The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) (14 page)

Chapter 17

Braelyn turned to go, shocked by her own words.
OhmyGod! OhmyGod! OhmyGod!
She’d never had a casual sexual relationship in her life! Okay, so she’d come over tonight to see him. And, yes, she could admit he’d been on her mind constantly since she’d gone to Gentry’s. And not just because she had a permanent, inked reminder of him on her hip. Or because the memories of his dark hands on her ivory skin haunted her every time she closed her eyes.

She just wanted to . . . oh, she didn’t know what she wanted. But it definitely wasn’t to proposition him like that.

But he’d been staring at her with those intense black eyes, looking all broody and sexy with his damp hair and the smell of the storm still fresh on his skin and her brain had gone haywire. He must think her a complete slut now. Besides, he had plenty of other women to choose from, like surgically enhanced tattoo-Barbie from the other night. Why would he want her? She made it to the front entryway when the scrape of his chair legs on the kitchen floor had her spinning around.

“Hold up a sec.”

She waited for him to catch up to her and tried to look like the worldly woman who was secure enough to offer herself up as a sex partner with no strings. Like it hadn’t fazed her a bit. Well, it was one way to protect her heart, even if it demolished her pride.

He ambled up like he had all the time in the world. “You don’t hafta rush home.”

Her heart began to thump painfully. Did he expect her to make good on her offer
tonight
? Whoa. Her body began to thrum in anticipation.
Say yes!
Her mind screamed.
Take me up on it!
Somewhere deep down, the bad girl in her wanted to be unleashed and the prude on her shoulder couldn’t shut her up. What had being good gotten her? A whole boatload of nothing, that’s what! Now she might have a chance at some good sex, at the very least.

Outside, the wind continued to howl and the rain beat against the windows with such force it was streaking sideways. Luckily, she knew Tristan slept like the dead so he was never going to know it stormed until he had to walk through puddles in the morning.

Ah, yes, Tristan. Something to bring reason to her hormone-addled brain. She’d only given in to the bad girl urgings of the devilish Braelyn on her shoulder once. And that had resulted in her teenage pregnancy. And though she didn’t regret a moment of her son’s life, it had been a hard row to hoe, for sure.

Noble’s brows furrowed as he studied what were surely a million thoughts crossing her face. “You all right? You need to go home and get some sleep?”

So he wasn’t going to force her hand and ravish her. Darn it. Maybe he’d already made up his mind, and a short, small-chested, single mother of a teenage boy wasn’t his sexual cup of tea. Couldn’t really blame him.

“Probably.” She offered a half-hearted smile as her eyes drifted toward the door. His entry table caught her attention, partly because of its array of clutter in his otherwise sparse and open home. His keys were tossed on top of an old newspaper. A pile of mail was nearly falling off the table. A dog’s leash? She shot him a curious glance—he didn’t have a dog. Some bottles that looked like ink or paint, a half drunk Coke, and most curious—a vase of wilted roses.

“I’ll walk you out. Sounds like the rain is finally calming down.”

She nodded, but didn’t really hear what else he murmured as she zoned in on a final detail of his table. The crumpled yellow paper that she now remembered he’d thrown down with his keys when they’d come inside.

She looked up at him and the emotion rolling off of him hit her like a freight train. She’d hit a nerve without saying a word.

All of a sudden, his bulk was crowding her toward the door. “You ready to go?”

She put her hands on his chest to stop him. The pain in his eyes was obvious. And was that fear? The memory hit her with as much force as Noble’s obvious emotional distress.

“Mom, I don’t think Noble can read.”

Indecision warred within her. He had every right to ask her to go. It was his home and, if Tristan was right, his business. Not hers. But . . .

He moved around her and paced to the door. He opened it and a shot of humidity rushed in. Outside the rain had slowed to a calm drizzle.

She didn’t move. She may lose all hope of friendship with him, much less any booty calls, but sometimes you just had to push the limits and do the right thing. Even if it sucked. “Noble?”

The breeze ruffled his hair. “Yeah?” He seemed in a hurry for her to go now as his gaze darted toward the letter on the table.

“We
are
friends. Right?”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious. You trust me?”

His eyes turned wary. “Where’s this going, Braelyn? Trust you with what?”

“Close the door, will you? I want to talk to you about something.”

He hesitated, but finally clicked the door softly shut. He stared at her without moving. Now she’d decided to do this, she didn’t know where to begin. How do you ask a man something like that? “Can we go back and sit for a minute?”

He settled onto the sofa and she sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him earning herself an odd look. But it was comfortable and she didn’t want him to feel talked down to. She did her best calculation of a man like Noble and decided that the best approach was from the side angle.

She took a breath and dove in. “Do you remember when I told you about Rory? Tristan’s father?”

“Yeah.”

“He was a jerk. A big fat mistake. But I give myself a little leeway because I was only sixteen at the time. And he may not have a lot of redeeming qualities, but he did give me my son, so . . .”

She shrugged and continued, “
But
there’s not much I can say in my defense about getting totally screwed over as a grown woman.”

“Julian?”

She nodded. “Yup. That’s
Doctor
Julian Diaz-Esteban. Hot shit, right? Little ol’ me snagged herself a big, bad anesthesiologist.” She laughed when he rolled his eyes. “I know, but I thought I had it made in the shade. He was pretty perfect for nearly two years until he started hijacking the patient’s goodies, which in turn made him mean, which in turn made him no fun to live with.” That was the part she didn’t usually tell people about. The shame was too great.

“Did he abuse you?”

She tucked her hair behind her ear as her heart began to beat uncomfortably with the memories. “No. Well, not really. But he was headed that way. I’m sure he would’ve though.” She glanced down and picked at a piece of carpet. “I’m ashamed that I had no idea until he was caught, until he was threatening to explode. And I exposed my child to that. I’m just glad I woke up and realized that I deserved better and Tristan damned well deserved better.” No need to tell him about the threats. How frightened she’d felt when Julian had confronted her. Not now.

He was silent so long, she finally glanced back up. His face was a stone mask. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” he finally asked.

“A few reasons.” She swallowed as nerves bombarded her stomach. “First, because we
are
friends and I thought it only fair that you understand my baggage if we do take things any further. Because I meant what I said. I’m not looking for a serious relationship. I suck at those.”

He nodded. “Fair enough.”

“And,” she continued before she could chicken out, “I think you have a secret, too, and I want you to know you can trust me.”

He simply stared at her for the longest time. She decided she must be horribly wrong. But finally he dipped his chin and his words were barely a whisper. “I don’t know what secret you’re talking about.” But his body language gave him away. He wouldn’t look her in the eye, his shoulders slumped.

Poor baby.

She jumped up and retrieved the letter from the entryway. He could kick her out on her ass if he wanted to.

She stood in front of him until he looked up at her. She held the crinkled yellow paper out and waited for his reaction. It wasn’t what she’d expected. Instead of the overt show of brute machismo that she would’ve expected in his anger, he got very still as emotions seemed to war within him and reflect upon his face. Sheer dread. Humiliation.

“Noble?”

He didn’t answer.

“Noble, I didn’t read it, don’t worry. I don’t know what it is. I can just tell it’s something that bothers you so I was trying to be supportive. I’m sorry.” She shook it to offer it to him. “Here. Take it.”

“It’s from my grandfather. He’s in jail.” Resignation was clear in his low voice.

She sat next to him, the letter settling into her lap. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.” She reached over and gripped his hand. “What did he say?”

“I . . .” He bit his lip and shrugged, his eyes confused. He either hadn’t read it yet or he had no clue.

“Mom, I don’t think Noble can read.”

She glanced down at the letter. It was neatly written, nothing out of the ordinary, dated five days ago. She peered back into his endless midnight gaze.

“Noble? Can you read this?”

Fuck. Shit. Damn it. Fuck.

He snatched the letter from her as embarrassment flooded his system. He wanted to tell her to go to hell, but something in the way she looked at him caught him in the gut. Like she already knew his deepest, darkest, ugliest truths and didn’t judge him for them.

“Noble?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. Maybe she would just go if he ignored her. The sofa dipped gently as she scooted closer to him. She gently pried his fingers away from his face and smoothed the line between his eyes.

“Noble?” she repeated, her voice gentle and reassuring.

“What?”

Her cool fingers worked magic on the tense lines of his face for a moment as she said nothing. Then she laid her head on his shoulder and spoke. “I’m not trying to insult you or embarrass you or make you angry.” She interlaced their fingers and squeezed. “I’m just trying to be a friend, I swear. But it kills me that I can see the pain in your eyes and I can’t tell if it’s because of what’s in that letter or because you can’t
read
that letter.” She sighed and stroked his fingers with hers in slow, methodical, reassuring strokes. “You can tell me or not, it’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” And it was obvious she didn’t mean just tonight.

Where had she come from? And why did she care? A million thoughts circled his mind, but they all collided into one.
Trust her.

But he didn’t know if he could. He’d never done it before.

He sighed and unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “No.”

She didn’t move except for the continued rhythmical motion of her fingers soothing him. “No, what?”

He closed his eyes hoping it would make the admission easier. “No, except for a few words I pretty much can’t read the damned letter.”

He didn’t move. She didn’t move. Their breathing filled the room. He waited for her to laugh and make fun of the grown man who couldn’t read his way out of a cereal box. She finally pushed back from his side and studied him. Reluctantly he met her eyes. Nothing but openness reflected back.

She stretched out her hand. “May I?”

What the hell. What did he have to lose now? He gave her the crumpled up piece of his soul and watched as her eyes scanned it.

“Baptiste?” she asked with a sweet smile.

He ran a sweaty palm down his jean leg. “My middle name. It’s what my grandfather calls me. He always thought Noble sounded too
Indian
.” He made quote marks with his fingers.

She quirked a brow.

He shrugged. “Grew up on a reservation. So did he. He was stuck with a truly native name and no way out. I think he resented my parents for giving me a somewhat Indian, somewhat white name. I always thought his using my
whiter
name was a way to make me feel like shit because he’d been tied down with me when my dad died and my mom ran off.” He gave a sardonic laugh. “Couldn’t have me being happy or anything when he was so damned miserable.”

He watched the emotions play across Braelyn’s face. Shock. Amazement. Pity. “Hey, no worries. That was a long time ago.”

She nodded. “So, what’s he in prison for?”

“Drunk driving and vehicular manslaughter.” He forced the words out and struggled to keep his face impassive so she wouldn’t see how they affected him.

“Oh.” She glanced down at the letter in her hand again. “Well, then let’s focus on why you can’t read the letter.”

He sighed. “It’s not just that letter, babe. Don’t you get it? I can’t read. Period.”

She pressed the letter into his hand. “Tell me what you see.”

He let out a frustrated growl. “I’m telling you, this is hopeless. Why don’t you go on home?”

“I understand that you’re embarrassed. But it’s just us here.” She tilted her head and pointed a finger at the first sentence. “What do you see? Read.”

He didn’t look down. “Baptiste.”

“Ha. Ha. Keep going.”

I hoqe you are boing well . . .

“I . . . ho . . . I ho,” he started. He glanced up at her. She waited patiently, not a hint of a smirk or laughter on her face. “I hope?” he guessed.

She nodded. “Hold on.” She ran to the kitchen and returned a few seconds later with his pad of scratch paper and a pen. “Do me a favor, would you? Write the word ‘I.’”

She shook the pen at him when he hesitated. “Well, come on. I won’t bite. Promise. Just write it for me. Please?”

He took the pen and concentrated on the paper. For some reason his heart was pounding like this was a test. His hand shook slightly as he scratched out a shaky capital
I
. He could do it a hundred times for a tattoo, but tonight with her watching, nerves were getting the better of him. And it sucked.