Torrid Page 4

  I can see how tightly she grips them.

  I rub my temples, a headache beginning to form.

  I slowly get dressed, accepting this temporary defeat.

  I take solace in the fact that my father is paying for a new wardrobe for me.

  At least for now.

  I am near the end of the shopping trip with my mother before I consider calling Noah to apologize.

  The notion occurs that I have absolutely no reason to be angry with him.

  It's not his fault any of this has happened.

  Noah wasn't the one to be angry with.

  I see that now.

  I was just projecting my issues with my parents onto him.

  I don’t want to do that.

  Ever.

  My dresses at home are modest, so when I watch my mother pick out some of the sexiest dresses I've ever seen her suggest, I'm suddenly aware that I'm a commodity.

  Now, as the pieces are unfolding, I can see how right Noah was in his analysis and suspicions.

  I hide out in the fitting room for a few moments.

  I pretend I am trying on clothes, but I send Noah a text message.

  I sit on the bench, fully dressed, while my Mother buys all of the dresses I’ve been trying, unable to decide which one she prefers.

  I hear her clucking at the clerk.

  “They are all so beautiful! I’ll have to have my daughter try them out at home. You have a return policy to accommodate that, I am sure?” she says to the clerk.

  I can’t exactly hear the response, but when I come out the clerk is glaring at me slightly.

  “Hold on a moment, Mother!” I say, motioning her to wait.

  Instead of apologizing, I had sent Noah pictures of the dresses. There was a blue, a red, a green, a purple and a black one. I felt that it was as good as an apology to him, asking for his opinion after I had stormed out like that.

  His reply was almost instant.

  Black.

  I see his text and look at the dresses my Mother has foisted onto the clerk.

  “Black, only, please! And, thank you!” I tell her.

  The clerk rings up the sale, no doubt relieved that she will get at least one decent sale from this crazy woman and her daughter.

  I am sure she was not relishing the additional work of having to credit all the returned items in a week or so when my Mother would have brought them.

  She smiles at me.

  “That’s a beautiful dress, and, if I may say so, while you were trying them on, I thought it was the best fit. It really looks wonderful, how you wear it! Sexy and classy, both!” she smiles.

  “Thank you, you’re very kind. I do agree! I loved that dress, it really feels nice, too!” I say.

  I smile back as the clerk packages up my selection.

  Not really because of the clerk, it’s because I’m ecstatic that Noah likes the black dress as much as I do.

  Mother has wandered off to the accessories area, no doubt hunting for some high-end clutch or purse for the event.

  I take the dress, and walk towards where she is shopping.

  My heart is racing with happiness!

  My hands fly across my phone so fast, I can barely read what I am typing to Noah.

  I am telling him about the dress, when I see him typing.

  Three little dots showed that another message was imminent.

  I follow Mother out of the store, my eyes focused on my phone.

  An earthquake couldn't stop me from waiting for his message.

  “Come over. I'm sorry.”

  I touch my wrist and my pulse races as Mother gets in the Town Car on Fifth Avenue, pausing as I stand on the sidewalk.

  There's no way I can get away with walking over to Noah's.

  I'd have to take a separate cab or something.

  “Hazel wants to have dinner. Is that okay?” I lie.

  “That's fine, Tinsley. I like that dress you picked out, but I wish you had gotten all of them, really,” she says.

  The driver comes over and opens her door.

  She gets in, sitting down regally.

  Then, she waves a hand dismissively.

  The driver closes her door, and I can’t see her through the dark tinted glass.

  I always feel a sense of guilt when she offers me a ride anywhere.

  It’s been that way since I was little.

  “I'll grab a cab,” I yell after the departing Town Car.

  It disappears around the corner.

  She didn’t even say ‘goodbye’, I think to myself.

  I shrug it off, and hail a cab.

  I tell the cab driver to circle for a few minutes as think, and I spy Mother's Town Car, far ahead, one last time as it is swallowed by the Fifth Avenue traffic.

  I feel a bit sad.

  She’s my mother, but she’s so alone, and difficult to relate to, for me.

  Her revelation earlier about Father and she being in an arranged marriage gives me pause.

  I chew over this new information as I ride to Noah's building.

  I shoot him a quick text: “I'm on my way”.

  I pout at the mirror in my compact, noting that I'm squeezed into a tight little dress, wearing proper make-up, not sweating with my hair in a ponytail, in running clothes as he usually sees me.

  Not that any of these variables seem to matter because I think Noah will always be that unattainable man.

  I'm invisible to him; we are friends.

  That's where the line will always stand.

  Noah makes me frustrated.

  He doesn't see what I see between us.

  We have so much potential, but it's like he refuses to acknowledge it.

  You can't imagine chemistry.

  I've spent so many years trying to ignore my feelings, but there they are, bubbling up between us anyway.

  Despite the forbidden nature of our relationship, our private jokes and secret rendezvous still seemed to happen.

  He must have seen something between us.

  Then again, he always seemed to ignore it, or just play with flirting.

  Until today.

  I huff, pulling my trench coat around me as I toss a few bills at the driver, waltzing into Noah’s building like I own the place.

  I stand next to the elevator, tapping my toes, as I request his floor.

  I know where I am going and I dislike being detained.

  Especially if Noah is my destination.

  To my surprise Noah is waiting, inside the elevator, as the door opens.

  I get in, and when the elevator doors ding, as I slide my phone in my pocket, Noah greets me with a double-cheeked kiss hello, as though it's natural for him, his large, comforting hands slipping around my waist, underneath my jacket.

  I have to catch my breath a moment.

  Every time he touches me my heart stops and jumps into my throat.

  My entire world spins.

  Sometimes it feels like he knows what's going on, and he touches me to watch my expression change.

  This is happening now, a smirk sliding across his ridiculously handsome face as I roll my eyes at him, pressing my hands against his chest.

  Noah's chest is so firm I want to run my hands over it, keep touching him, as we're paused in the doorway to the elevator.

  “I'm sorry,” he says, quietly.

  “You, Noah, did nothing wrong,” I tell him.

  I make a conscious effort not to call him Mr. Stone, to stop teasing him like that because it reminds him of the age difference.

  He hates that.

  I mostly only do it when he's severely annoying me.

  “There's honesty, and then there's just plain rudeness darling,” he says.

  Noah hands are still resting on my waist, and I watch his eyes glancing up and down my body, before a compliment slides from between those perfect lips of his.

  “Nice dress. Did you eat yet?” he asks.

  “No. I assumed you wanted me for dinner?” I can be cheeky with him
as much as I like.

  Noah appreciates this.

  He coughs slightly, and I blush at the insinuation I've made.

  Noah’s hands remain around my waist.

  I press a little more firmly against his chest.

  He pulls me closer, and I inhale sharply through my nose.

  He is testing me because he's smirking at me again.

  “I wouldn't have it any other way,” he says, in a low voice.

  Noah's smirk is teasing me.

  “Quit it, Old Man!” I chuckle, twisting from his grasp.

  His eyes follow me as I walk into his Penthouse, sliding off my jacket slowly.

  “You assume I'm old?” he sputters, as he takes my jacket, draping it over the railing of the stairs.

  Noah walks me into the living room, where we sit on his couch.

  He loops an arm behind me as he positions himself next to me.

  “Not at all, Old Man,” I tease.

  He's far younger than my father, and nothing at all like him.

  My eyes sparkle as I look into his face.

  No one makes me feel… alive like this man.

  “But that's not why I came here, Noah,” I say.

  “Why did you?” he asks, shifting a bit to face me directly.

  “I'm here because you were right,” I explain.

  “Tinsley, I know what you’re going to say,” he says, his face dark with knowledge.

  Does he?

  Because he's the only person I can turn to in this situation.

  “I don't want to put you in an awkward position. But who else can I ask for help?” I reply.

  “I can't promise you I can do anything, but if I can, I will do whatever it takes to try to convince him otherwise. I don't believe Connor Bradford is any good. Especially for you,” Noah says.

  He takes hold of my hand.

  Relief washes over me.

  That's all he has to say to make me happy.

  That he will try to do something for me.

  It's not that I can't fight for myself, but I need someone with a little more power to stand up for me if I fall.

  If anyone has that kind of sway with my father, it would be Noah.

  It doesn't matter what he's done.

  Not to Olivia, not to anyone.

  “Thank you, Stone, so much!” I say.

  I feel my tears are close, I am so emotionally wrung out.

  “You know, I never could say ‘no’ to you,” he says.

  Noah leans forward slightly, grabbing a glass of whiskey off the coffee table.

  “You couldn’t say no?” I laugh, rolling my eyes at him.

  “I can't,” he confesses.

  He takes a swallow from the glass, turning his eyes on me, “You look stunning, very classy.”

  “Dateable?” I ask, trying to be demure, and I drop my head, and peek at him from under my hair.

  “Very,” Noah says as he smirks at me.

  “If only I were younger,” he sighs.

  This comment catches me very off guard; I didn't think he thought of me that way.

  “If only you were younger what?” I prod him further, slipping the glass out of his hand coyly, taking a sip of myself.

  Noah doesn't hesitate with women.

  I've always known this as a fact, and he doesn't wait now.

  “If I were younger, I wouldn't be such a gentleman, I can tell you that much,” he says, leaning in close to me.

  With his voice in my ear, his breathing makes all the hairs on my neck stand on end.

  “That's not an answer,” I say.

  I'm sassy with him before I realize who I am speaking to.

  How did I say that!

  Mortified, my embarrassment knows an entirely new level.

  “Oh my god I'm-”

  I turn my head to apologize to Noah.

  But, instead his lips find mine.

  Like a magnet I'm drawn closer to him, the glass dropping from my hands.

  It smashes on the floor.

  Neither of us cares.

  Everything running through my head previously suddenly goes blank as I lean into his kiss, pushing him back, as my heart soars!

  I reach for his muscular shoulders, his crisp shirt under my fingertips as I feel Noah's warm firm muscles.

  They are so hard, and as he flexes, grasping my waist, a sound escapes my lips as he suddenly breaks the kiss.

  “Is this okay?” he mutters under his breath, his voice slightly hoarse.

  “I'm not sure,” I say, breathless.

  It’s the first time a man has kissed me, and I'm not really on solid ground.

  “You don't know?” his eyes widen at me.

  “Christ!” I swear underneath my breath.

  “Bloody hell!” he shouts.

  His accent comes out slightly; he sighs slowly, then he's kissing me again because we're too close not too, only the kiss intensifies.

  Noah is pressing me against the couch, and I desperately want more.

  I feel his tongue against mine, and I want to have his hands against my bare skin.

  I want him.

  He wants me.

  This much is clear.

  Then, he breaks the kiss again.

  “What am I doing?” he asks me.

  The fire in his eyes, the desire.

  It tells me things I didn't realize before.

  I sigh, frustrated with him.

  Words come out of my mouth I never dreamed I would say.

  “Noah Stone, you're either kissing me, or you aren't, make up your damned mind!” I shout at him.

  We're in an awkward position now, with Noah's body pressed against mine, halfway pressed down against the soft suede of his couch, entangled together.

  “I don't know if I can control myself,” he says.

  He releases me from his grasp, removing his hand from my bared thigh.

  I didn't even realize his hand was drifting up my dress.

  Noah is that smooth.

  I didn't realize the sparks I imagined, were real to him too.

  I'm still dizzy from his lips.

  My heart is beating out of my chest, and I think about getting up, like getting out of there, but nothing in the world could keep from leaving.

  The chance of another kiss keeps me rooted to the spot.

  “Maybe we should get a glass of wine,” I say.

  “Oops,” I say, as I notice the spill on the floor, where I dropped the glass.

  “Come on; I'll clean this up,” I offer.

  Then, I bend over carefully, giving him a full view of my ass this time.

  I wink at him and give him an air kiss.

  I lick my lips, and bend back down, picking up the glass.

  I'm not so innocent after all, I tell myself.

  3

  Noah

  September 10, 2009

  The effect that woman has me is stupefying.

  I realize multiple things over dinner, one of them being that my marriage is ultimately over and if I do anything, it will need to end quickly.

  Then I can move forward.

  It's funny that Tinsley is what it takes for me to call my lawyer the next day and to meet my lawyer the following week.

  There’s no reason to put this off any longer.

  However, Tinsley is the last woman I want to hurt.

  Her lips leave me in a state of confusion I haven't been in since Elizabeth.

  With the lawyer called, Friday morning rolls around; I'm reminded of my promise, to try for Tinsley, to discover what I can do for her.

  I realize I directly can't speak with her father.

  I've done a lot for Whittaker Energy, investing when he had virtually no one to turn to.

  Then, I gave him sound business advice helping turn things around; I figure Jamesen will confide in me.

  In a crisp Armani suit, the top three floors of the building Whittaker Energy occupies is where I find Jamesen, in his office reading the Friday paper, engrossed in somet
hing, when I knock on the door after strolling right past his assistant Kristen.

  I've seduced her on enough occasions to be able to do that without inference.

  “Mr. Stone, Good morning,” she purrs.

  “Can I get you anything?” she says, arching her body towards me, and licking her lips.

  “No thank you, Kristen,” I wink back at her, and she falls back into her chair, silly with embarrassment.

  My natural way with women comes from my father.

  I know Evan will also be lucky in this regard.

  These thoughts bring me right back to Ava, the daughter I am missing.

  The daughter that Elizabeth torments me with.

  She probably has a way with people, too.

  Her mother and I both have this in common; we can talk and soothe our way into the hearts of those we want to be close to.

  It's easy to get everything we want, and it has put the world in the palm of our hands.

  That's how Elizabeth got the best of me.

  All I wanted before Tinsley was the best for Ava.

  Now I want more than that.

  Tinsley is on my mind more than I care to admit to myself.

  I wasn't born stupid.

  Cambridge wasn't my forte, and I didn't follow in my father's footsteps, but I have a good sense of people.

  I know what a bad idea would be: storming into Jamesen's office and demand he not something to his daughter.

  That's none of my business, especially since I saw her last night.

  He needs to know nothing of that.

  All I need is a little more sway on the board of directors.

  That way, when he moves to make a merger with Bradford Energy, I can block it with all the power I have, direct the board in my direction.

  It'll be a swift move.

  Tinsley is safer with me.

  Aware that this is a lot of money to gamble on a simple move, to save a woman from a marriage she doesn't want, on a hunch, I feel almost giddy.

  Tinsley trusts me, however.

  I refuse to let her down.

  “Jamesen,” I call his name, knocking at the door as I enter.

  Jamesen Whittaker looks nothing like his daughter, a short, pale-faced man, with dark hair, who is slightly pug-faced from years of inbreeding.

  His wife is gorgeous, and he knows he lucked out.

  Gianna Whittaker is the prototypical trophy wife.

  It's a wonder she's stayed with him all these years, as the man has quite the temper.