While Dan pales at the sight of them and starts stuttering, his eyes frantically flitting between us as he instantly pulls back, causing my hand to drop from his. “No…Nothing, sir. I’ll—I’ll go.”
Noah gives him no reaction, standing like he’s one second away from shoving him back into the elevator.
“I just wanted to give Andie…” Noah’s eyebrow quirks at him, unimpressed. Dan amends his statement. “Miss Andie. I was just giving Miss Andie a hand with the basket,” he explains, jerking the basket in his hand and hoping that it’ll save him.
An awkward silence settles among us as my eyes dart between the men. Noah’s glare stays fixed on Dan.
God! The poor man will have a stroke if this goes on.
Taking charge, I attempt to break theuncomfortable quiet. “Noah, let’s—”
Dan’s rambling cuts me off. “Here, you can hold this. I’ll take my leave,” he squeaks on the last word as he practically shoves the basket into Noah’s chest.
Swiveling on his feet, he power walks right back into the elevator, muttering something under his breath that sounds a lot like,‘God! Save this poor woman from this demon’s wrath.’
But I can’t be sure.
The second the elevator door slides shut, I become the center of his attention. His perusal unnerves me, and I’m not sure I hate it.
When Noah doesn’t give you a time of his day, it’s easy to crave it. But when he does decide that you’re worth his attention, it’s a different story altogether. Being in his field of vision is intense, his eyes become a black hole that suck you in—pools of green you don’t wanna escape as you lose all sense of time.
“What are you doing here, Andie?” His question startles me, dragging me back to his front door step.
I blink at him, remembering why I came here. “Ah, yes, I have a plan.” With that, I move past him, my shoulders brushing his chest as I enterhis penthouse. I barely hold on to the shudder that begs to roll through my spine at the minuscule contact.
“What plan?” he grunts, annoyed as the front door clicks shut behind him.
I walk right into his kitchen, set the flowers on the counter, and take the basket from him to place it there as well.
Then, picking up the bouquet, I extend it to him. “These are for you,” I say with a grin spanning my face because I’m too excited to see his reaction. I’ll be honest, I’ve never given flowers to a man before, besides my father and brother.
So, this is new for me, though I’m sure he has gotten tons of them; he is a famous NHL goalie after all.
Noah blinks at me, his eyes wide as if a deer caught in a headlight. “What is this?” His gaze ping-pongs between the flowers and me as if he has no idea what to do with himself.
I dramatically roll my eyes at him and point to the different flowers in the bouquet. “This one is a sunflower, and these white ones are lilies,” I deadpan, though enjoying this moment incredibly.
He cocks his brow at me, “I can see that, Andie.” This time, he’s the one to roll his eyes. “What I meant is, why are you giving them to me?” he asks, pointing to an empty vase kept in his kitchen.
When I continue to look at him without a word, like his cluelessness isn’t endearing, he continues, “Do you want me to keep them in the water for you?”
Then suddenly the temperature in the room drops, and his eyes narrow at me. He disintegrates the space between us with every question that leaves his full lips. “DidDangive you these? Did some other guy? Is there something I need to know,Andie?” His voice drops an octave at my name, making my body flutter everywhere—and I meaneverywhere.
The flowers are almost crushed between us as Noah towers over me, pressing my back against the counter. “Oh,” I say, one hand automatically finding its way over his chest, my head tilting to look up at his bearded face—the beard that has been drowned in my cum multiple times.
He takes a ragged breath, his muscles flexing underneath my touch. “Which one is it, Andie?” He asks, his voice huskier than before, his jawclenching with the restraint I hate he’s practicing.
“I bought these for you. I’m the one giving you flowers, Noah,” I explain, my voice soft, barely a whisper. The second the words leave my mouth, his heart starts thumping faster under my hand.
He pulls back, just a couple steps, but enough that I miss the warmth of his body. “Me?” he confirms in a broken whisper, mixed emotions flashing in his eyes—though the most dominant one is uncertainty—as a frown settles on his forehead.
For the first time since I’ve known Noah Miller, I’ve seen him disarmed, spooked, and oblivious of what to do next. I realize he doesn’t know how to respond.
That knowledge splinters my heart, makes it ache for him. Because how on earth does this beautiful man not know how to acceptflowers?
The apprehension on his face is enough to make me smother him with flowers, fill his life with the softness of them, pluck away all thorns before they can reach him.
It makes me want to rip open his chest and caress and comfort his big heart that doesn’t know how to accept kindness.