After Midnight (11 page)

Slowly, Isabeau’s eyes opened and locked with her father’s.

“Sonofabitch!” he exclaimed and took a step back, away from her.

“Dad, don’t.”

Thomas continued to curse under his breath, his voice pitched so that Noah only caught every other word. Hands tightly fisted, the man’s anger was palpable. It pulsed off of him in waves.

“Dad—”

“You need to leave now, Izzy. Take your friend to lunch.”

“Dad—”

“Noah. Get her out of here.”

Noah crossed to her, settling his hand at the small of her back. “Come on, Isabeau. Your father needs some time to absorb.”

Temper flashed in her eyes before she stepped out of his reach. “Don’t coddle me,” she warned. “Either of you.”

Without another word, she turned and walked out the door.

Isabeau was three storefronts down before Noah caught up with her. He walked with her in silence for another block and a half before he spoke. “I didn’t tell him, you know.”

“I know.” Her voice was tight with emotion.

“You could have postponed your lunch plans, given yourself a day or two to heal, allowed the bruises to fade.”

“No, he needed to hear it from me.”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have come along.”

Easing out an audible sigh, Isabeau stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. She tipped her head up and met his gaze from beneath dark lashes. “I knew all along that he would notice the mark on my arm. I…The sunbathing I did this morning was as much about preparing myself for his disappointment as about disguising the severity of the bruise. Unfortunately I wasn’t any more successful at preparing myself than in keeping the truth from him.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, opened them. “Your presence doesn’t change the facts—that his son got angry when I cut him off last night and decided to tell me what he thought of me in a display that left me bruised and sore.”

“Is that what he did, told you what he thought of you?”

“What he said isn’t important.”

“No?”

“No.”

She was lying.

He fisted his hands against his thighs. “What exactly did Tommy say to you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does,” he said, his voice quiet and level. “I think it matters a great deal. Otherwise you wouldn’t have just gone white as a sheet.”

“I don’t think that’s possible with my coloring,” she replied dryly.

He narrowed his eyes.

“I’m fine.”

“Another lie,” he muttered. He shot his hand out and took hold of her elbow when her color worsened. “Hey.”

She stared up at him from eyes that had gone as pale as her face. Her voice wasn’t quite steady as she asked, “What do you mean another lie?”

“There’s no point in denying it, Isabeau. All I have to do is look at you to know that you’re not fine. You’re upset.”

She stepped back slightly, pulling free from his grasp. A gentle reminder—no touching. “Of course I’m upset. I caused my father pain.”

“No, that would be Tommy. He hurt your father, just as he hurt you. Tell me what he said to you.”

Her eyes flicked to his face, then away. “I already told you, it—”

“Doesn’t matter. Yeah, I got that.”

“Good.”

Noah clenched his jaw. He scrubbed a weary hand over his face, resisting the urge to reach out and snag her wrist when she started down the sidewalk away from him. What good would spinning her around and hauling her back to him do except give her yet another reason to be wary of him. Isabeau didn’t like to be touched. For weeks now, he’d assumed her aversion was only to his touch. If he hadn’t witnessed today’s interaction with her father, he might have gone on believing that. Now he wondered.

They walked in silence. To the casual observer she looked like every other pedestrian enjoying a walk through the city, her dark hair rustling in the breeze. But he noted the way she held herself erect and alert. How her eyes never strayed from the people closest to her as she countered any move in her direction with a subtle shift that kept her out of reach.

He frowned, recalling her words from the night previous. That she’d had worse bruises than the ones left by Tommy. Every muscle in his back tightened. When questioned, she’d refused to talk about it. She was good at that he thought, at refusing to share anything too personal.

Very good.

“Is this something you do often?”

“Have lunch with my father? I try to make it once a week, but sometimes it’s every two weeks.”

“Do you always walk to the restaurant?”

“Sure. I spend most of my time indoors so whenever I come into the city, I walk.”

“Odd.”

“Why is that odd?”

“You don’t let people close to you,” he said with quiet deliberation. “You don’t like people to touch you. I thought it was me, but even Thomas is hesitant to do so.”

She came to an abrupt halt and turned sharply. “What?”

His fingers curled around her elbows as someone bumped into her. He shifted her out of the flow of foot traffic and closer to the building they stood before. She took a step back, pulling free from his grasp.

What else did he expect? He dropped his hands. “If not for what you told me last night, I may have believed your father hesitated because of what Tommy did to you. It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

She lifted her chin a fraction, straightened her shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.”

“What does this have to do with walking?”

“The amount of people. This many and someone is bound to touch you.” He considered her for a moment. “Was it Thomas? Was he the one who hurt you?”

“How dare you! Thomas would never hurt me.”

“But someone did.”

She turned away from him and stared at the window display, which frustrated the hell out of him. “I refuse to talk about this with you.”

Noah shoved his hand through his hair. He’d had such hopes when she invited him to lunch. That she was willing to give him a chance. But it didn’t take a genius to figure out that the wall she used to keep him at bay was still firmly in place. Bloody hell, he hated that wall. He wanted past it. Over it, under it, around it, he didn’t care.

“Do you let anyone close?”

“Why?”

“Why do I ask, or why would you allow anyone close to you?”

“Why…” Shaking her head, she took a deep breath, then another. “I touch people,” she argued.

He moved closer, invading her space. “Do you let them touch you?”

Her body tensed, telling him she wanted to step away. She didn’t. “Why are you doing this?”

“No? That must make it difficult to have a relationship.”

“Noah, please.”

“You do have relationships, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Physical relationships?”

That finally got her attention away from the window display and back on him. Her brows shot up so far on her forehead they disappeared in her hair. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“No? Then you haven’t been paying attention.”

She blinked. Her chin rose. “I have physical relationships.”

He couldn’t imagine a relationship without touch. Didn’t even want to consider what exactly she was qualifying as a relationship. Cold, clinical, get-your-rocks-off sex?

“No one’s ever complained,” she argued.

“And you?”

“What about me?”

He sighed. “Isabeau,” he said softly, leaning in so that every breath he took drew the scent of her into his lungs. A warm, soft scent with a hint of tanning oil. “What kind of lovers are you taking?”

“I—”

He brushed the back of his hand down her arm from shoulder to elbow. That electric current hummed between them. “It’s not supposed to be just about the finale. It’s about the journey. It’s all about touch, Isabeau. Soft caresses. Slow, deep, wet kisses. Why would you settle for anything else?”

Her tongue darted out and wet her lips. He wondered what she’d do if he leaned in right now and showed her what he meant.

“Maybe you haven’t taken a good look at me?”

“I’m looking at you now.” He cupped her face with one hand, traced his thumb along the curve of her jaw. Her skin was warm and soft as silk beneath his.

“Noah.” His name crossed her lips, a husky rasp barely heard over the street noise. She reached up and wrapped her hand around his.

She had a mouth that begged to be kissed. A mouth meant for pleasure. How was it she didn’t realize her own appeal? He traced his thumb over the palm of her hand. Satisfaction welled inside him when she trembled. “You don’t have to settle, Isabeau.”

“I...don’t?”

“No.” Noah raised her hand and pressed his lips against the center of her palm. The eyes that stared up into his changed color, from gray to blue. Her lips parted, then snapped shut as someone spoke her name.

“Izzy?”

Isabeau dragged in a shallow, ragged breath. Her pulse throbbed, her legs felt like jelly. The press of Noah’s mouth against her flesh made her throat ache and her body yearn. She wasn’t used to feeling those things, and the fact that she felt them about this man, this one man, scared the hell out of her.

Desperate to regain control, she curled her fingers over her sensitized palm and turned in the direction of the voice.

“Isabeau Montgomery, it is you.”

Years of practice kept her grimace from showing as her gaze landed on Gregory Howard. As long as she’d known the pianist, which had to be nearly her entire life, she was uncomfortable around the man. She’d never been able to figure out exactly what it was about him that disturbed her, just that she preferred not to be in his company.

“Gregory,” she acknowledged.

“My God, how long’s it been?” he asked, his gaze traveling down the length of her. He turned to Noah, apparently not looking for an answer. “Who’s your friend?”

Waiting for her nerves to settle, Isabeau slowly turned her gaze. Noah watched the pianist, his expression cool and focused, his eyes impassive. “Noah Clark, this is Gregory Howard.”

“Good to meet you,” Noah said, shaking the hand Gregory extended.

“Likewise,” Gregory replied before turning back to her. “How have you been, Izzy? Jeeze, it’s been years since I’ve seen you. You look good.”

“I’ve been fine.”

“Good, good, so what have you been up to?”

“I have my own business in Long Island City.”

“Really? How interesting.” His tone was flat in the way that let her know he didn’t find her answer interesting at all. She stiffened her spine as his eyes moved over her again. It wasn’t a suggestive look, but it made her uncomfortable. “Do you still play?”