When I have no more air left in my lungs to exhale, I sit back up and examine where I am. The dark blue walls surround the room with a queen-size bed right in the middle. The heavy curtains fanned across the window to block the sunlight.
I find folded clothes placed neatly on the side of the bed. Taking stock of myself, I realize I’m in yesterday’s dress, my hair unceremoniously falling over my shoulders, sticking out.
This is not good.
“Ughhh!” I get up from the bed and head to what seems to be the ensuite bathroom with thepair of clothes to freshen up because I smell like vomit. And that’s not how I’d like Noah to see me.
God, what he must think of me!
Fifteen minutes and a dozen pep talks later, I take a deep breath and leave the room in Noah’s t-shirt that smells like him. Yes, I did sniff it so I could remember the scent and imprint it in my soul.
And yes, his t-shirt is drowning me. Why wouldn’t it? He’s more than a foot taller than me. Deciding to forgo the trousers he left for me for the very same reason, I step into the hallway, sipping on the glass of water he kept on the bedside table.
The hallway leads to a living room with an open kitchen set-up. There’s hardly any levity to the walls, bare of any frames or signs that someone lives here. My brows furrow at the observation.
The clattering of utensils alerts me to someone’s presence. Padding closer to the kitchen, I decide to get over yesterday’s embarrassment. The sight that greets me, though, has me transfixed. Noah’s muscular back flexes with every move as he flows across thekitchen effortlessly, like he’s been there hundreds of times.
The neck tattoo, which is more often than not hidden underneath his heavily padded jersey, making a debut solely for the enjoyment of my eyes. God! I’ve never seen a man more beautiful and intimidating than him in all the good ways.
My lust-riddled gaze travels from his very naked back to his trimmed waist. I wonder what it would feel like to wrap my legs around it. Unaware of my leering gaze, he turns around, and the glass I had been holding onto for dear life slips and crashes on the floor, effectively shattering the peaceful silence I had been awarded by the universe to drink this man in without letting him know.
Because what do you mean, I can see the happy trail starting from his navel and leading to what is a forbidden fantasy for me.
Noah’s head jerks up from where he was setting the plates at the sound. His eyes flare wide the second he sees the shattered pieces of the glass right below my feet. Coming back to my senses, I drop to my haunches.
“Crappy snackers! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to…I’ll pick it up,” I ramble, nervous and embarrassed for being caught ogling him and guilty of breaking the glass.
“Stop! Don’t move,” comes his commanding voice. I don’t know how he walks over to me so fast, but I feel him pulling me into a standing position.
“I—” Before I can get a word in, I feel my body defying gravity as he sweeps me off the floor.
He picks me up bridal style without a care in the world. “Careful,” he whispers close to my ear. His hot breath warms my skin, my eyes wide as his skin comes in contact with mine, heating me in places it has no business heating.
“Put me down, Noah. I’m too heavy,” I tell him, trying to wriggle myself free because no matter how much I love the view of his stoic face from up here, I really am heavy.
Noah arches an eyebrow at my words. “Stop spouting bullshit, Andie,” he mutters, his forest eyes peering into mine. “Nothing about you is ever too much.”
Aww, shucks!! Did he have to go and deliver that line with that broody face of his!?
My refusal dies on my tongue as he draws me closer to his bare chest, splattered with the light dusting of curly hair. My hands wrap around histattooed neck, when his tighten on my thighs.
He starts walking, unaffected by our proximity, while I feel tension coiling in my stomach, though I’m simultaneously conscious of my bloated belly and round thighs.
In a fluent move, he carefully places me on the kitchen counter. “Stay right here. I don’t want you getting hurt.” His hands glide from my waist to my thighs, lingering for a second too long as his eyes bore into mine.
But that might just be my imagination, because why would he do that? I’m me, and he is…him.
Swiveling on his feet, he crosses to the door on the other side of the room, flexing his palms, maybe because of carrying me here.
Grabbing a mop, he makes quick work and cleans the floor in record time. Sauntering into the kitchen as I twist in place, I see him grabbing a t-shirt from the other side of the counter and donning it in one go.
Dang it!
“Welcome to the land of the living,” he comments, peeking up at me as he pours juice into two glasses.
From this close, I can see the raised skin under his tattoos, but the t-shirt obstructs my view.
My face flushes red as I tuck a strand of loosened hair from the bun behind my ear, remembering he said something. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” I reply with a grimace, the hangover knocking back into me. With a groan, I massage my forehead, hoping for the headache to magically disappear.