Defender (Seattle Sharks 9)

Not that I’d ever felt that chemical reaction to Lukas, but no one could deny the man possessed a sexual charisma that simply exuded from his presence. No, I’d been much more surprised by the zing I had when—

“There’s Noble,” Sawyer said, pointing toward number thirty-two and stopping my thoughts in their tracks. Sawyer eyed me, a knowing smile shaping his lips.

“What?” I asked, trying to hide the blush on my cheeks behind my long hair.

“You ever going to fess up about what happened in Sweden?”

I gaped at him before snapping my mouth shut. “I told you a hundred times, nothing happened.”

“Mmhmm.” He seemed fine to let the denial lay there and returned his focus to the game.

Sweden. It seemed like a lifetime ago and yet it was so, so close to my mind.

“Harper.”

I heard my name but couldn’t tear my eyes away from the cathedral—from the intricate stonework, the ancient building carved and constructed in the most impressive display of early engineering I’d ever seen. The amount of planning, down to the smallest detail, must’ve taken almost as long as it did to construct the—

“Harper!”

I blinked, my eyes drawing away from the cathedral and locking with a pair of brandy-colored eyes. Noble snaked an arm around my waist and hauled me backward, so fast I barely felt the slight breeze from the speed of his movements.

My spine pressed against his hard chest, his arm still firmly locked around my waist, as I finally realized what I’d been about to do.

Step off the curb into oncoming traffic.

I covered my face in my hands, not once attempting to move out of his embrace. The urgency wasn’t there, that reaction I knew my body should be having to a near stranger holding me as he was.

No, all I felt was the urge to linger.

“Damn,” I said, finally dropping my hands from my face. “I hate it when I do that.”

Noble loosened his hold, his fingers grazing my hip as he spun me to face him, his eyebrows raised. “You do that often?”

I shrugged, offering a half smile. “Maybe?”

He released a breath. “If we keep touring like this I might need to get a leash.”

I gaped at him but quickly laughed at the playful look in his eyes.

“I’m not a girl who can be leashed or chained or caged.”

“And why is that?” he asked, close enough I could smell him—pine and ice and salt.

“I’d get out of it.” I shrugged. “I’m good at cracking codes, puzzles, problems—”

“Because you’re so smart?” he asked.

“It’s my gift and my curse.”

He studied me for a moment, making no move to step away, to remove himself from my personal space. “Interesting,” he said, his eyes trailing over my face as if he were studying me.

“What is?”

He smiled, moving to step around me. “The girl who can’t be chained is the one who almost floated into a busy foreign street.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Seems like you could use an anchor to the real world.” He reached back, offering his hand.

I studied him for a few moments, his words replaying over and over in my mind before I took his hand.

Nothing had happened in Sweden.

Except for Noble being the perfect gentleman when he and Axel had been appointed unofficial babysitters for Langley and me. With every opened door, every slight touch—fingers on my wrist to tug me out of the way of foot-traffic or a hand on the small of my back to guide me safely across the street while my eyes were taking in all the sights—something had buzzed in my blood. A heat I’d never felt before. A simmering, craving sort of reaction that I’d been puzzling since we’d returned to the states.

I’d had boyfriends before. I’d had sex before. I knew the effects of a good release as well as the next girl, but this?

The sizzle from Noble’s touch was not something I’d learned from either of the previous experiences.

I absolutely hated puzzles I couldn’t solve.

And after what he’d done for me? For my research? Agreeing to lend me his brain…that heat had multiplied.

Maybe it was an easy matter of chemistry—Noble simply possessed my personal brand of pheromones that drove my inner workings crazy.

Maybe it was because he’d been kind and patient and quiet.

Maybe it was because he’d listened when I rambled on and on about the history of the sites we visited.

Maybe it was all in my head.

“What do you think so far?” Sawyer asked, leaning closer so I could hear him over the loud crowd.

“Of what?”

“The game,” he said, snorting. “Unless your head is somewhere else?”

“No, I’m here,” I said. He knew as well as Faith that sometimes I backtracked through my brain and worked out a problem that had been nagging me. Sometimes I could look present and be somewhere else entirely. They were my best friends because they never judged me for it—a rarity, as I’d harshly learned during my early years in college as a young teenager.