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“Oh, shit,” she muttered, struggling for the third time to undo the strap of her heel. She pressed a hand to the wall, fumbling some more, cranky at how difficult she was finding this. And she blamed Noah. If he wasn’t standing over her, watching, she’d be able to focus, but his eyes were boring into her, his lips quirked in that sardonic, cynical way of his, and her temperature was about to break the thermometer.
“What?” She grumbled, finally succeeding in liberating the buckle of one shoe before turning her attention to the other.
“Did I say anything?” He crossed his arms over his chest and she gave her entire focus to the shoes rather than look at him and his broadly muscled wall of abs.
“I can hear what you’re thinking,” she muttered.
“And what’s that?”
“You’re thinking that I’m drunk and that I’ve come home drunk and if I do this often I probably leave doors unlocked so whoever this creep is has easy access to the house. You’re thinking this is all my fault.”
“No.” He moved towards her suddenly, catching her chin and drawing her face to his, his eyes staring right through her, into her soul. “I’m definitely not thinking that.”
“I don’t do this often. I hate being drunk. I was just nervous tonight, after the last few days, and the gin was yummy.”
“None of this is your fault,” he said firmly, so that even in her present, frazzled state, the words reached into her, soothing her, making her feel whole all over again. “I don’t care what kind of lifestyle you have, no one has a right to hunt you like this. None of this is your fault.”
Tears unexpectedly filled her eyes and she blinked them away quickly, hating to appear weak in front of him. “Thank you.”
“When I ask you questions, I’m not doing it to be critical. Not of you, anyw
ay.”
“Of who, then?”
“Your security arrangements aren’t sufficient. Not given the current threat. I’ll talk to Gray about it.”
“You’ll talk to me about it,” she corrected, hiccoughing as she reached down to her ankle strap. She would have toppled to the side if Noah hadn’t caught her, his hands wrapping around her arms, holding her steady.
“I’ll do it.” His voice was gruff, throaty, so sensual. Was she imagining that? Was it wishful thinking? She wanted to lean forward and kiss him. To hell with that; she wanted to kneel down and taste him.
But it was Noah who leaned down, his fingers deftly unfastening the strap of her shoe, loosening it so she could step out of it.
“I’m hungry.”
“Sit down. I’ll get you something to eat.”
“You don’t have to do that. You must be off the clock or whatever.”
“Your safety is my concern, remember? I can’t have you falling and knocking your head on the kitchen bench on my watch. Sit down.”
A thrill of pleasure fibrillated in her chest. Ordinarily, Max would have said she loathed being told what to do by anyone, but with Noah, there was something so intensely rewarding about just falling in with his wishes. Not for long. Just for tonight.
“Fine. Thank you.” She added, ever so meekly, as she moved as steadily as she could to the bar stools at the kitchen bench.
He removed his jacket, showing the crisp white shirt he wore beneath, pushing the sleeves up, so her mouth filled with saliva at the picture he made. Even the sight of his gun, heaven help her, was sending arrows of desire shooting through her system. A gun? Since when? That was so not like her.
“You’re really hot, you know.”
The only sign he’d heard was that he stood completely still, mid-way through reaching into the fridge. He withdrew a glass bottle of mineral water, filled one glass and passed it to her, a hint of amusement in the lines of his face.
“Drink this.”
“Also ridiculously bossy.”
“Trust me. You’ll feel better in the morning if you hydrate.”
“How d’you know?” But she chugged half the water gratefully. She was thirsty. “You don’t even drink.”
