After Midnight (21 page)

“I need some composition paper.”

“You’re in the right aisle. It’s down here.”

She had no other choice but to follow his lead to a spot a few feet ahead of her. “Thank you.”

When she didn’t automatically reach for the paper, the overly helpful man pointed. “Right there, on that shelf.”

The music coming from the recessed speakers above her head was hauntingly familiar. Her fingers moved along the strap of her oversized tote. “Yes, thank you.”

Frank remained rooted in place, openly studying her. “You look awfully familiar. Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? I’m usually good with faces.”

Please go away.
Please
go away.

“I’m sure,” she lied. Her stomach was in knots. The music in her head swelled to a near unbearable level. Desperate to make her purchase and leave, she grabbed a stack of composition paper off the shelf and turned in the direction of the cash register.

She’d been raised to be polite. It was one of the many lessons her mother instilled in her before her death. But at the moment, Isabeau didn’t think she could handle polite. She was coming apart from the inside. She needed fresh air, needed to get away from the memories and the music. Before Frank realized why she looked so familiar to him.

“Well, okay, is that all you need?” His step quickened so that he arrived at the register before she did.

“That’s it.”

She kept her gaze averted while he rang up her purchase. The music reverberating throughout the store came to an end. There was a moment of silence, then the piano solo started. Isabeau stared at her outstretched hand and wondered how she kept it steady as she waited for her change.

“Izzy?”

Just like that, her day got even worse.

She glanced over her shoulder, dread filling her, and wondered what terrible thing she’d done to deserve this. Two run-ins with Gregory Howard in a matter of days? She reached out and grabbed the composition paper, attempting to stuff it into her tote and make a quick exit.

His gaze followed her hand. “Planning on doing a bit of composing, are you?”

She had no idea what he was thinking, but she caught the instant straightening of his spine. Suddenly she realized why she’d never felt comfortable talking to Gregory. He was jealous of her, he always had been. Every conversation she’d ever shared with him turned into a competition. A competition he always made sure to win.

“Izzy?” the man behind the cash register repeated. “That’s it! You’re little Isabeau Montgomery.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and turned back to Frank. “Yes, I am.”

“I thought I recognized you. You used to come in here all the time with your mother. You’re…not so little any more. But I suppose that happens with the passing of time, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose it does.”

A crease formed between Frank’s bushy black eyebrows. He got that look on his face that she hadn’t seen in years. The look that said he knew exactly what happened to her life and felt sorry for her. She didn’t like that look now any more than she had thirteen years ago.

“How are you doing?” he asked. “You’re doing well, I hope.”

“I’m fine, Mr. Marconi. Thank you for asking.”

“You know, your music is still very popular.”

The walls were closing in on her. “That’s good to hear.”

“The music playing right now is yours.”

She knew that. She’d recognized it the moment she stepped through the door. Memories assaulted her, memories she didn’t like to revisit in the privacy of her own home, let alone in public. Forget the pain in her head, the pain in her heart was much worse.

“I…need to get out of here. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Marconi?”

“Of course.”

She turned for the door only to find Gregory remained behind her, blocking her escape.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Gregory asked.

Nothing about her day so far was funny. “What?”

“We haven’t seen each other in years and then, wham, we run into each other twice now in a matter of days.”

“That’s funny, all right.” Her gaze flicked over his shoulder to the door a few feet behind him.

“I can’t believe you’re going to compose again.” Gregory looked down at her with grim assessment. “I hope you’ll keep me in mind. You know I am the one person who can do your music justice.”

“Sure.” She forced a smile. She was more than willing to play his game if it meant she could get out of there. The knots in her stomach tightened. Her right hand clenched the strap of her tote so tightly, her nails bit into her palm. “Look, Gregory, I have to go, or I’m going to be late.”

He turned as she started past him. “Got someplace you need to be, huh?”

Her unease heightening with every second she remained in the store, she answered without thinking. “Yes. I’m meeting some friends at Pete’s.”

He stepped closer. “Not Pete Knowles, from the recording studio?”

“As a matter of fact, he’s exactly who I mean.”

Isabeau walked out of the music store, every muscle in her body tight. Her hands weren’t quite steady as she slipped her sunglasses into place and started down the street to where she’d parked. By the time she reached her Navigator her breathing had regulated, her memories returned to the box in her mind she kept them locked in. By the time she reached her apartment, she’d forgotten all about Gregory Howard and the look he’d given her as she left the music store.

****

“What happened to you?”

Isabeau smiled broadly, the last few hours just what she had needed to forget her troubles. She joined Clint behind the bar as Noah and the guys eased onto stools.

“Soccer.”

Clint arched an eyebrow. His gaze moved over her from head to toe as she washed her hands in the sink. “Last I knew, soccer was not a contact sport. You’re covered in dirt and…” He shifted closer, peering at her face. A frown line appeared between his eyes. “Is that a bruise?”

A bruise? She turned to the cooler and checked out her reflection in the mirror as she pulled out three bottles of beer. Sure enough, she had a red mark beneath her right eye. “I ran into an immovable object.”

“With your face?”

Her gaze took in the ragged bunch on the other side of the bar. They all looked a little the worse for wear, sweaty and smudged with mud from the field that had yet to dry after last night’s rain. They all also wore the same broad smile on their faces as she did.

“I think it was Dom,” she stated, as she placed a bottle before Nick Saunders, the band’s guitarist, and Alex Morgan, the drummer. The third she placed before Dominic.

Noah’s grin kicked up a notch. Immediately the fire in her belly burned hotter, her palms began to itch. She’d been fighting the need to touch him ever since she got her first good look at him at the park, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung shorts and running shoes, his broad shoulders and hard muscles rippling in the sunlight. He’d pulled on a shirt after the game, but the need remained.

Isabeau took a slow, deep breath to control her racing heart and reached into the refrigerator near her knee. She placed a bottle of water atop the bar in front of Noah.

“I was on your team,” Dominic objected, pulling her thoughts back to the conversation.

“You’re one of the lucky ones,” Nick replied, shifting his right hand and pressing it against his side.

Clint gave them a questioning look as she wet down a napkin and used the mirrored wall behind the bar to wipe some of the dirt from her face.

“To Isabeau, it was definitely a full contact sport,” Dominic supplied. “Whenever she couldn’t get control of the ball with fancy footwork, she got a bit rough.”

“We’ll have to teach her rugby,” Noah commented, his deep voice drawing her gaze from her own reflection and onto his.

He watched her intently, as he lifted the bottle of water to his lips and drank. Her gaze lowered, settled on his mouth. Her nerves scrambled, her blood hummed in her ears.

She had to concentrate just to breathe.

“Oh, hell no,” Nick exclaimed. “I think I’ll pass on that.”

Her eyes remained on Noah’s hand when he lowered the bottle of water. The memory of his hands on her body as she’d stood before a different mirror engulfed her mind with perfect clarity. Her breath clogged in her throat.

She’d never been touched like that before. She’d never allowed it. Over the years, she’d gotten good at distracting a man with his own pleasure, so that she wouldn’t have to endure him wanting to touch her. Up until Noah, no man complained. But Noah was unlike any man she’d ever known. Not only did he not allow her to shift away from his touch, he wasn’t so easily distracted. His relentless pursuit of her was proof of that much.

Her reaction to him was different as well, and quite honestly, a bit terrifying. She’d never spent so much time thinking about a man, imagining them together, considering the possibility that there could be so much pleasure in a single touch.

“That’s Isabeau for you.” Clint’s voice barely penetrated the fog of desire that enveloped her. “Whatever she does, she puts everything she has into it.”

“Like her elbow,” Nick suggested.

“Or her knee,” Alex piped in.

Noah flashed her a wicked, knowing grin. His eyes reflected the same desire she felt throbbing through her veins.

“Babies,” she muttered as heat flooded her limbs, leaving her skin hot and prickly.

Wondering how no one else felt the spark of electricity in the air, Isabeau wetted another napkin and pressed it against the back of her neck. She shifted her gaze off Noah and swept it around the bar. The sudden trill of a mobile phone brought it right back to him.

Noah pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed the screen. “Yeah?” His smile faded, his shoulders stiffened. “I will,” he replied tersely. “Thanks.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Noah?” She reached out, placed a hand on his arm. “Is something wrong?”

“I need to…” His voice trailed off as he stood. “Can I use your telephone, the land line?”

“Of course. Go into the kitchen, where you can have some privacy.”

He nodded slowly, then circled the bar and slipped into the kitchen.

“I wonder what that’s about?” Nick asked as the door swung closed behind Noah.

“Whatever it is, it’s not good,” Dom replied.

Isabeau stared at the door, her thoughts running the same path as Dominic’s. Something was wrong. Noah’s face was unnaturally pale as he’d slipped from the room, his body taut as a bow.

More than fifteen minutes passed before he reappeared, his already pale face bloodless now. Her stomach rolled over.

Noah stopped just outside of the kitchen, his gaze locked on Dominic. “We need to talk,” he said, his voice even, detached. Without waiting to see if anyone followed, he turned and started for the door.

Isabeau flicked her gaze to Dominic, caught his worried frown. He motioned toward the bottles in front of them as he, Alex and Nick all stood. “We’ll settle up—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Halfway between the bar and the door, Noah stopped and turned back. Unlike his voice, his eyes swirled with emotion as his gaze returned to her. The tension in the room thickened.