mistake. He gave me that piece of info, knowing I would have to publish it but not be able to say more. My pulse quickens as he takes another step toward me.

“Not the point. And you’re being flirty again!”

He grins as he continues to inch closer. Stupid smirky bastard is making my thoughts scatter.

“They’ll want to know who it is that I’m suddenly chasing after.” His head tilts to the side.

“All the more reason for no public appearances.” I shake my head. “Do you agree to the terms?” My feet shift back until I hit the back of the couch. I’m trapped, and he’s still pursuing me.

“No.” His voice is low.

“No?”

“No, we’ll have food because we’ll need to eat. We’ll be in public because I’m not going to spend the next month hiding, and it’s going to be very hard for you to keep your hands off me if we’re always alone.” His voice is full of mischief.

Bastard might be right. It will be harder to keep my . . . wait a minute. “Keep my hands off you?”

He shrugs. “You are the one who tried to kiss me the first night and told me about how amazing you are in bed. By the way, I’m happy to test that theory out if you need confirmation.”

My jaw falls open. He tried to kiss me. Heck, he did kiss me. It was him who initiated all of this. Plus, that night I was toasted, so nothing I did should be held against me since I only remember fragments. Now, the other night, yeah, I kissed him back. Not first.

“Your memory is a bit off, pal.”

“Pal?”

“You know, buddy, pal, bro, homey . . .”

Why am I having to explain this?

Then he laughs.

You would think with the way our exchanges go that I’d never dealt with a man before. I’m starting to wonder if I’m just incapable of human interaction at this point.

“You can call me anything you want if you kiss me again,” Noah offers.

“Kiss you?” I scoff. “No.”

“Then you can only refer to me as ‘Man I have feelings for but refuse to admit it.’”

Like that’s ever going to happen. “Or I can refer to you as ‘Delusional actor who thinks he’s hot.’”

“You’ve already admitted you think I’m hot.”

“You’re all right.” I try for nonchalance.

While he’s near me, he’s followed the first rule and has stayed back more than I thought. I’m grateful for the distance because the yearning to kiss him strengthens the closer he is.

“Your mouth says one thing, but your body says another.” His eyes drift to my breasts.

Sure enough, my nipples are poking out like two mountain peaks. “I’m cold.”

“I’ll let you have your lies.”

“How nice of you.” I cross my arms over my chest. Stupid boobs.

Noah takes a few steps back, and I look to the ceiling, praying for divine intervention. I have three weeks of this torture, but then he’ll be gone. This isn’t his home, New York is, and the last thing I have time for is some guy who will breeze in and out of my life.

I have two kids to think about and a divorce hearing in a week. Noah Frazier is the least of my worries.

“I read the article,” he says as he turns to face me.

I’m surprised he read it, but I’m not sure if I want to know what he thought. His face isn’t giving me any clues. “And?” I can’t help myself.

“I think the title is funny,” he smiles.

Mission accomplished. Eli has mentioned that they never read the tabloids, claiming that it’s better to pretend you don’t know what people are saying about you. I’ve seen some of the comments about Noah online. It’s horrible that anyone thinks they have the right to judge his life. So what if he eats unhealthy once? Why is Noah subjected to being told that his acting isn’t up to par with someone? Access to celebrities is a luxury I never had as a kid, but I’d like to believe if everyone treated them the way they would face to face, it would be a better place.