Читать книгу Full House Seduction - A.C. Arthur - Страница 9

“Nice to meet you, Brock. Linc told me a lot about you.” She adjusted her purse and a smaller bag on her right shoulder.

“Oh, really? I don’t even want to know the specifics.”

She laughed. Brock liked the sound.

Her hair, hanging just past her shoulders in three intriguing shades of brown, all intertwined to create its own enticing rainbow, slipped back, revealing a long slender neck. Brock’s entire body heated. Even living a solitary life he still made time to enjoy a woman on occasion and this was definitely a woman he could enjoy.

With that thought his brow furrowed and his hands slipped into his pockets. The last thing he should be thinking about was enjoying the woman he was supposed to work with. He cleared his throat. “We should get going.”

“Lead the way,” she said in a voice that was way too chipper for the way he was beginning to feel.

“Wow, it’s almost as warm here as it was back in Vegas,” Noelle said the moment they stepped outside of the small airport.

Brock walked a step or two in front of her, not intending to be rude, rather trying to keep his mind on business where it should be. Although not blood related, Brock was just as intense and notorious when it came to a good-looking woman as the rest of the Donovan men.

The sound of her voice growing louder clued him in to how ill mannered he must appear, and so he slowed down until she caught up. A breeze, warm and thick, sifted through the air. The scent of her perfume went right up into his nose and he sighed.

“My truck’s just over here,” he said, directing her toward the parking lot.

As she walked beside him he noticed how tall she was. At six feet two inches, the top of most female heads came midchest to Brock. Noelle, however, was at shoulder level, which was actually the perfect kissing height. The minute that thought crossed his mind, Brock knew he was doomed.

“It was ninety-three degrees when I left Vegas, with eighty-five percent humidity,” she was saying when Brock had to blink quickly and refocus once more.

Lifting a hand she pulled her hair together, then fanned the back of her neck. “What’s it here, about one hundred percent humidity? I thought that since you were close to the Chesapeake Bay, it would be much cooler.”

Brock took a deep breath, inhaling the sultry air of which she spoke. He needed to get a grip. She just stepped off the plane and was being nothing but cordial to him and here he was with the beginnings of sexual thoughts about a woman he’d known less than ten minutes.

“The evenings are cooler,” he added, quickly cringing inwardly because he felt his remark sounded idiotic. “Here we are.” Grateful, he unlocked the doors to his Ford F-350 truck and stood at the passenger side ready to help her up.

“Great ride,” she commented, and there was that smile again.

Brock felt it, as plainly as she felt the heat, that little tug in his gut as her mouth spread wide, her high cheekbones made even higher. And her eyes—he’d heard it said before that eyes sparkled, he’d even seen it written in the poetry he’d been forced to read in his literature class in college. Yet Brock had always found the euphemism sappy and unrealistic, until today. Until Noelle.

Damn, he’s uptight, Noelle thought the minute he slammed the door.

Pulling her seat belt over her chest and making it click, she shook her head. He was also fine as hell. Normally the rugged look wasn’t her preference, but then she’d never seen a man wear a pair of jeans the way Brock Remington did. He walked with a slow precision that put you in mind of hot summer days, winding porches with white wicker furniture and tall glasses of lemonade. With his tight ass and a slow eastern drawl she’d bet there were women lined up to date him.

Okay, calm down, that’s the absolute last thing she should be thinking.

Once inside he immediately started the truck and Noelle looked out the window, giving up on casual conversation. She’d broached the usual subject, the weather, and he’d just about brushed it off, opting for more clipped answers than actual participation. So if he wanted to be quiet, she could oblige. She had a lot of things going on in her life that could bear thinking over.

Not that she was a fan of giving her problems a lot of thought. Then again, the way she’d been dealing with things so far hadn’t proved successful, so why not go for the change now?

Surprise, surprise, what should be the first issue to come to mind? Luther Simmons. Now that was a chapter Noelle was glad she’d finally closed the book on. As hot and intense as their affair had been, its demise followed a similar suit. Luther had come into her life like a whirlwind. She’d met him one night at the casino, watched him lose a few grand at the blackjack table without breaking a sweat, then stopped by to speak to some of the regulars and ended up leaving the table with him. He’d waited for her to finish with her shift, at which time they’d shared her favorite cappuccino and chocolate chip cookies that evening at the restaurant.

She’d been instantly overwhelmed by his charm and his quick wit. Surely a man like this couldn’t be a free agent, Noelle distinctly remembered thinking. And yet the next evening when Luther showed up at the blackjack table once more she’d been elated to see him. The physical aspect of their relationship happened fast, too fast, and before she knew it she was spending all of her free time in Luther’s arms.

Finally, as were so many things in her life, her time with Luther became too good to be true. And before the end of the second month that they’d been together she found out he was married.

Leaving him alone had been a no-brainer at that point; unfortunately, Luther was the hard-headed type. For the next four weeks he’d bombarded her with phone calls and gifts and then the pop-ups at her job started. Afraid that Linc, or worse, Trent Donovan, the ex-Navy SEAL turned private investigator with a fuse as short as her baby finger, would find out, and on the advice of her friend, Karena, she’d obtained a restraining order. Somebody probably should have warned her that those pieces of paper were just about worthless when it came to a man like Luther.

He wasn’t your typical stalker in that he wasn’t slashing her tires or breaking into her house—which would have been almost suicidal, since she still lived with Jade and Linc. No, instead, Luther sent her text messages, e-mails and letters by mail, all asking her to give him another chance, to give their love another chance. Luther was definitely not a threat—he was what they called a lover, not a fighter. So in the twisted world of stalkers, Luther was very low on the totem pole and Noelle was not afraid of him.

What she was, however, was tired. Sick and tired, to be correct, of all the drama. It seemed as if her entire life had revolved around the word. Whether she was a magnet for it or somehow thrived from the chaos, it was always there.

She’d told Jade a little bit about Luther, only because her sister was a constant worrywart where she was concerned and when she overheard a heated conversation Noelle was having on the phone with Luther, she’d questioned her. Jade had wanted to run directly to Linc, but Noelle had stopped her. Thank God.

The last thing she wanted was to bring this type of mess into the Donovan family. They’d all been so nice and loving to her over these past two years that she owed them so much more than to have some crazy married man trying to win back the affection she’d so foolishly given him.

“Cheer up. My house is air-conditioned,” Brock said as he watched her still sitting in the seat staring straight ahead. He’d gotten out of the car and had been holding the door open for a few minutes now, waiting for her to get out.

When she still hadn’t moved he touched a hand to her arm. She jerked, then those hypnotic eyes found his. He swallowed and willed himself not to have any other reaction. “You all right?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice just a little agitated because for a moment she’d forgotten where she was and who she was with. “I’m fine.” Pulling her arm out of his reach, she jumped down from the cab.

And just like that she moved past him, walking along the pathway toward the side door of his house. Taking her luggage out of the car, Brock figured that whatever was on her mind was her business. The fact that she now looked almost haunted shouldn’t have bothered him. And yet, it did.

His house was gorgeous. As far as spacious rooms, hardwood floors and a terrific view of the water went. However, it was a little on the empty side where furniture was concerned.

The concept that less meant…well, less, continued on into the kitchen where alongside the stainless steel appliances and on top of the blue-flecked granite countertop was a coffeemaker, with the smallest coffeepot Noelle had ever seen. Next to the pot was a medium-sized canister of decaffeinated coffee in a pretty average brand. There was a dishwasher but it looked barely used, no fingerprints at or near the handle as you’d usually see with stainless steel. Beside the dish drainer to the right of the double sink she spied a mug, one bowl and one spoon inside it, probably left over from his breakfast. It was quite neat for the kitchen of a man, riding close to the definition of sterile. However, it fit right along with Brock’s seemingly uptight demeanor.

But it was when they walked out onto the screened porch with its brick-encased fireplace that Noelle felt something slightly different. The furniture was made of heavy oak with deep, inviting cushions in a soft caramel tone. Rugs, not Oriental but plush and functional, aligned the tiled floor. There were coffee tables and end tables, but they only held lamps and the remote control to the entertainment system that lined one entire wall, she assumed. The fireplace looked well used, just as the chair closest to it. He sat there, she imagined, put his feet up on the table and read one of the books stuffed into the bookshelf in the living room.

“You spend a lot of time out here?” she asked, letting her hand touch the softness of the chair before sitting down.

“I do,” he admitted with a slightly questioning tone.

“You’re not a man of many words, are you?” Noelle asked, already assuming she’d get another one- to two-word response.

“I get by.”

She nodded and retained a knowing grin. This was going to be a long, dismal summer for her—getting by on his sparse answers and trying to make sense of them.

“So let’s talk about the casino,” she said because there was no use trying to discuss anything else. Brock Remington was not a talker. That was fine—she wasn’t here to talk or to get to know him. She was here to work and that’s all she planned to do, no matter how well he wore his jeans.