Page 143 of Under the Lies

No longer am I shrouded in darkness but bathed in artificial light that has me squinting. Arms are coiled tightly around me, keeping my body tethered to a warm chest.

A chest vibrating with anger.

“Noah,” I croak, the words hoarse as they slide past my throat.

The fighting stops as the arms tighten around me, almost to the point of pain. “I got you,” he whispers for only me to hear.

“Leave,” he orders the person who is not me, the one he was arguing with.

In a herculean effort, I lift my head from Noah’s chest to see Gabe cast me a grim face look before he walks out of the room.

A room I don’t recognize.

Noah’s fingers run through my hair as I take my fill of the space. Of the dark walls and red curtains that greet me across the room. Of the vintage brass gothic-style chandelier set to dim hanging above us.

Dark and dangerous and mysterious.

Just like the man tangling his fingers in my hair.

My body stills, knowledge soaking into my skin.

We’re in Noah’s bedroom.

We’re in Noah’s bedroom.

A forbidden escape I never imagined I’d get access to.

Pushing away from Noah even more, my fingers slip, losing traction on silk, charcoal sheets. Cool air kisses my arms, my chest, but I ignore it.

Too transfixed that I’m finally here.

I’ve lived here for weeks, though on some days it’s felt like months, but have never stepped foot in the inner sanctum of Noah Kincaid. And it fits him perfectly. From the dark colors to the steel and copper furnishings. Windows like the ones downstairs that open up to the city.

His city.

I can easily see him waking up and taking in the city that bends to his will, his authority.

A king watching over his kingdom.

Noah’s hands move up my neck, his fingers lacing through my hair to cradle my head and creating a shiver down my spine. His touch gentle, revenant almost, as he turns my head to meet his gaze.

My breath skips with what he shows me in his penetrating blue eyes. His normally guarded and closed off expression is cracked, open for me to see. A look I never thought I’d see on Noah’s face.

Scared—no, terrified. Backed by relief.

I’m okay, I want to say, but words can’t find their way to my lips. He has me trapped within his gaze that it takes me a moment to realize that we’re both shirtless, me even braless.

He pulls me close, skin to skin.

I slip my palms between us, going to his chest. “What happened? Where are my clothes?”

Noah’s hands skim down my arms to my wrists, where he laces his fingers between mine.

My brows furrow at them. We’ve held hands before, quite a few times. Especially when we’ve been in the public eye, but he’s almost scaring me more than anything that happened.

Who is he and where is the broody, stone of a Noah I know?

“Your body temperature was low when we got you back home and heat is best transferred between naked bodies.” He doesn’t say it cocky or teasing, simply straight to the fact. And that’s when I know it was bad.

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