Page 20 of Negotiating Tactics

Alex needed someone to take care of her.

She probably didn’t even realize it, and there was no way her stubborn, prideful ass would admit it anyway.

I couldn’t do that for her, give her the security, the tenderness that her eyes practically pleaded for, but there was something we could do for each other.

I smiled.

Maybe Alex crashing here wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

She be gone soon enough, and until then, she’d be a perfect distraction while I figured out what the fuck I wanted to do with myself.

All I had to do was convince her.

I was excited by the challenge and knew that I was ready for it.

Noah

That belief that was called into question when Alex finally came back to the townhouse.

“No thank you, I don’t want any,” she said breezily as she walked into the kitchen.

I had all but pounced on her when she’d unlocked the door.

I remembered how much she seemed to enjoy the lamb chops and asparagus that had been served at the wedding, so I’d had the chef prepare the same dish.

The first step in Operation: Win Alex Over.

I’d expected at least a smile and a thank-you, but all I’d gotten was her airy no.

“You sure?” I asked, confounded but not dissuaded.

“Yeah. I have leftovers,” she said, lifting the compostable cardboard box in her hand before she put it on the counter.

I tsked. “That won’t do.”

She furrowed her brow, the frown emphasizing her prominent cheekbones, her eyes darkening as I watched the wheels turning in her head.

She closed the refrigerator and then faced me, the way she crossed her arms showing of the sexy curve of her waist. “That won’t do?”

“No, it won’t,” I said, keeping my gaze on her face, even though I wanted to again trace the beautiful shape of her body.

As I spoke, I moved to pluck the cardboard off the counter and dumped it in the trash.

“Hey!” She stood up straight, her eyes wide, her expression so disgruntled I couldn’t help but smile.

I didn’t pretend to be apologetic. “Alex, dinner’s ready.”

“Noah,” she said through clenched teeth, the sound of my name rolling off her tongue making my stomach clench.

Instead of responding, I put a hand on her shoulder, ignoring how warm her skin felt through her jacket, and led her to the table.

“I had the chef make lamb chops. You like those,” I said.

She sat in the chair, then looked up at me, frowning. “How you know that?”

“The wedding,” I said as I rounded the table and sat beside her.

“Yeah, but—” She trailed off then shook her head. “Never mind.”

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