room, shutting the door behind him.
She could only sit there, stunned, not so much by her own behavior, but by his. He wanted her, she knew he did. No matter what he’d said.
Not with you.
Because of whose daughter she was? Or because she wasn’t sexy enough? Or for some other reason he’d chosen to invent? She curled her hands into fists and fought the urge to pound them on the piano keys. To make so much noise that he wouldn’t be able just to walk into his room and shut her out.
She was angry, embarrassed. But not destroyed. It was funny, she’d felt changed earlier, and now she realized that she really was. Because the old Noelle would have curled up in a ball and hidden after suffering something like that. Or she would have frozen, pretending things would somehow magically get fixed.
But she wasn’t hiding now. She had a house to get back. She was strong enough to get through this, and she wasn’t going to let something like errant attraction—or rejection—stop her from achieving her goal.
If Ethan didn’t want her, that was fine. She would deal with it. And she wouldn’t make the mistake of giving in to desire again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
N OELLE had been like a living flame to the touch. Her skin so soft, her breasts the perfect weight in his hands. It had been hell to leave her. Hell to turn away from her when he’d wanted nothing more than to lift her onto the piano and settle between her thighs. To lose himself in her body.
Twelve hours later and he was still so turned on, his teeth ached. And it was the wrong time to be so distracted. And she was absolutely the wrong woman.
It was like a cosmic joke that his body responded to her. Actually,
responded
wasn’t a strong enough word—a response was expected between a man and a woman. No, this was … combustion. And it made him feel on edge and out of control, both things he hated.
He gritted his teeth and tried to fight the arousal that still pounded through him. Part of him didn’t want to fight it. Part of him wanted to embrace it. To sink back into the dark sensuality that Noelle seemed able to create around them with such ease.
No. Not happening. This was complicated enough without adding sex to the mix. He could control his desire for her, and he
would
control it.
He walked out of his bedroom and into the main area of the hotel suite. It was empty, and he wondered if Noelle was still in her room. And if she was wearing that same,brief nightgown she’d been wearing the night before. She seemed to have a collection.
He could feel his body hardening, his erection pushing against the seam of his jeans, and he tried to reroute his thoughts. Spreadsheets. Spreadsheets and the falling value of real estate. That wasn’t sexy at all.
But Noelle still was, and he couldn’t shake the image of her from his mind.
He stepped down to the piano and looked outside. She was out there on the balcony, a stack of documents on the table in front of her, alongside a cup of coffee—a vanilla latte, he assumed—and the laptop he’d packed for her.
He slid open the glass door and walked out into the warm coastal morning, relishing the slight bite of the salt air in his throat when he breathed in. Relishing even more the scent of her as it caught in the breeze and teased his senses.
“Working?” He looked at her intently, taking everything in. The way her brows knit together with concentration, the way her fingers moved over the keyboard as they had over the keys of the piano the night before …
Just thinking about the night before made his erection throb.
“Yes,” she replied, not looking at him. Her posture was still, her manner cool enough to cut through the Brisbane temperatures. A pink flush spread from her cheeks down her neck. He was starting to wonder whether she actually wasn’t that experienced with men—an idea that completely contradicted what he knew about her mother, and what he’d imagined it would have been like for her growing
She could only sit there, stunned, not so much by her own behavior, but by his. He wanted her, she knew he did. No matter what he’d said.
Not with you.
Because of whose daughter she was? Or because she wasn’t sexy enough? Or for some other reason he’d chosen to invent? She curled her hands into fists and fought the urge to pound them on the piano keys. To make so much noise that he wouldn’t be able just to walk into his room and shut her out.
She was angry, embarrassed. But not destroyed. It was funny, she’d felt changed earlier, and now she realized that she really was. Because the old Noelle would have curled up in a ball and hidden after suffering something like that. Or she would have frozen, pretending things would somehow magically get fixed.
But she wasn’t hiding now. She had a house to get back. She was strong enough to get through this, and she wasn’t going to let something like errant attraction—or rejection—stop her from achieving her goal.
If Ethan didn’t want her, that was fine. She would deal with it. And she wouldn’t make the mistake of giving in to desire again.
CHAPTER EIGHT
N OELLE had been like a living flame to the touch. Her skin so soft, her breasts the perfect weight in his hands. It had been hell to leave her. Hell to turn away from her when he’d wanted nothing more than to lift her onto the piano and settle between her thighs. To lose himself in her body.
Twelve hours later and he was still so turned on, his teeth ached. And it was the wrong time to be so distracted. And she was absolutely the wrong woman.
It was like a cosmic joke that his body responded to her. Actually,
responded
wasn’t a strong enough word—a response was expected between a man and a woman. No, this was … combustion. And it made him feel on edge and out of control, both things he hated.
He gritted his teeth and tried to fight the arousal that still pounded through him. Part of him didn’t want to fight it. Part of him wanted to embrace it. To sink back into the dark sensuality that Noelle seemed able to create around them with such ease.
No. Not happening. This was complicated enough without adding sex to the mix. He could control his desire for her, and he
would
control it.
He walked out of his bedroom and into the main area of the hotel suite. It was empty, and he wondered if Noelle was still in her room. And if she was wearing that same,brief nightgown she’d been wearing the night before. She seemed to have a collection.
He could feel his body hardening, his erection pushing against the seam of his jeans, and he tried to reroute his thoughts. Spreadsheets. Spreadsheets and the falling value of real estate. That wasn’t sexy at all.
But Noelle still was, and he couldn’t shake the image of her from his mind.
He stepped down to the piano and looked outside. She was out there on the balcony, a stack of documents on the table in front of her, alongside a cup of coffee—a vanilla latte, he assumed—and the laptop he’d packed for her.
He slid open the glass door and walked out into the warm coastal morning, relishing the slight bite of the salt air in his throat when he breathed in. Relishing even more the scent of her as it caught in the breeze and teased his senses.
“Working?” He looked at her intently, taking everything in. The way her brows knit together with concentration, the way her fingers moved over the keyboard as they had over the keys of the piano the night before …
Just thinking about the night before made his erection throb.
“Yes,” she replied, not looking at him. Her posture was still, her manner cool enough to cut through the Brisbane temperatures. A pink flush spread from her cheeks down her neck. He was starting to wonder whether she actually wasn’t that experienced with men—an idea that completely contradicted what he knew about her mother, and what he’d imagined it would have been like for her growing
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