Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

"Would you like another?" He nodded to indicate her fruity cocktail. He'd finished his own drink--two shots of bourbon, straight up--and he didn't really want another. But the air had become thick with potential, and he needed time to decide what to do about that. Dive in . . . or make an excuse and call it a night.

"Another drink sounds nice," she said. "And more conversation sounds even better. But the acoustics in here are tricky, and I'm starting to think this chair might be haunted, after all. I'm pretty sure I'm going to disappear into this cushion and come out in some other dimension."

Her eyes twinkled as she spoke, and he knew where she was going. What he still didn't know was if he should follow her there.

"My suite's just a few floors away," she said. "Definitely quieter. It's messy--I have depositions spread out all over the coffee table. But the couch is comfortable and there's a wet bar that's nicely stocked . . ."

She trailed off with a small shrug of invitation.

"And you don't have anywhere to be tomorrow morning," he pointed out, remembering what she'd said when they'd spoken that afternoon. Her case had settled during the lunch break when the plaintiff she'd been examining decided that he wasn't feeling litigious after all. Suddenly, she not only had this night free, but most of tomorrow as well, since she'd been un

able to change her evening flight back to Los Angeles.

"True," she said, tugging her purse up to her lap as if in preparation to leave. "We can talk all night if you want. Or not talk," she added boldly, as if he could have misinterpreted the direction of this conversation.

"There is a certain virtue in silence." He kept his tone light. Flirtatious. But inside he was still debating.

Lyle's voice seemed to fill his head. "I'm not saying you need to marry her. But put yourself out there. Interact with the world. Start breathing again, man. Trust me. It's worth it."

Of course, Lyle would think so. Like Noah, Lyle had closed himself off from anything resembling a real relationship. But that was before Sugar Laine walked into his life. Now, Lyle was the happiest that Noah had ever seen him, and Noah knew that had everything to do with Sugar.

Noah wasn't Lyle, but maybe his friend was right. And, honestly, Noah had known for months--hell, maybe years--that it was time to move on. Time to stop with the quick and dirty encounters that did nothing to dull his pain.

Time to heal.

Somehow, though, he never found the enthusiasm. Or maybe that was just an excuse. Another way of punishing himself for walking away from the woman he loved in favor of the woman he'd owed.

And since he'd never have either of them again, he needed to kick his own ass, pick up the pieces of his life, and start building something real. After all, there wasn't a tech gadget he couldn't design, build, or repair. So why was he so clueless when it came to his own damn life?

It was time, and it would be easy. Painless even, because God knew Evie embodied everything he admired in a woman. Strength. Intelligence. Ambition. Humor. Beauty. She was as desirable as Lyle had promised and obviously enthusiastic.

In other words, he was all out of excuses.

He stood up, intending to tell her to lead the way. But the words that came out of his mouth shocked them both. "I'm sorry, Evie," he said. "You've been wonderful, but I have an early meeting, and I should probably get home."

"Oh." He'd surprised her as she was rising, and now she teetered awkwardly on her heels, as if his unexpected words would physically topple her.

He reached out a hand to steady her, and for the briefest moment, he considered pulling her close and fighting his way past his hesitation. She was everything he should want in a woman--with the unfortunately insurmountable problem that she wasn't what he wanted at all. Or, rather, she wasn't who he wanted.

Goddamn him.

Goddamn his stupid, unrealistic fantasies.

And while he was at it, goddamn Kiki, too.

He was being an idiot and unfair, and he knew it. An idiot, because he'd made his choice to walk away from Kiki long ago, and he knew damn well that he'd shattered her in the process. Even if he could have seen his way clear to look her up after all these years, he'd forfeited his right to come crawling back.

Unfair, because not ten minutes ago he'd been ready to take the plunge with Evie, and yet here he was, dodging and shifting like a damn coward, trying to swim up out of the deep black ocean of loss and pain. A familiar pain that wrapped him like a blanket, so cloying it was almost comfortable. And he knew damn well that there was only one way to fight it--he needed to take the girl to her room and try to fuck the darkness out of him.

The way he'd done with countless other women.

The way that never worked like it should. That only dulled the sharp edges of his pain, but added no light to the darkness.

That wasn't what he wanted. Not anymore. One of the reasons he'd moved to Austin was to heal, after all. To heal, and to break bad habits.

Still, it was tempting, and it took more strength than he expected to shake his head again and say very gently, "I really am sorry. I'm not . . . ready." She'd been polite enough not to mention the tragedy in his past, but he was certain that Lyle must have at least told her that he'd lost his wife and daughter. Hopefully, that softened the blow of rejection.

She'd regained her footing, and now she stepped back, her forehead creased as her eyes flicked over him, expertly assessing him as she would a witness. "It's been almost nine years, I'm told." The sharp edge of her voice sliced his heart. So much for softening the blow. "If you don't get ready soon, I can't help but think you're going to end up sad and alone."