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His eyes flamed when they met hers, speculation in their depths. “I think it’s a good idea.” He looked to the stairs and for the briefest moment she wondered if he was contemplating joining her? But then he turned his attention back to her face, so her gut kicked in overt appreciation. “Good night, Maxine. Sleep tight.”
He formed fists with his hands at either side, out of her field of vision, doing whatever he could to bring his body back under control. He’d played with fire tonight and he should be damned glad he hadn’t got burned. But it could have easily gone another way.
He’d liked the way she’d felt beneath him. He’d liked the way she’d touched his lips, his mouth, as though they were the most fascinating thing in the room. He’d liked the way she’d touched him, stared at him, the way her eyes had roamed his face, asking, seeking, needing, wanting.
He’d liked it way too much, so he’d put an end to it. It was the right thing to do.
He finished his dinner then washed the plates before heading up the stairs towards her room, checking every door and window as he went, before switching off the lights. On the landing outside her room, he hesitated. Her door was open – he supposed she was used to living alone and it simply hadn’t occurred to her to close it. He hesitated on the threshold, looking in when he knew he should keep walking. Telling himself it was purely to ascertain her safety, he scanned the room. The space was elegant and chic, surprisingly simple – a large bed against the far wall, a bay window that overlooked the street, Scandinavian looking furniture, and a green velvet armchair. A small light was on her bedside table, ceramic with tiny pin pricks in it so it cast a spotty constellation of gold across the ceiling. On closer inspection, he noted a type of steam rising from the centre of it – a vaporizer. He stalked to the window, double checked the lock and alarm then steadfastly refused to look at her as he strode from the room with the strangest feeling in the pit of his gut.
The room across the hallway was distinctly more masculine in furnishing, a heavy oak bed with a dark grey cover, a single nightstand, a matching nightlight to hers, and an ensuite. He stripped down and showered quickly, pulling a pair of boxers from his briefcase – he always travelled with one spare pair of clothes – and then loaded up his laptop. Reviewing Max’s staff was complex and time consuming. While she only employed a handful of domestics, there were dozens of executives who had access to her level at work, and a plethora of services to whom various jobs were outsourced, like her car cleaning, travel arrangements. His first recommendation would be to hire another PA and bring all of those arrangements in-house.
Noah always slept lightly. It was a habit honed by childhood, strengthened by war, and so beneficial to his career that he never tried to overcome it. He could hear a twig breaking a mile away
so the moment Max woke, his eyes sprung open, his heart rate firing, adrenaline pounding his system. He sat bolt upright, looking around, taking the briefest moment to familiarize himself with his assignment, memories slamming into him as he stood and moved to his bedroom door in time to see Max push out of bed. Their eyes locked across the hallway and his heart began to pound for another reason altogether.
Yesterday he’d seen her as the successful CEO, a tycoon heiress in her element, then a stunning socialite on the party circuit, dressed to the nines and so glamorous and beautiful it had ached to look at her. But now, dressed in a simple cotton nightgown with her long blonde hair fluffy and loose down her back, she looked so sweet and vulnerable, every single protective cell in his body went into overdrive. He wanted to go to her and pull her close, to whisper that everything would be okay, that he’d make sure nothing happened to her. But that was a weakness he’d never allow himself, a promise he knew he could never make.
He stepped back into his room and shut the door, pushing her away as best he could.
Chapter 4
“MAX, OVER HERE!”
“Smile for us, Maxi Baby!”
“This way, this way!”
“You’re perfection!”
The Eiffel Tower was the ideal backdrop to the fashion show, the open-air event making the most of the early summer evening, the dusk sky glistening and golden so Max took a brief moment to appreciate the view.
“You’re gorgeous! Another smile! Who are you wearing tonight?”
The voices drew her back to the throng. She kept her expression pinned in place, a haughty half-smile she’d perfected years ago, aware of the crowd that spilled out onto the Parisian street, the red carpet lined with velvet ropes no match for the surging mass of paparazzi and fans who’d gathered to see fashion’s elite enter the tents just across from the Eiffel Tower.
To any onlooker, she was the picture of sophisticated elegance. No one could tell that a coil of anxiety was winding in her stomach, as every face in the crowd caught her attention, making her wonder if that was her stalker, or that, or him, or her.
But Noah was there, just a few feet away. His spare clothes had been delivered before their flight and he wore a dark grey suit now with a crisp white shirt, still as flattering as that which he’d worn the day before, so she wanted to strip it off him, piece by piece.
Out of nowhere she remembered how he’d appeared that morning at his bedroom door, a rippling wall of abdominals beneath a tan, swarthy chest, a tattoo just above his heart – too far away for her to make out the details of the cursive script, but just the sight of the ink on his flesh had made her belly flip and flop. His boxer shorts were dark gray but they’d done nothing to disguise his generous proportions, so now she’d spent the entire day unable to think of much besides Noah, his body, his ass, his everything.
It pissed her off.
Max didn’t like obsessing over anyone, and sure as hell not her brother’s best friend. He was arrogant and bossy and besides that, she was mortified that she’d run her finger over his lips the night before, practically begging him to kiss her – and more – and that he’d shut her down. Could he make it any more obvious that he wasn’t interested? And shouldn’t she be focusing on something far more important, like the whole ‘someone stalking her and getting into her home’ aspect of things?
Grinding her teeth with determination, she gave one last look at the paparazzi then sashayed towards the tent entrance, where two men in dark suits stood sentry.
At the gate, though, they stopped Noah.
“He’s with me,” she murmured.
“Identification?”
Noah pulled something out of his wallet, a badge of some sort. One of the security offices studied it then nodded, pulling back the curtains.
Was Noah wearing his gun even now? Again, that same frisson of anticipation ran through her, so she focused extra hard on looking as though she barely knew he existed.
Fashion shows were frantic and bedlam, and this was no exception. The tent was overflowing with models, celebrities, security and a select handful of photographers. Many were in a state of undress, or wearing lingerie as their hair and make up was completed.
