Rock Redemption (Rock Kiss, #3)(62)

“I think I’ll go to bed,” she said as soon as Noah pulled the door shut. “Been a long day.”

“I’ll just grab the airbed and the sleeping bag.”

She went into the tiny bathroom to clean off her makeup so they wouldn’t be in the bedroom together, and when she came out, it was to see Noah in the living area pumping up the airbed. He was down on one knee, his T-shirt stretched over his back and his hair falling over his forehead.

“Good night,” she said, her heart bruise growing darker at the sight of this man who could’ve been hers forever. Only of course that wasn’t true. Noah had never given himself to her, never asked her to be his.

I don’t want to push you away, but there’s stuff inside me that just screws me up sometimes.

Yet other women put their hands on him without concern. He allowed it, would do so again as soon as this charade was over. Kit had tried so hard to understand, to move past the way he’d flinched from her, but she wasn’t superhuman. Rejection hurt. And watching another woman so casually touch him? It eviscerated.

He looked up, storm-gray eyes holding her own, all those words forever unspoken between them. “Good night, Kit. Dream sweet dreams.”

“Always,” she said, but when she got into bed after changing into a camisole and pajama pants, she twisted and turned and slept in snatches. The dreams she had were filled with music and with a man whose smile she couldn’t forget.

She woke at six a.m. Rubbing at gritty eyes, she walked out into the living area to see the airbed deflated and folded up in a corner, the sleeping bag neatly rolled up beside it. No sign of Noah. In the bathroom, she threw cold water on her face, came fully awake with a jolt.

She’d just stepped out of the bathroom when the bus door was pulled open and Noah jumped inside. His hair was plastered to his head, his T-shirt and running shorts to his body. Water ran down his face.

That was when Kit realized the fine drumming she could hear was rain hitting the bus roof. “You’ll freeze,” she said, grabbing a towel from the little built-in cupboard next to the bathroom. “Get those shoes and socks off.”

He obeyed, bending his head so she could rub the towel over the blond strands of his hair. “This’ll wreck the festival if it doesn’t stop,” he said, the words muffled by the towel.

“What’s the weather report say?” She knew he’d have checked; Noah did things like that.

“Forecast to clear by eight. Cross your fingers they’re right.”

Having dried his hair so it was no longer dripping, she ordered him to strip off his T-shirt, then went around and dried his back. It wasn’t until she came around to his front, his eyes looking down into hers that she realized what she was doing. Her camisole was thin and he was bare to the waist, all golden skin and ridged muscle and ink. He didn’t want her, but that didn’t matter to her body.

Her nipples tightened.

Shoving the towel at him, she turned away. “Dry off. I’m going to grab a change of clothes for you.” She barely resisted the urge to wrap her arms protectively around herself.

Kathleen Devigny did not hide.

It took her only a couple of minutes to find him some clothes, the closet was so small. After putting them outside the bedroom, she shut the door and got changed herself. She’d intended to wear a dress, but with the rain, she hesitated. In the end, she decided to hope for the best and pulled on the summery yellow strapless sundress that had a cute blue print. She’d pair it with her ankle boots and a hip-length leather jacket she left on the bed for now.

A deep breath, the mask firmly back on, she opened the bedroom door.

Noah was at the kitchenette, damp hair roughly finger-combed and body clad in the old blue jeans and black T-shirt with a faded silver print on the back that she’d found in the closet. Looking up, he smiled. “You want some cereal?”

God, that smile. “Yes,” she said as her stomach dipped despite all her admonitions to the contrary.

Picking up a large box, he poured a multicolored waterfall of sugary rings into a bowl.

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you just give me a candy bar and be done with it?”

A wink. “That’s for me.” He put a smaller, unopened box on the counter. “This is for you.”

It was her favorite kind.

Gripping the butterflies in a tight fist lest they escape and forget all the painful lessons she’d already learned at Noah’s hands, she opened the box and poured the flakes into a bowl. He poured milk over it, and the two of them ate in silence. Pretending there wasn’t this great pulsing thing between them, this unfinished promise that hurt so much. Pretending they were normal.

“What time did you go for your run?”

A shrug. “Around five maybe.”

“It must’ve still been dark.”

“Best time to run. Everything’s quiet and most of the vultures are asleep.”

Fox’s warning vivid in her mind, Kit said, “How much sleep did you get?”

“A few hours.” Nonchalant words.

She put down her bowl. “Now you’re lying to me?”

His jaw got that hard line that never augured anything good. “Leave it, Kit. I told you I have bad nights sometimes.”

“Leave it? Noah—”