Naked (3 page)

There was something more going on with this girl. Something beyond her being skeptical of people in town talking about her.

“You’re a mysterious, beautiful woman.” He leaned in, getting as close as he could before the table cut off his circulation. “I’m not the only one intrigued.”

A blush fell across her cheeks just as Mavis returned with their pitcher.

“Enjoy, dearies.” She winked at Violet then returned to the bar.

Noah grabbed a glass and the pitcher, handing the first pour over to Violet.

“I’m not really a fan of beer.” Her mouth turned down and her lips pursed. Those bright red lips were lush and perfect for…drinking beer. He needed to get his head out of the gutter.

“You’ll love it.” He leaned across the table. “Besides, I ordered the finest.” She snorted then immediately whipped her hand up to cover her mouth in embarrassment.

“Careful, Violet. You don’t want to reveal too much. Snort-laughs shouldn’t be introduced into a relationship until at least the ninth date.”

She snorted again.

They drank their beer. Silently. For no reason, there was a lull in conversation. Tonight was officially the most superficial date he’d ever been on. He had to think of something to talk about that didn’t break her rules, and there was nothing more generic than Hollywood.

“So what’s your favorite movie?” He stopped midpour on his second glass. “Or is that also too personal?” He winked.

She sipped her beer. The tiniest sip he’d ever seen. “Movie talk is fine.” She sipped again. This time, she tilted her head in surprise. “I like the Austin Powers movies.”

“Really.” He sat back in his chair, letting one leg fall away. “I would have pegged you as a
Pride and Prejudice
type.”

“You know
Pride and Prejudice
?” She leaned back, twirling her glass in her fingers.

“I have two sisters and my dad died when I was young. Lots of estrogen in my house.”

She gasped, raising her hand to her mouth. “Noah, I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.” He waved it off, but he thought of his father every day. He thought about how he was disappointing him every day.

“Makes sense.” She shrugged. “No wonder you’re so good with women.”

“Who said I’m good with women?”

“I…just guessing.” She bit her bottom lip. He felt those teeth on his own skin. Felt that mouth biting a line down his chest. “You’re…you know.”

He settled into his chair, getting a lot more comfortable. “No, I don’t.”

She let out a long breath through pursed lips. “You made me smile and laugh, you’re obviously confident, and you’re easy on the eyes.” She looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He had to stop himself from laughing.

“Not sure about all that.” This woman had been teasing him for weeks without even knowing it, and he was going to lay it all on the table. He leaned forward. “But I do know it’s a beautiful night and just for the record, you’re with a determined guy willing to spend the time to give you multiple orgasms.”

If they were in a cartoon, her mouth would have dropped to the table.

He shrugged out of his blazer then pushed up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. Immediately, her eyes settled on his right arm. His best friend, Luke Sawyer, was the best tattoo artist in Toronto. What kind of friend would he be if he didn’t let him practice on his skin? One tattoo had led to another, which had led to another.

She cleared her throat. “And you have tattoos.”

“You don’t like tattoos?” He turned his arm over, palm up, the silver band of his watch caught the light overhead.

“I’ve never really considered it.” He doubted the men she dated were inked.

She was definitely considering it now as she surveyed the anchor inked on his forearm which led to the sailboat on his biceps and the swirl and sway of color and shapes in between. She bit her bottom lip again. He had to fist his hand on the table to keep from reaching out and touching that lip. When she noticed he was staring, she quickly looked away toward the pool table, avoiding eye contact.

She was as skittish as a cat around water. But he was willing to take it slow, to slip past her defenses one inch at a time, if it meant one less night alone in his house. He hated the quiet.

“Would you like to play pool, Violet?”

He liked saying her name. It rolled off his tongue as easy as she was on the eyes.

She looked at him, a determined set to her jaw. “It would be your funeral.”

Shaking his head, he stood, pushing up his sleeves again, waiting for her to follow. This woman might be shy, but there was no shortage of surprises where she was concerned.

When she finally stood, he held out his hand to shake on their game. “Then may the best man win.”

She smiled, the most devilish grin spread wide across her face. “There’s nothing manly about this game.”

—

About an hour into playing, and she was kicking his ass. Now that she’d loosened up a bit with a few glasses of beer, she was much more animated.

And humming.

Every time she walked the perimeter of the table she’d hum the same tune while lifting up on her toes, a tune he recognized but couldn’t put a name to.

Just before she bent down to sink the last striped ball, he asked, “What is that you’re humming?”

“It’s
The Nutcracker
.” She bent at the waist, lining up her shot. “It reminds me of perfection.” She looked up, her eyes locking on his. “Which is what this game is going to be.” With a wide smile she took her shot.

Then she sank the eight ball to win her third game in a row, pumping her fist in victory.

“Where did a pretty girl like you learn to play pool?”

Her smile turned into a glare when she locked eyes with him from across the table. “I’m sure that’s all you think I am, a pretty girl who drives a Porsche. I have layers, you know.” He wondered if she knew that she lifted her chin every time she spoke. As if she was turning down her nose at everything.

“I have no doubt.” She waved him off, but he continued, “But you’re the one who doesn’t want to reveal them, remember?”

She tapped the blunt end of her pool cue on the floor as she eyed the table. He noticed her flex her hand; a couple of times she couldn’t quite grip the cue. Did she have carpal tunnel? Maybe she spent so much time inside because she was penning
New York Times
bestsellers.

He walked up behind her. For the first time since they’d been at the pool table, he closed the distance.

She whispered, “I play to win.”

“Ruthless,” he murmured in her ear. “I like that.” He saw the blush creep up the tiny bit of exposed skin at her neck and settle at her cheeks.

That tiny flush of pink revealed her innocence, but it was just sexy enough to cause a twinge in his pants. She turned away from him, and it was the perfect opportunity for his pelvis to press against her bottom. She gasped when he pressed harder, their bodies flush, front to back. She was warm, no doubt because of the scarf that she’d wrapped unnecessarily around her neck, and probably from the alcohol.

But he hadn’t asked her out to jump her bones. Although that would be an extremely large cherry on top of this night, he eased away.

Immediately, she stumbled toward the ledge where he’d stashed the second pitcher of beer and refilled her glass.

“I see you’re getting used to the beer.”

She smiled. “Once it warps your taste buds, it’s surprisingly good.” She raised her glass then took another sip.

They continued to play, and he mustered up the skills to finally win a game. When they were both sufficiently buzzed, he paid the bill and guided her out of the bar onto the street.

They walked the few blocks to their cul de sac, continuing their frivolous banter.

There was a chill in the air now, and he watched as she straightened her clothes with a shaky hand, ensuring the scarf got maximum coverage. “You sure like scarves.”

Her hand froze while gripping the fabric around her neck. “They’re very in right now.”

He had no idea if that was true, but with the number of times she checked to make sure it was still in place, he doubted fashion trends were her reasoning and without the opportunity to get to know each other on a deeper level, he couldn’t find out more about her headspace. So when he’d walked her up the five steps to her front door, silence surrounded them.

He swiped a strand of hair out of her eye then let his finger graze against her cheek and jaw. Her skin was luminous in the moonlight. “You’re beautiful.”

Her body went rigid. “Beautiful.” She spat out the word as if it was poison on her lips.

How could a woman like Violet second-guess her beauty? The most disturbing part was, he believed her. It wasn’t false modesty, or self-deprecation. She truly thought she wasn’t beautiful.

But when he tipped her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye, the silence between them was laced with something other than awkwardness. Something hot and tempting. Like her damn lips, which she was chewing on with her teeth. Again.

She wanted to kiss him. He saw it in her eyes.

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t be the aggressor. He’d promised he’d wait until she made the first move. But she was so close, like a word on the tip of his tongue, and then she did it. Swiped her luscious pink tongue across her bottom lip.

And it was his undoing.

With a quick movement, his hand was at the back of her neck.

“Do you want to kiss me, Violet?”

She breathed deeply, pulling in air through her teeth like a hiss. She wanted it, but there was something stopping her from taking it. And he wasn’t going to force her.

“You don’t have to answer now. Think about it, and if you decide you do…come to my house Saturday night. Any time after seven.” He pressed his lower half into her for a tiny bit of relief. “When I kiss you, Violet, you’re going to want it, and when I’m done with you, you’re not going to want to get the taste of me off your lips.” He brought his lips down close enough, just a simple brush against her skin.

But when his thumb brushed across her jaw, her eyes closed and her lips parted, her head falling back, exposing her neck. He reached up, clasping it, but immediately her hand followed, moving his hand down to his side.

She wiggled out of his embrace, smoothing down her hair in nervousness. Or was it composure? “For the record…” She cleared her throat. “I have an MBA. But I might have minored in fashion.”

She was changing the subject. Away from the fact that she was hiding something beneath that scarf.

He stepped backward. “Well, that explains the Cayenne.” He winked then turned, careful not to fall off the top step. When he reached the bottom he stopped, and their eyes locked. “Good night, Violet.”

He felt her stare as he made his way down the path that led to the sidewalk. He took one last look before he walked up his front steps, but she was already inside.

Living beside a beautiful stranger wasn’t going to be the hardest thing in the world. Unlike his cock right now. She’d definitely suffice to pass the lonely nights away from his family and friends. Another item in his arsenal to distract himself from moving forward with his life.

Violet was highly educated, highly intelligent, and destined for something far superior than his blue-collar hands could ever grasp.

For right now, she was the perfect woman. Emotionally unavailable and a temporary distraction. But he knew she was a bad idea wrapped in a silk scarf. She was hiding something, and history had taught him that nothing good could come from a woman with secrets.

Chapter 3

The offices of Walker Industries weren’t anything overtly spectacular. The company held the top three floors in a thirty-two-floor high-rise in midtown Toronto.

Stepping off the elevator on the thirty-second floor, Violet immediately gulped in a breath. The scent of lilac potpourri was familiar and soothing. She looked ahead at the semicircular reception desk and found the same glass jar with the same purple and white chips infused with the sweetest scent. She always knew what season it was when she walked onto the floor. Evelyn, the receptionist, had been infusing the office for as long as she could remember.

Immediately the memory of walking down that street with Noah flooded her thoughts. Her lips tingled with the need to kiss him. She’d wanted it. She’d never wanted anything more in her life. So much so that she was willing to take a page out of Roxy’s playbook. But he’d backed off. And being rejected by a man wasn’t something she was accustomed to.

Just like he probably wasn’t accustomed to a girl kicking his ass at pool. But she’d schooled him. She’d proven with three clean sinks of the eight ball that she was capable of so much more than being just a pretty face. Which was exactly why she was here today.

She was signing the papers to officially become CEO of Walker Industries. The reality of it made her want to hurl, but luckily, she hadn’t had to use the plastic bag she’d put in her purse.

At least not yet.

She walked to the left side of the floor that held a few offices and boardrooms. Her father’s office spanned the entire length of the building on the opposite side. An office that would soon be hers.

She walked into her own space for the first time in five months, a corner office with two walls of floor-to-ceiling window. Not that she ever looked down. She was terrified of heights. But she knew that at night the city was lit up like a Christmas tree, with restaurants, a movie theater, and the bright white and red lights of the bumper-to-bumper traffic along Eglinton. She called the neighborhood home. Her penthouse condo was just up the street.

Walking into this space after so many months away, she realized her office was sterile. It was totally unlike the house she was living in now. Eclectic. Old. Dare she say used. But surprisingly warm and inviting. You could tell someone had lived there and had been happy.

In her office, a glass desk sat against one window with a black leather chair. She had filing cabinets to the right of the door and matching leather sofa and armchair in the left corner. Pictures she hadn’t picked herself hung on the wall, the largest over a long table that sat to the left of the door. A glass coffee table rounded out the room.