Текст книги "Rock Redemption"

Автор книги: Nalini Singh

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter 28

Noah put the top firmly on his convertible before he and Kit left for the screen test. He said it was to protect her hair, but Kit’s expression told him she knew that was a load of BS. Noah waited for her to argue, but his mind was made up: no way was he permitting the stalker to ruin a day that could mark a watershed moment in her career.

Though she shook her head at him, she didn’t try to make him change his mind, and they rolled out of the drive a couple of minutes later to the flash of cameras. The vultures were all hoping for some kind of an exclusive to fuel the current media feeding frenzy.

“What the fuck do they think we’ll do?” he said to Kit once they’d made it out. “Strip naked and dance together in front of the gate?”

“Will Taylor.”

Noah groaned. “He doesn’t count.” The country music star hadn’t only been caught with his pants down while he fucked his mistress during an island getaway, he’d then been photographed standing stark-naked in front of a hotel window while a different woman gave him a blowjob. Turned out he’d thought the window was reflective. “In fact, you can never use Will to score points in any conversation. It’s too easy.”

“At least he was wearing his cowboy hat,” Kit said with a laugh. “It would’ve been seriously embarrassing if he was caught bareheaded.”

“Stop right there. I don’t want to think about what another guy was wearing while a groupie sucked him off.”

A sudden silence from the passenger seat, no riposte. And he realized what he’d said. He’d never been photographed, but how many groupies had sucked him off? He couldn’t remember their names, probably hadn’t ever known them, their faces a blur and their mouths doing things to him that made his body respond though his heart remained frozen.

Most of the time, it had felt as if he was standing outside his body, watching someone else be touched. The times when he was present, that was when the rage came out, when he turned brutal. He’d never hurt a woman, but on the rage nights, he made sure to pick a woman who made it clear she could take it. Then he used her, shoving her out after he was done. That was who he’d been for a long time: a bastard who didn’t really see women as anything other than objects he could use to drown out the nightmares.

Then had come Kit.

“Sorry.” It was a blindingly inadequate apology, but he didn’t know what else to say. He couldn’t erase his past. If he could, he’d have done it as a child, wiped the memories from his mind so he could have a chance to grow up normal.

“Don’t say that.” Kit’s soft response was unexpectedly fierce. “This won’t work if you feel like you have to keep apologizing.” Her hands were white-knuckled fists on her thighs. “We have to start fresh, start now.”

Noah knew it wasn’t going to be that simple—their history was what tied them together. He also knew that part of the problem was that he’d given those women something he wouldn’t give Kit.

His hands flexed on the steering wheel, his entire body tense.

If he slept with Kit, he’d end up either in the cold or in the grip of rage. Those were his only choices, and he didn’t want to stain their relationship with that ugliness. But… would it be so bad if it would make Kit happy? He always knew when the rage times were coming, so he’d just pick a cold time.

She’d never know—he was apparently decent at sex. Not the long, lazy act he’d seen in on-screen romances or read about. The hard, fast stuff. It was mechanical on his part, but none of the women had ever complained.

Muscles locked tight, he decided he’d do it tonight.

It’d be worth it to strengthen the bond between him and Kit.

“Turn here.” Her voice broke into his thoughts, chipped away at the ice. “Security should have our names.”

Following her directions to the right parking area after they were cleared through the studio gates, he slid the car into an empty spot. As he went around to meet her by her side of the car, it was with his own emotions under lock and key. “You’ll knock ’em dead.”

A shaky smile. “Now that we’re here, I’m scared,” she whispered. “This is the biggest opportunity of my career.”

“No one else could do justice to this role.” He’d read the script on the flight back from the music festival, knew it was made for Kit. “Just remember that. And if all else fails, imagine Abigail Rutledge lording it over you at the premiere.”

Kit’s eyebrows drew together. “Not happening.”

“That’s my Katie,” Noah said and drew her into a hug. He wasn’t really a hugger, but Kit was, and truth be told, now that he’d started the hugging thing with her, he kinda liked it.

Taking a deep breath after he released her, she smiled and gave him two thumbs-up. “See you when they set me free. Probably be an hour at least.”

“You fine going in there alone?” She’d asked Butch and Casey to stay at the house today.

“Yes. Esra’s got a couple of stalkers of his own—harmless types who keep trying to get in, steal his stuff as souvenirs, rather than anyone who wants to hurt him, but it means his area is always secure.” She nodded toward the security guard on the door that was her destination. “Okay, better go.”

“Break a leg.” He watched her walk through the door.

Rather than waiting in the car, he went for a walk and managed to find a small coffee stand. Grabbing a plain black coffee, he made his way back toward the area where he’d parked and saw that the mock street to the left was now swarming with crew. He was leaning against a wall watching them set up a rain scene when he felt someone’s eyes boring holes into the side of his face.

Hackles up, he turned his head. Aw, shit. It wasn’t the stalker. It was the guy Kit had been dating before she and Noah got together: Terrence Gates. “Hey.” Noah straightened away from the wall. “I guess you want to punch my face.”

“For starters.” Arms folded, Terrence glared at him through the clear lenses of his metal-framed glasses. “You don’t deserve her.”

“No, I don’t.” That was simple fact. “But she’s mine, and I’m not about to give her up.”

Terrence’s already hard expression turned stony, his hazel eyes like chips of granite. “Yeah, well, I’ll be there to catch her when you let her down. Losers like you always do.”

Noah’s blood boiled, but he grabbed the fury in an iron fist, squeezed. Kit wouldn’t thank him for making a scene at her place of work. “You’ll be waiting one hell of a long time,” he said lightly, unable to stop himself from adding a cocky smile designed to piss Terrence off.

The other man stepped forward, arms unfolding as if he was going to take a swing. Noah wasn’t about to allow that to happen. “You want to take me on?” he said in a frigid tone. “Fine. Choose your time and place, but it sure as hell won’t be at the studio.” They were surrounded by people with phones, many of whom would love to make a few extra bucks by selling a shot to the tabloids. “Someone’s probably already gotten a snap of you approaching me.”

Terrence stared at Noah for a minute longer before turning and walking away. He’d unfisted his hand, but his shoulders remained bunched up. Though Noah tried to stay pissed off at the guy, it proved impossible—Terrence had a right to be angry. Yeah, the scriptwriter had apparently been a dick after the gala photos came out, but jealousy could do that to a man. All indications were that prior to the gala, Terrence had treated Kit with utmost care.

Noah, meanwhile…

He crushed his paper coffee cup and threw it in a nearby trash can, then walked back to the car. There was a small yellow flyer on the windshield. Probably a sneaky promotional attempt by a small-time movie company hoping to catch the eye of a studio bigwig. Everyone had to hustle.

Not against such self-starting behavior, he pulled the flyer out from under the wiper blade and turned it over. “Fuck.”

Printed on the yellow paper was a black-and-white photograph of him and Kit. It had been taken at the festival and had the look of a professional shot. If he had to guess, he’d say it had been printed off a news or magazine site. From what he could tell, it had originally been a shot of Kit sitting in the circle of his arms on the Zenith grounds, a smile on her face and his head bent toward her own.

On this copy, however, the stalker had scrubbed out most of Noah’s face with a black marker until he’d torn a hole in the paper. He’d then switched to red ink to write the word “WHORE” across Kit’s face.

About to crush the fucking thing into a ball, he remembered what Kit had done and dug around in his glove box, found a plastic bag he’d stuffed in there. He placed the flyer inside, then put the whole thing in the glove box. He didn’t want to tell Kit about it and ruin her hopefully amazing day, but he had to so she’d know the creep did in fact have access to the studio lot.

He wanted to demand he come along with her every day she needed to be here, but knew she’d never stand for that. At least she’d have Butch and Casey with her. Damn it, how had the fucker known she and Noah had left the guards at home today? The most likely explanation was that the stalker had made it a point to learn the faces of Kit’s security staff, been confident no one was watching the car.

Glancing around, Noah saw crew from the outdoor shoot walking this way and that. A lantern-jawed action star was standing talking to a bearded director. The actor and Kit had dated just over a year ago, and according to what Noah had picked up, the breakup had been anything but amicable. Kit and Action Dude had barely had two dates when the fuckwit leaked their “hot and heavy relationship” to the media. Apparently, it had all been pure fantasy—and Kit had broken things off at once.

Terrence stood not far off, arguing with a short, plump woman over something.

Those two were hardly the sole or even the best suspects. Action Dude was banging a centerfold-turned-reality-star now—and lapping up the attendant media coverage. As for Terrence, the jealousy-laced venom had continued to pour forth even when Kit had been dating the writer.

Still, stalkers were mentally unstable, so that didn’t automatically take Terrence off the suspect list. He could’ve thought to scare Kit to force her to rely on him. And the action star could be banging one woman while obsessed with another. Noah would make sure the bodyguards knew to keep an eye on both men if they were nearby.

But there were so many others around, any one of whom could’ve become obsessed with Kit after she smiled at him politely, or maybe said “thank you” for a cup of coffee. That’s all it took for the deluded to create a whole life, a whole relationship inside their head. That gaffer or that set-construction guy, or even that overweight character actor, it could be any of them.

Frustrated, he turned to face the door through which Kit had disappeared. It opened at the same instant to reveal the woman at the center of his thoughts. Her face was expressionless. Noah knew that could mean either very good news or very bad news. Taking his cue from her, he stayed silent as they got in the car and drove away.

“So?” he said once they were safely out of the lot and away from prying eyes.

A squeal erupted from the passenger seat. “Esra loved me! He was trying to pretend he was cool and not really into me, but I could see the fireworks going off in his head. He told me he’s seeing Abigail this afternoon, but I think he just wants negotiating power when it comes to the contract. I nailed it, and we both know it!”

Kit finally stopped to take a breath. “We spoke for twenty-five minutes afterward, and it was serious, in-depth script talk. He asked me if I could work with Garrison given the politics if Abigail doesn’t get the job, and I said I’m a professional.”

Another gulped breath. “I can feel it, Noah. Only reason it won’t be mine is if he plays politics, and I don’t think he will. Esra might be an arrogant SOB, but he’s a brilliant one who won’t put his name on anything about which he isn’t passionate.” She blew kisses over to Noah. “And thanks to you, Abigail and I are even on the publicity stakes, so that’s become a nonissue.”

“You’re the best, Kit. Period.” He loved seeing her like this, so happy and excited and confident. “Let’s pick up a bottle of champagne on the way home, have it chilled for when the news comes.”

“No.” A severe sound. “There’s being confident, and then there’s jinxing things.”

“Right.” Laughing at her adorable scowl, he guided the Mustang into a turn. “I keep forgetting how superstitious actors can be.”

“Don’t knock it. I was once in a small live performance of the Scottish play.” Shivering, she hugged herself. “Never again. That play is genuinely haunted.”

Reaching out, he flicked her nose. “And you, Katie, are genuinely cute.”

“Say that again and I’ll bite you.”

Much as he wanted to keep the upbeat mood, he knew he had to tell her about the flyer. As she’d said, she had to know to protect herself. Jaw and neck muscles tense, he said, “Your stalker has access to the lot.”

Silence from the passenger seat, then an exhale. “What did he do?”

He told her. “You don’t need to look at it,” he said when she would’ve reached for the glove box. “I haven’t hidden anything.”

Nodding in a trust that made him feel like he’d won the lottery, she leaned back in the seat. Her voice, when it came, was more focused than angry or scared. “It makes sense that he’s in the business.”

“Why?”

“When my place was broken into? It was while I was at a small party at the house of a camerawoman from my Primrose Avenue days. Not a lot of people knew I was gone. I guess he could’ve just been watching my place, but that wasn’t the only suspicious incident.” She tapped her finger on her knee.

“Once, I came back to my trailer on set and it felt as if someone had rifled through my purse. Nothing was missing, so I figured I was just being paranoid, but I changed the locks on the gate, the house, and the car anyway, despite the cost. A few days later, I found scratches on my car lock, as if someone had tried to use a key.”

Noah gripped the steering wheel with bruising force. “You tell the cops this?”

“Sure—and studio security at the time. But you know how many people there are on a lot at any one time.” Pragmatic words. “It’s a miniature city. And since I didn’t get any threatening notes or anything stalker specific, I figured it must’ve just been an opportunistic thief.”

“You’re taking this a lot better than I am.” He wanted to strangle the creep.

Patting his arm, she said, “I’ve had a lot longer to get past the angry stage. These days I concentrate on being smart, on not giving him any opportunities, or my emotional energy.” She relaxed into her seat. “Have you spoken to Abe since we got back?”

“This morning after breakfast.” The keyboard player was not in a good headspace, and Noah had intended to bully him into coming over so he wouldn’t be alone with his demons, but someone had beaten him to it. “He’s staying with David and Thea.”

“Sarah?”

“She wanted to go home, but Fox and Molly convinced her to stay with them. Her face needs to heal so she can go out, and they’re worried because her ex has keys to her place.” After the way Jeremy Vance had hurt Sarah, no one wanted to take any chances by leaving her alone in a space he could access.

“I’ve met guys like him before,” Kit said, tone grim. “They’re cowards who wait till they get their victims alone.”

Noah nodded, in full agreement with her about the spinelessness of any man who’d hit a woman. “Thea went in quietly with a security guy and collected clothing and other personal stuff for Sarah, and she’s arranging for the locks to be changed. It has to be done under the radar, so it’ll take a few days.”

In the meantime, Sarah would stay out of public view and Abe would stay with friends who understood his triggers and how to defuse them. “One piece of bad news—Thea had a couple of calls from reporters who heard Abe and Sarah and Vance came face-to-face at the festival. They’re sniffing around for a story.”

“Damn, that’s the last thing either Sarah or Abe need.” Kit shot him a determined look. “Let’s distract the paparazzi with the promise of a money shot, have them too busy salivating over us to worry about an ex-couple.”

Chapter 29

Noah had no argument with Kit’s suggestion. If this was what he could do to help his friend, then it was what he’d do. “PDA?” he suggested, figuring he could pull something like he had at the concert, closeness that wouldn’t make either one of them uncomfortable.

Kit twisted her lips. “No, let’s go be cute together.”

“I don’t do cute.” He shuddered. “Don’t start expecting me to buy you soft toys or other sweet shit.” But since she really wanted a teddy bear, he’d get it for her. It’d be kind of adorable to see Kit go all soft and happy over a cuddly toy.

 “So romantic.” The words were dry enough to parch the desert. “That’s why it’s going to be catnip to the paparazzi. ‘Noah St. John Tamed’—I can just see the headlines.”

He pretended to gag. “I never knew I was signing on for fiendish and painful torture.”

Laughter from the passenger seat. “You come up with an idea then. I’ve never consciously played the media this hard before.”

“We get caught making out in a car.”

“In broad daylight? I don’t think anyone will buy that from me.” A pause, her next words soft and nearly soundless. “And if we’re going to have a first kiss, I want it to be private.”

Noah stopped breathing for a second. He didn’t know how to kiss. Having anyone’s face close to his, it was too personal, too much an invasion. When he fucked women, he took them over. A kiss though, it would bring them into him too, leave a mark. He preferred distance. Maybe that was fucked-up, but in the grand scheme of things, it was a minor detail.

“Your turn,” he said, his gut all tense. “No PDA, no cute, no making out.”

“I could get caught standing with my hand over my belly,” Kit said with a gleeful laugh. “That would be so much fun, except people might take me seriously and there goes Redemption.”

Noah didn’t laugh. “You want kids?”

“Yes.” A pause. “I know you don’t, but I really do.”

“Before, what I said, I was just thinking of some poor kid stuck with me for a dad.” He’d have screwed that up royally. “With you, it’d be different.” He already knew Kit would rock the motherhood thing, and when he was with her, he was a better man. If they ever got to the point where they could do the kid thing, she’d teach him how to be a good father, and he’d listen—he never wanted his kid to hate him like he hated Robert St. John.

“Yes, well, we can talk about all that later.” Kit’s voice was odd, but then she snapped her fingers. “I have it. Let’s go to Disneyland. You don’t have to be cute—the location is cute all by itself.”

“Rock stars don’t do Disneyland—gotta think of the brand, Katie.” He took her light punch on the arm with a grin. “We go to Six Flags and ride the fucking roller coasters.”

“Only lunatics ride things that make them scream in terror.”

He got her on a roller coaster. She screamed like a banshee and threatened to murder him when he laughed. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders once they got off, he pressed a kiss to her temple and bought her cotton candy. “That should sweeten you up.”

“My hair must be a mess.”

It looked like she’d just tumbled out of bed. Not liking the idea of anyone else thinking that, he took off his cap and snugged it on her head before stealing some of the sticky sweet stuff she was picking off in little tufts.

“This is evil,” she said, eating another tuft. “Macho Steve will kill me tomorrow.”

“We could just go for an extra run,” he said at the name of her personal trainer. “Or another roller coaster ride.”

Elbowing him, she pointed at a ride to their left. “Who would be insane enough to go on that? Listen to the screams.”

He looked at her, smiled. Narrowing her eyes, she tried to back away. He held her in a pretend stranglehold as he led her to the line. Later, after they’d survived the ride, he bought her a small blue teddy bear with a missing ear, as if it had been torn off in a scuffle. It was sitting forlornly at the back of a shelf like someone had shoved it back there until they had time to clear him away.

Noah knew he should buy Kit an undamaged, pristine bear, but he bought the bear with the missing ear. “I couldn’t leave the little guy.”

Kit’s face threatened to crumple. “Noah.”

Wrapping her in his arms to hide her from the world, he couldn’t stop his stupid grin. “Shit, did I just do cute?”

A jerky nod. “He’s adorable. I love him.” Then, to his surprise, she hid the bear back in the gift bag rather than holding it so the photographers would see it as they walked out.

It meant too much, he realized in staggered shock. Meant enough to protect. A bear with a missing ear and slightly dirty fur, imperfect and ragged… just like the man who’d bought him.

Kit got the phone call as they were driving home from the theme park. Redemption was hers. “Harper’s negotiating the final deal, but she says the terms look okay at first glance,” she said after hanging up, still not sure she hadn’t hallucinated the entire conversation. “I’m going to be one of the leads in an Esra Dali movie.”

“The role was always yours.”

She just wanted to kiss him. He was always so firmly on her side.

Trying to think of a way to distract herself, she said, “Did you get those mugs for the guys?” He’d laughed and said he was buying glittery pink princess mugs for Fox, Abe, and David as gifts. Kit had gone gift hunting herself, buying things for Becca, Molly, and Thea, as well as her cousin’s young children. She’d also added something happy and sweet for Sarah, figuring the other woman needed a smile.

“Yeah,” he said, then groaned. “Shit, I forgot to grab a gift for Emily. The little brat will pout for days if she finds out I got the mugs for the guys and didn’t get her anything.”

Aware he loved the “little brat,” Kit smiled. “I have you covered. I got her a teacup for her collection.”

“You really like her, huh?”

“Of course I do. She’s a sweetheart.” Kit petted the adorable bear sitting in her lap. Trust Noah to get her something so perfect, something he’d chosen specifically for her. “I got you something too.”

“What?” A curious look. “Spill, Devigny.”

Grinning, she reached into the backseat and found the small package. “Shall I open it for you, or do you want to wait till we’re home?”

“I never knew you were such a tease.”

She laughed and opened the package to reveal a glittery pink princess mug stamped with the letter N. “I couldn’t have you feeling left out.”

“Gimme that.” He swiped for it.

“Nuh-uh.” She wrapped it safely back up. “I’m not having you throw it out the window. I want a picture of all four of you drinking from these mugs.”

He grumbled, but she caught that heartbreaking, lopsided smile that made it clear he loved that she’d bought him a gift, and her heart, it went all liquid inside her chest. First what he’d said about children, and now this…

Noah was devastating her defenses one by one.

They celebrated her casting with champagne and a homemade dinner where Kit talked off Noah’s ear about the script, and he just grinned and listened and told her again that the part had always been meant to be hers.

His belief in her was one of the things that had first made her fall so hard for him. She’d grown up being told by the world that she was inferior to her parents—there had been the “fugly” comments of the tabloids while the gossip magazines and bloggers had been more sly, calling her “awkward” and pointing out her ordinary teenage acne as a “brave fight” she was undertaking.

Other people hadn’t been as subtle. As a child, then a teen, she’d overheard more than one guest at her parents’ home say uncomplimentary things.

“You’d never believe the ungainly child was Adreina and Parker’s daughter.”

“I don’t know, maybe she’ll grow into those limbs. If she doesn’t… poor child.”

“Fugly is right.”

The adult Kit understood that those people had been vicious, sharpening their claws on a vulnerable target, but being constantly negatively compared to her parents wore away at a person. She’d never said that aloud to anyone but Noah, wary of appearing the “poor little rich girl.” But he got it. He knew it wasn’t about ego but about identity.

Kit didn’t want to be labeled as Adreina and Parker’s daughter. She wanted to be Kathleen Devigny, who was her own person quite apart from the two larger-than-life people who had created her.

“You are,” Noah had said to her the first time she admitted her frustration. “The world won’t know what hit it when Kathleen Devigny takes it by storm.”

She loved him for that and for his talent and his heart that was bigger than most people knew. He’d never told her, never mentioned it in even a single interview, but she knew he donated a large percentage of his income to charity. The only reason she knew was that she’d been in his hotel room one day when she’d picked up a piece of paper that had fallen to the floor. As she was putting it back on the table by the phone, she’d inadvertently read a few lines—enough to tell her the letter was from his accountant, itemizing donations made on Noah’s behalf. All the ones she’d seen had related to children.

Complex, beautiful, talented man, she thought, her heart hurting. She loved him, but she knew he was broken. Perhaps permanently.

“Let’s go sprawl on the couch and finish off this champagne,” he said after dinner.

Kit nodded because, broken or not, he was hers and she wouldn’t give up on him.

They’d just taken a seat on the sofa, Noah’s arm around Kit’s shoulders, when she got a text from Harper. Her mouth fell open. “Give me the remote.” Grabbing it, she switched channels.

“Blue Force?” Noah groaned as the iconic theme music came on. “I watched Dancing with the Stars. I should get to choose today.”

“I’m on it.” She snuggled close to his side. “It was taped three years ago, just before the series was put into temporary deep freeze—Harper just found out a few minutes ago that this is my episode.”

“Why the fuck would Harper put you on this piece of—” Clearly catching her warning glance, he smiled. “I must’ve been thinking of another show. This is pure genius.”

She made a disbelieving noise but stayed against him. “This was before Last Flight. I was still on Primrose Avenue and trying to break out into serious drama. These guys gave me a shot, so don’t you ever mock the show.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He ran his fingers over her shoulder. “What’re you playing?”

“A murdering junkie.” She grinned at the open disbelief on his face. “Wait till you see me—you won’t recognize me.”

Ten minutes into the show and there she was, lying in a dirty bed in a crack den, her face scarred by the pockmarks junkies created by digging into their skin, her hair matted and greasy. Her teeth, too, were yellow and cracked.

“Why would they spend all that time making a gorgeous woman look like a hard-core addict?” Noah muttered. “Why not just hire an actual junkie?”

“Watch, it’s a good episode.” It charted the descent of an Ivy League educated heiress into drug addiction and murder. “I get to be glamorous in some of the other shots, but I think I did my best work in the crack-den scenes.”

Noah watched quietly with her, and she could tell that despite his disdain for the show, he’d become hooked on the plot. Content and happy, she wasn’t prepared for him to suddenly jerk to his feet. Unbalanced, she braced one hand against the sofa cushion. “Noah?”

“I can’t watch this crap anymore,” he said and strode out.

Kit stared after him. She knew she should be hurt, but she was just confused. Sure, Blue Force was a spinoff of a spinoff, but it wasn’t trying to be anything but what it was—a quick police procedural that acted as brain candy after dinner. The writing was smart, plus the anchor cast had great chemistry. And it wasn’t as if Noah was a snob with this kind of stuff—she’d seen DVDs of action movies at his house, many of them far more cheesy than Blue Force.

Shrugging and deciding he was just in a mood for some reason, she returned her attention to the show but couldn’t focus, becoming more and more frustrated as the minutes passed. What was wrong with Noah, and why wouldn’t he talk to her?

Unable to let it go, she switched off the TV, then went looking for him. He was in the garden, beer in hand as he sat on the weathered wooden bench by the outdoor table. From the two other bottles lined up on the table, he’d started as soon as he left her. “Planning on getting blind drunk tonight?”

Looking up at her furious question, he laughed, but the sound held little humor. “This barely qualifies as alcohol.” He put the half-full third bottle on the table and got up. “What I’d like to do is get drunk on you.”

Frowning, she held her position just outside the doorway, not about to allow Noah St. John to intimidate her. “You’re drunk,” she said, putting a hand on his chest and pushing when he came too close.

“No, I’m not.” He backed her up against the house, placed his hands palms-down on either side of her shoulders. “You don’t hate the taste of beer, do you, Kit?”

“No, but—”

He kissed her.

Her parched, starving nerve endings shrieked to life. She’d dreamed of Noah’s touch for so long, and now he was finally, finally, touching her. He tasted of the crisp bite of beer and of Noah. Just Noah.

She had no defenses, no shields, no way to protect herself.

Fingers curling into his T-shirt, she rose toward him. He deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he fisted a hand tight in her hair… and a hint of reason infiltrated her mind. This was all too sudden, too fast, too aggressive.

Not romance.

Not passion.

Anger.

Lashes flicking up, she saw his eyes on her face. Flat. Remote. He wasn’t involved, she realized, her pleasure turning into this ugly coldness that made her feel dirty inside. He was kissing her, but he wasn’t the least bit involved. She could’ve been a mannequin for all he cared.

Tearing away from him, she wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Why would you do that?” she whispered, her entire body shaking. “Why would you hurt me that way?”