He props himself up on his elbow, his brow furrowing as he studies my face. "What are you saying?"
I lick my lips. "That this isn't--this can't--go anywhere." He looks like he's about to speak, but I rush on. "You were right. There was a thing. Powerful, intense, and unresolved. That's what this was, Noah. What this had to be."
"What?"
"Closure."
His expression hardens. "And if I don't accept that?"
"Pretty sure this is the kind of thing we need to be in agreement on." I smile gently. Considering I'm still basking in the afterglow, I know that my words landed like a bomb in the middle of a garden party. "And besides, I start work for you on Monday, and I'm not fucking my boss."
He sits up, the sheet pooling around his hips. I look away. After what I've just said, I have no business ogling his abs or fantasizing about what's under the bed clothes.
"Technically, you're not an employee."
I cock a brow. "I have a reputation in this business, and I don't intend to tarnish it. But honestly, Noah, even if we were discreet, we both know that I'm right. Tonight wasn't a beginning, it was an end. Whatever we had before, it's long gone."
"Were you in the same bed I was? Because I don't believe that."
"I do." I blink, and tears spill from my eyes. "I'm sorry, but I do."
He reaches up, then gently brushes away my tears with the pad of his thumb. "Then we start over. We worked together once before. We got to know each other. We fell in love."
And then you broke my heart.
He's saying all the right words, but I can't erase the past any more than I can change it. It hangs over us like a flashing red warning sign telling me to beware. Reminding me that my heart isn't any stronger than it was all those years ago.
Warning me not to trust. Not to fall. Not to hope.
I did all those things before, and then he left, taking my heart with him.
He left, just like I'd known he would. Just like everyone does.
He left, and it destroyed me.
It's taken years to put the piec
es of me back together, and now that I'm whole, I know better than to trust or to hope.
Noah Carter is a craving, nothing more.
And now that I've binged on him, it's time to push away from the plate, gather my self-control, and just say no.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I really am sorry, but it's time for me to go."
8
Noah couldn't sleep after she left, and the two fingers of the local Still Austin Bourbon Whiskey he'd downed weren't helping. He reached for the bottle, then stopped. Another drink wasn't going to help any more than the first one had.
The problem was that she'd tied him up in knots, and it wasn't a familiar feeling. Women just didn't get under his skin. Not anymore. Not like that.
They hadn't for a long time. Years.
Not since Kiki, actually. And wasn't it ironic that here she was doing the same damn thing to him all over again?
From the first day that he'd met her, she'd filled his thoughts. The way she chewed on the end of her pen when she concentrated. The way she sweetened her iced tea with one splash of Diet Coke before offering him the rest of the can. The way she'd work late into the night rather than leave one tiny detail of a project hanging, but still managed to leave work far behind when it was time to play.
Even now, he could remember the look of surprise on her face when she'd finally stood up on his surfboard, then the way she'd sputtered with delight--not the least bit embarrassed--when she'd immediately fallen off again.