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“All that crap?” She repeated with a lift of her brow. “Not my mother’s idea of marriage, no. After dad, I don’t think she really ever fell in love again. She just didn’t want to be alone.”
“And you don’t feel that way?”
“No. I’m not ever going to settle for a relationship just to get married. I’d rather be on my own than with someone who’s not one hundred percent perfect for me. I just hope one day I’ll meet someone like that,” she said with a lift of her shoulders.
Something about her comment pulled at him in a way he didn’t really like. “Want to come review some security footage with me?”
She nodded slowly, as though waking from a dream. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
After three days of rocking with the gentle undulations of the Bay of Biscay, Max wasn’t so sure she ever wanted to go back to normal. She liked it here. She liked it here with Noah and a handful of clothes, a whole lot of sun, an absence of work and diaries and scheduling and paparazzi. Just him, her, their conversation, a life that was simple and pure. He fished every day, catching bass that they ate for dinner, and on the second day he’d taken the boat down the coast, stopping off to gather fresh supplies – fruit, vegetables, bread, cheese and second-hand books. She’d stayed on the boat rather than risk being seen, but she’d listened jealously to his stories about the little town – one he knew well from previous visits – and promised herself she’d come back another time. Except, when she imagined that, it was with Noah at her side, not alone.
Most of all, she liked being the centre of his attention. Without needing to actively protect her, he could focus on Max completely, and in between long conversations about the universe and everything in it, they made love for hours, their bodies so completely in synch that they could touch and pleasure and move as one.
On the fourth morning though, the ringing of Noah’s phone woke them. Max pushed onto her elbow, watching the ripples of his abdominal wall as he stretched across the bed and snatched up his phone, viewing the screen with a small frown before swiping it to answer.
“Storm.”
A smile danced at the corners of her lips. Noah Storm. Such a superhero name; it was perfect for him.
“Got it.” He moved, reaching for his jeans as he stood. “We’re a couple of hours away. Say midday?”
A moment later, he disconnected the call.
“They’ve got a suspect. I’m going to go watch the police interview.”
It was the first time in a week Noah and Max were separated, and for Max’s part, she found it unnerving. Not being alone, because strictly speaking, she wasn’t. Not only had Noah arranged for a police guard out the front of her house, there was also a man from his company standing in her lounge room like some big imposing sentinel, so she barely felt like she could move around at all.
She stared at her laptop, the cool grey light of her London townhouse striking her as incredibly drab after the sun-filled days off the coast of France. Her tan had deepened during their time there, sun drenched and glowing. She already wanted to go back.
Time dragged. She stared at the clock, impatient, wondering, worrying, hopeful this whole saga was over at the same time she wished on every star in the heavens that she had a few more days – not of being stalked but of Noah Storm and the pleasure he gave her, the happiness she derived from his company, the sense that when she was with him, she really was her best version of herself.
But it wouldn’t last. She had to accept that. He was leaving, as soon as this was wrapped up. He’d been clear about that all along, he’d been honest with her, completely and utterly. It was foolish to look into her future and see Noah as a part of it.
Foolish or not, n
othing could stop those fantasies spreading through Max’s mind like the branches of a tree, and eventually, she surrendered to them – rather than obsess over the police interview and what news Noah would return with – she allowed herself to imagine a continuation of their relationship that reflected both of their needs, a romance between London and New York, when and how it suited them. He travelled for work, she travelled for work, why couldn’t they make that happen?
Because he doesn’t want a relationship. He wants commitment-free sex, nothing more. She could live with that for a while, but wasn’t there an inherent risk to sleeping with him, a risk she’d fall head over heels in love with him?
She gasped, so the stand-in bodyguard jerked his gaze towards her. “Sorry,” she mumbled, moving into the kitchen and pouring herself a wine, hands shaking.
She didn’t love Noah. She couldn’t. It wasn’t possible, after only one week. Love at first sight was something her mother had believed in, and Max had often wondered if that was part of the reason she’d had such a disastrous string of relationships. Falling in love properly and safely took time, good judgement, reflection, caution, sanity and sense, not an all-consuming passion that could drive one wild. It wasn’t love. It was infatuation, nothing more drastic.
She drank the glass of wine quickly then re-filled it, looking out into her back garden with a strange sensation right in the middle of her chest.
“Tell me about Edward Walton.”
Max stared at Noah as he pulled two meals from the fridge and began to scoop them onto plates.
“Noah, no. Edward’s not like that. Please tell me he’s not the suspect the police have in custody?”
Noah’s jaw clenched and he nodded once.
“Oh God. Based on what?”
She sat down on a barstool, resting her forehead in the palm of her hand.
“Various factors.”
