Dark Taste of Rapture (25 page)

A tangle of scents wafted to Noelle a split second before the waitress arrived. Noelle’s mouth watered. Steaming plate after steaming plate was skidded across the table. Her stomach twisted with eagerness.

Her favorite development? The men stared at her food with absolute longing.

“Don’t ask, because I’m not sharing.” Smug, she lifted a piece of extra crispy bacon, bit off the tip, and gave another of those moans, as if the cloned meat was the best thing she’d ever tasted. Maybe it was. The flavors exploded on her tongue as she chewed.

“Not nice,” Hector growled, rubbing his arm more forcefully.

Dallas reached out to confiscate a piece of toast, but she stabbed his hand with her fork in a lightning-fast motion he couldn’t dodge.

“Ow!”

“The fact that I’m not sharing means
I’m not sharing
.” She signaled the waitress and said, “My friend would like a bowl of pretzels if you’ve got them. Oh, and a bandage for his hand.”

“I’ll see what I can find.” Off the waitress went again, returning a few minutes later with a bowl of crackers and a clean rag.

Dallas ignored the rag and munched on the saltines, glaring at Noelle the entire time.

Hector waved his fingers at her sausage. “Give me the patties or walk home.”

O-kay. Normally a guy making any kind of demand
after
semi-rejecting her—more than once—would have pissed her off. But … that husky voice, paired with those glittering eyes, and the stubborn tilt of his chin, was just flat-out sexy. Wouldn’t do to give in gracefully, though.

Forcing a put-on expression, she scooted the plate of patties his way, and said, “Only because I’ve had my
hand wrapped around your …” His eyes slitted and she smiled innocently … “tool kit.”

Dallas looked between them.

Hector’s pupils pulsed at that, but he said nothing else, just focused all of his intensity on the food.

“Mia will be ticked.” Dallas worried two fingers over his stubbled jaw.

“That I didn’t share my toast with you?” Noelle shook her head as she shoveled in a bite of eggs, swallowed. “Try again.”

The worrying paused for a moment. “No, moron, if the media learns Marks’s identity before the family is notified.”

He was lucky Ava wasn’t here. The namecalling would have sent her friend into a red-hazed rage and when Ava raged, people required hospitalization. Or coffins. “But you guys still want his name kept out of the papers?”

“Yes.” Hector bit into the sausage with gusto.

“ME’s report will hit our desks in the morning, and you can wait to notify Marks’s mother until then,” Dallas said, shifting the bowl of crackers back and forth between his hands. “But there’ll be no keeping the details on lockdown after that.”

Noelle noticed that while she called the victim by his first name, Hector and Dallas used his last. Their way of remaining distanced, she thought. Any other case, she probably would have done the same. But then, she’d known Bobby before his murder.

“We still risk a leak beforehand.” Reporters would be all over a rich man’s death. Just like the vultures they were. While she could ensure information was filtered
in the media outlets her family owned, she couldn’t do a damn thing about the ones they didn’t. “I’m sure a press conference will even be called, and as the primary on this case, your face will be plastered on every TV screen in town,” she said to Hector.

He cursed under his breath. “I’ll just say no comment and leave it at that.”

Clearly the man had never dealt with a reporter determined to stake a flag in the cutthroat world of news. “The only way to keep them from running one story is to give them another. Something better. Hotter.”

She polished off the rest of her food. Or rather, the portion Hector and Dallas left behind. As she ate, her hands busy, they threw what they could into their mouths, successfully managing to avoid a forking.

All the while they discussed false stories they could feed the media, and she listened, doing her best not to roll her eyes. Alien abductions and probings weren’t exactly news anymore—considering the aliens lived here.

“I’ll take care of the story,” she said. “No one will care about Bobby.” And that was a shame. But an agent did whatever was necessary to solve her case. That had been drilled into her head since day one.

“How?” Hector demanded.

“Trust me. I know how to manipulate the press.”

“How?” Dallas insisted.

She would have preferred to make this call in private, but whatever. She lifted her cell and dialed her contact at
What’s Happening, New Chicago
. After three rings, a too-perky female voice answered.

“This is Noelle Tremain,” she said, and both Hector
and Dallas leaned toward her, propping their elbows on the table. Dallas still looked a little shell-shocked and sickly, but Hector was all intent and emotionless again. That must be his default setting. “You know, the heiress. The adventurer. The YouTube sensation. You saw me smack that AIR agent around last year, right?”

Yep. Default. His expression didn’t change.

She wished she were better at reading him.

“Oh, my God! Elle! How are you, darling? I haven’t heard from you in so long, I thought you’d forgotten me.” A pout. Faked, of course. Just like the news Marsha Tolle delivered.

Noelle and Ava had gone to high school with Marsha, and though the girl had thought her dreams of stardom made her better than everyone but Noelle, she’d never said an unkind word about dirt-poor Ava. That’s why, when she’d phoned a few times last year hinting for invites to certain exclusive parties, Noelle had given them to her. Now Marsha owed her.

Time to collect.

“As if I could have forgotten you, sweetie.” She used the bubble pop voice she usually reserved for the men in her family, all air, no substance. “Listen, I just found out the most amazing news, and I wanted my closest friends to be the first to know.”

A gasp of pleasant surprise. “I’m so honored you thought of me.”

“Of course I did.” Noelle forced a giggle, her gaze locked on Hector. His lips were now twitching, and she decided she might not need an instruction manual
to read him, after all. He enjoyed her grade A acting. “So get this. I still can’t believe it myself, but oh, it’s just so exciting, and I’m shaking.”

“What? What’s happened?” Marsha couldn’t keep the greed out of her tone.

“I’m pregnant! And you know that football star, Corban Blue? He’s the father!”

E
VERYTHING’S CLEAR
.”

Hector’s voice drifted from the upstairs of Noelle’s home. Her heart drummed erratically as she navigated the foyer on shaky legs. She tried to concentrate on her surroundings rather than the gorgeous warrior she yearned to have in her bed. The floor was a lovely gold-veined marble, the wall tables carved from rich mahogany. Crystal vases and bowls rested on top and cast colorful flecks of light in every direction.

Still shaking, she climbed the winding staircase and walked the plush carpet of one of her many hallways, and entered her private wing.

She found him standing in the doorway of her bedroom, peering inside, as though frozen. His back was to her, but he sensed her and stiffened.

Brushing past him, she breathed in the scent of wild sky and clean laundry. After she’d hung up with Marsha, he’d driven her home. She hadn’t been ready to part with him, so she’d played the
it’s dark out, and I’m afraid to go in alone
card.

Whether he’d believed her or not, he’d checked every shadow, every closet for the bogeyman.

As she’d waited for him to finish, her mind had replayed their earlier kiss and her blood had heated. He was here, in her home. They were utterly alone. The low simmer of arousal she’d experienced all evening had exploded, demanding its due. Demanding satisfaction, no matter what he’d said about being too dangerous, no matter that she’d decided to think things through first.

And he didn’t appear ready to leave …

He leaned against the jamb, and stuffed his hands in his back pockets. He wasn’t looking at her, was studying her bedroom. A single sweep of his gaze, and he had memorized every detail, she would bet.

What did he think of the large, canopied bed, with the ice-blue silk draping the sides? Too girly? What did he think of the matching curtains, the fabric so sheer, so delicate, the golden rays of the sun seeped through the window every morning, haloing every inch with rings of shimmering fire? Too romantic?

He probably liked the stone hearth, with two thickly cushioned chairs in front of it, a small, round table between them. And the books … maybe. They were the real thing, with paper pages, and colorful covers, not the electronic pads. The books were old, some of them brittle, but she couldn’t, wouldn’t, part with them. Before Ava, those books had been her favorite, and often only, companions.

Noelle pictured Hector standing on her balcony, her garden surrounding him as he smoked a cigar. She’d never seen him smoke a cigar before, but whatever. She
pictured him bathing in her natural spring, even crooking his finger at her, silently demanding she join him.

The water remained warm year round, always bubbling, always whirling. Even now, steam curled from the surface, winding through the air like ivy, clinging to the ceiling. Beyond that was her bathroom, complete with an enzyme shower, as well as a real water shower, a vanity mirror and chair, and a black and gold granite countertop.

Was Hector surprised by the elegance? Had he envisioned something more hedonistic? Something more exclusive? This wasn’t the choicest location in the city, but it was close to Ava. To Noelle, that made it the best.

“Well,” she said, turning to face him, splaying her arms. “What do you think?”

“I think this is where God would move if he could afford it.”

As tall and thickly muscled as Hector was, encircled by such delicate, expensive things, he should have looked out of place. Plus, his dress shirt was wrinkled, and there was a dirt smudge on his pants. Dried mud caked the bottom of his shoes. But out of place? No. He was wild and wicked, the dark knight willing to do anything to slay his damsel’s dragons.

And those tattoos of his … How had she dismissed them so easily after their first meeting? How had she never considered such markings attractive until him? Because damn. They were little roadways for her tongue to follow, swirling and dipping, up and down, tempting, luring.

A shiver slid down her spine. “I’m glad you like it.”

A shadow of amusement before those amber eyes frosted over, an ice storm churning inside them. The change was reminiscent of his last rejection of her, and she braced herself for another.

“I should go,” he said, but didn’t move.

“Or you could stay.” She’d wondered what she would risk to be with him. Right now the word “anything” popped in her mind.

He drew in a breath. “What is it you want from me, Noelle?”

His secrets, his body, and his slavish devotion. For starters. Things he wasn’t yet ready to hear. “I want you to have dinner with me tomorrow tonight.” Innocent, easy.

“Why? I told you I was dangerous.”

“I know, but I still want you.”
Putting yourself out there again, girlie. Probably not wise
.

I know
. And she would have backed off if he hadn’t shown her that glimpse of jealousy earlier. If he hadn’t looked at her as if he wanted to eat her rather than the food. If he hadn’t searched her home so diligently and eyed her bed so hungrily.

Even though the frost melted, the storm remained, turbulent and troubled. “That’s a very bad idea.”

“Hello, all the fun things are.”

“Noelle—”

“How about this? I promise not to fuck you on the table, and you promise to enjoy yourself anyway.” Role reversal. A direct hit every time. Not to mention the fact that she’d just insulted his masculine pride.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Dinner. Together. Tomorrow night.”

“Your enthusiasm is heartwarming. Truly.” She didn’t change course, though. Dinner wasn’t meant to romance him, wasn’t even meant to relax him. Though that would happen, too. Hopefully. Dinner was simply her way of learning about him.

Why he used hookers—and when he’d last screwed one. Why he refused to date. Why he thought he was too dangerous for Noelle to kiss. What, exactly, he craved doing to her.

Hector scrubbed a hand through his hair, an action she figured was habit. From nerves? Or desire?
Please be desire
. She studied his face. The hard pinch of his lips, the slits of his eyes. Desire, yes, but he was still fighting it.

Noelle closed the distance between them. He straightened from the jamb, stiffened, but he didn’t try to prolong the separation. Practically purring, she placed her hands on those wide, strong shoulders.

His nostrils flared as he breathed. Deeply, harshly. “What are you doing, Noelle?”

Another step closer brought her breasts into contact with his chest. Immediately her nipples budded, rasping against his shirt just the way she liked. “I’m having a very stimulating conversation with you.”

His muscles twitched underneath her palms, heat radiating from him in a continuous stream. “Talk to me from across the room.”