After Midnight (19 page)

“We can’t do this. Not here.”

Reason resurfaced from his desire-clouded mind. No matter how much he wanted to strip away her clothes and lose himself inside of her, finally sating the ache that filled him whenever she was near, she was right. Now was not the time. This was not the place.

The hand still holding her breast flexed. He dropped his forehead to rest against the rough bark above her head. “You’re right.”

She took a step sideways, out of his arms. He steadied her with a hand on her elbow when she wobbled. “Easy.”

“I’m okay.”

He kept his gaze on hers as he brushed his free hand down her cheek. “I’m glad one of us is.”

Her eyes drifted shut, her body swayed closer. While the urge to pull her back into his arms screamed through him, he held her away. “Isabeau, you need to go.” If she didn’t, he was going to lay her in the grass and crawl on top.

She must have read his intention for she took a hurried step back, then another. “Uh…right. I have to…go.” She took three steps in the wrong direction before she turned, and disappeared around the corner of the building.

Once she was out of sight, he reached down and adjusted his straining erection.

Chapter Nine

Noah walked out the front door of the studio and hung a left. The sky had darkened to an ominous shade of gray. The wind swirled, rustling the leaves on the trees along the street. He could pretend his walk was nothing more than a way to clear his thoughts, the result of his intense need to get out of the studio for a breath of fresh air. But he wasn’t into self-deception. No, his feet moved with purpose toward a single destination. The two-story brick that sat on the corner two blocks ahead.

A bolt of lightning split the sky, followed a few strides later by the rumble of thunder. He kept walking. No chance he’d get struck by lightning twice in one day.

Hours, six ruthlessly long hours had passed since he’d kissed Isabeau beneath that red maple. Six hours of struggle to put her out of his mind and concentrate on the demo. The record contract. But every time he breathed deeply, he smelled her. Her scent clung to him like a burr, slowly driving him out of his mind. He couldn’t take it anymore, so he mumbled an excuse about needing air, pushed to his feet and stalked out.

Like the night three months before, the red glow from the neon sign drew him. As he reached the parking lot, he stopped. The place was packed. Even for a Friday night.

No chance of a minute alone with Isabeau.

Noah pushed his hand through his hair and stared at the closed door. The pounding rhythm of the stereo washed over him. A tempo that matched the flow of blood through his veins. He let out a long breath, then reached for the handle.

Adam looked up as he stepped inside and nodded in greeting. Noah swept his gaze around the dim interior, noting Clint standing behind the bar as usual. Two waitresses he knew only by sight drifted around the room, scratching orders onto their pads and dodging too-friendly advances. But no Isabeau. His eyes narrowed. He scanned the room again, stopping as a bottle blonde stepped in front of him.

She flashed him a predatory smile. “Hello there, handsome.”

He wondered how many men she reeled in with her plunging neckline and generous breasts. Breasts that defied gravity. A plastic surgeon’s masterpiece.

Her eyes performed a slow intimate examination of his body before returning to his face. Her smile widened. “Looking for someone? Someone like me?”

Unlike Isa’s smile, which was always warm and genuine, this one’s smile said “I know who you are and here’s what you can do for me.” He wasn’t the least bit tempted. “I’m looking for Isabeau. Have you seen her?”

“Now what would you want with her?” Her breast brushed his arm as she leaned in, and trailed a long, blood-red fingernail down his chest.

“Betty!” Clint bellowed from behind the bar. “Get back to work.”

Noah caught the bartender’s scowl. It was a moment before he realized the man was hollering at the blonde now hanging from his arm. He extracted himself from her roaming hands. “Your boss is trying to get your attention.”

Her mouth settled into an unflattering pout. “He is not my boss. And Izzy is not here.”

Although more than one pair of male eyes tracked her as she sauntered away, Noah’s didn’t. He hadn’t been pawed that completely in years. Instead of wanting more of her, as he knew had been the blonde’s intention, he wanted a shower. He crossed to the bar and waited while Clint finished up with a customer.

“What’s up?” the bartender asked as a waitress carried away the pitcher he’d filled from the tap.

“I’m looking for Isabeau. Isn’t she normally behind the bar with you on Friday nights?”

“Ah…yeah.” Clint signaled the person at the opposite end of the bar that he’d be there in a minute. “Normally she is.”

Noah waited. When it became apparent Clint wasn’t going to explain, he asked, “Do you know where she is?”

“Look, I don’t normally tell a man how to spend his time, but you need to watch out for Betty.”

“The blonde? I have no interest in her.”

Clint nodded, then scanned the customers sitting at the bar. He signaled to one other person to wait before leaning in, the pitch of his voice indicating he meant for only Noah to hear his words. “Izzy was here, but she decided to…ah…she’s taking a break.”

Noah followed the bartender’s lead and looked to the ceiling before the man’s meaning clicked. Isabeau was upstairs in her apartment. He started to turn away.

“She won’t answer the door.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t you hear it? She’s a little pissed at me right now.”

Hear what? Then he did—the rhythmic thumping of her subwoofer, clashing with the song on the bar stereo.

“Actually, ah…she’s more than pissed. I was angry and I said some things that hurt her.”

“What happened?”

“The music will change,” Clint continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “She always starts with that.” He pointed at the ceiling. “Eventually it will transition into quieter, less angry music. She won’t come out before then.”

Noah studied the man behind the bar. He appeared to be in his early thirties, tall and slender. He had brown hair and brown eyes that at the moment revealed more than the man probably meant to reveal. “How long have you been in love with her?”

Clint expelled a breath. “When haven’t I? The thing is she doesn’t want me, she wants you. I told her she was wasting her time, that she was nothing more to you than convenient.”

Tension crept out of nowhere and tightened his shoulders. “I see.”

“I can tell I pissed you off, too. That’s good.” He leaned over the bar to better hear an order from one of the waitresses, then pulled down three martini glasses. “Go through the kitchen.”

“Pardon?”

“There’s a set of stairs in the kitchen with a door at the top that leads to her apartment. I’d bet she hasn’t locked that door. She wouldn’t think to. No one ever uses those stairs but her.”

Without hesitation, Noah slipped through the swinging door into the kitchen. His gaze moved around the room, located the set of stairs on his left. The door at the top of the stairs was unlocked, as Clint suggested. Only when he swung it open, it wasn’t her apartment he discovered, but a laundry room. Complete with a stacking washer/dryer combination and a hamper overflowing with towels.

He stepped into the room. Music slammed into him like a force at near ear-splitting decibels. Christ, standing onstage in front of a packed stadium, speakers at his back wasn’t this loud. The floor beneath his boots trembled and pulsed. The wall in front of him shook.

Wait a minute. Not another door, a wall. He swore aloud. In the dim light, he scanned the room twice before he spotted the door. Braced for the assault his ears were about to take, he stepped into her apartment.

He went utterly still. For the space of a heartbeat, he forgot everything, the reason he’d had to sneak up the back stairs, the onslaught of music, and savored. Isabeau stood at the end of the room, before the window that looked out onto the street. Gone were the makeup and the sexy outfit from a few hours ago. What she wore in its place—what little she wore—was enough to make his teeth sweat.

She’d piled her hair atop her head, the long ebony strands held in place by a silver clip. His rumpled chambray shirt hung off her right shoulder, her breasts and the few buttons she’d fastened just enough to keep it from sliding the rest of the way off. Her toned thighs and perfect, golden legs peeked out beneath the hem.

He’d seen her in less, that barely-there bikini, but…damn. He liked the look of his shirt on her. A lot.

The need to close the distance between them and peel his shirt off her body slammed into him and he started across the room. He stopped in front of her CD player and hit the power button, flooding the room in silence.

She jolted and turned, her hand pressed against her chest. “Noah? You scared me to death!”

Heart in her throat, Isabeau stared at Noah. Hands in his pockets, shoulder resting against the wood mantel, he was the picture of relaxation. Except for the heat in his gaze.

Matching heat flared to life in her belly.

And between her thighs.

Suddenly conscious of the fact that she wore nothing but his shirt and a pair of lacy boy shorts, she straightened the drooping shirt and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s not surprising as loud as you had the stereo.”

“How did you get in? I locked the door.”

His eyes left her to focus on, not the outer door that came up the back of the building, but the inner door that led to the bar.

“Clint,” she muttered, her jaw tight. Of course. Lightning flashed through the window at her back, immediately followed by a crack of thunder close enough to rattle the panes of glass. The room filled with the sound of the driving rain against her roof.

“Interesting man, Clint. I don’t think he cares for me much.”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s—”

“In love with you?”

“What? Don’t be silly.”

His eyebrow slid up his forehead and disappeared beneath a lock of hair. His eyes fixed on her. “He’s in love with you, Isabeau.”

“That’s absurd.” Her pulse was thrumming. She couldn’t help it. He had to be imagining things.. “That’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because.” She moved away from the window and began prowling the room. “Because I’m not…”

“You’re not what?”

She stopped roaming and faced him. Her fingers curled into the cushions on the back of the couch. “I’m not the type of woman men fall for.”

“I’ve fallen for you.”

Heat flooded her system. She forced herself to breathe, to keep her eyes locked with his. “No you haven’t. You …”

He pushed off the mantel and stepped in her direction. “I—what?”

“Never mind.”

“Finish the sentence, Isabeau.”

“I don’t think so.”