Page 44 of The Murder Between Us
Noah appeared at his side. His keys jingled softly as he rolled them through his fingers. “I bought this house because of the views. There’s a farmer behind me, and from the back porch, it’s nothing but corn and stars.”
“Of course there’s a farmer behind you.” He nudged Noah gently.
Noah grinned. He sobered quickly. Took a deep breath. “Want to come in?”
Cole almost teased him, but that would only be covering up his own nerves, his own panic at what was happening between them. Sure, they’d talked, and Noah had said he wanted to try again. He wanted Cole, wanted to work toward coming out. But saying and doing were totally different things. Meeting in Vegas or Chicago was very different from inviting Cole into his house. Where he lived. Where he couldn’t run.
Cole nodded. He didn’t trust his voice.
Noah led him up his porch steps.
Inside was neat and tidy, exactly what Cole would expect from an FBI agent—and, more so, from Noah. He smiled at the walls. They were that creamy beige, the color of his coffee. Hardwood floors ran throughout the first floor. The wide, open rooms were decorated in muted mahogany and leather furniture in shades of blue with gold accents. Exposed wood beams crisscrossed the family room and kitchen ceilings like bridge struts.
Mail was piled on the kitchen island next to a stack of high school textbooks. Dishes dried by the sink. A cheerleading bag sat near the stairs, and several pairs of obviously-Katie’s shoes were kicked off by the couch. Two coats hung on hooks by the sliding glass back door, which opened to a wide porch overlooking a flat lawn, a squat fence, and, beyond, an endless sea of corn. Cole smothered a smile.
Stairs rose from the living room. Pictures of Katie and Noah lined the wall going up.
“Sorry for the mess.” Noah dropped his keys and wallet in a decorative bowl on the kitchen counter. He eyed Katie’s textbooks and the papers sticking out of the pages.
“There’s no mess.” Cole laid his laptop bag and the case files on the island. “Your house is great.”
“It’s…” Noah sighed. Katie’s MacBook lay on the dining room table, a charge cable snaking across the floor to the outlet. “It’s home.”
It was quiet and understated, just like Noah was. Masculine, controlled, and warm. His daughter, too, was all over his life here, in his home like she was in his heart. Cole grinned.
“Are you hungry?” Noah moved to the sink to wash his hands. “I promised you a sandwich. I hope Katie didn’t finish off the cheese.” As he spoke, he glanced down at his hands, his forearms. Water sluiced off his skin, turning black as it hit the sink. Fingerprint powder, dirt from the cornfield, sweat, and a hundred other unmentionables dripped from his skin.
“We should clean up first.” Cole moved when Noah didn’t, crossing to his side and turning off the water. Noah started. Cole passed him a kitchen towel. When Noah dried his hands, smears of dull rust-red stained the fabric.
They had to get John, and Molly, and the crime scene off of them. Get Garrett off of them. “Why don’t you take a shower?” Cole suggested. “I’ll wait.”
Noah nodded, padding out of the kitchen with the dish towel balled up in his hands. He threw the bloodied in the trash, hesitating as he stared out the back door. “You need a shower, too.”
Cole’s heartbeat leaped. “I’ll go after you.”
“Cole.”
Cole swallowed. He looked sideways at Noah’s fridge, at the photos of Katie cheering, Katie goofing off for the camera, Katie and Noah arm in arm at a high school football game. Looked down. Looked back at Noah. “Are you sure?”
Noah reached for the buttons on his shirt. He started undoing them one by one.
“I—” It was hard to talk while watching Noah shed his shirt, peel it down his arms and fling it over the back of his couch. He remembered doing that. His palms itched, burning with the memory, the feel of Noah’s shoulders appearing beneath the slide of fabric as he pushed it down, down— “Are you sure tonight is…”Are you thinking clearly? After today?“I don’t want you to regret this.”
Noah tugged his undershirt off and threw it behind him. The white cotton fluttered and fell on the coffee table, half draped over the edge.
Damn it, Noah was just as gorgeous as he’d remembered. He hadn’t embellished a single thing in his memories. He was still broad shouldered and trim waisted, still had a matting of chest hair between his pecs. He had a solidity to him, the shape of a man who liked to be active, who was comfortable with his strength. Those arms had wrapped around Cole, held him tight, squeezed his back—
Noah held out his hand as he undid his belt and left it hanging open.
“I don’t want to be a one-night stand again,” Cole blurted out. “I don’t want to sleep with you and have to pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t want you to run away again.”I don’t want you to throw me away again.“I want…” He stumbled. Hesitated. “I want this to mean something to you. Because it does to me.” Please, please don’t let this just be about drowning out the day, drowning out the images, the blood and the terror. Please.
Noah’s hand was steady, still reaching for him. “I want you, Cole. I can’t… put into words how much I want you.”
Cole took a step forward, and then another, never taking his eyes off Noah’s. He expected fear, or trepidation, or nervousness. Instead, all he saw was desire. An inferno of it, that spark he’d glimpsed in Vegas igniting into a conflagration. All of Noah, everything about the man, was burning, focused on Cole. Cole could feel the heat as he took Noah’s hand.
Noah made quick work of Cole’s shirt, unbuttoning it and pushing it down, leaving it on the floor by the kitchen table. His undershirt followed, but before Noah pulled it over his head, he tangled Cole’s arms in the fabric, pulling the neckline tight over Cole’s eyes. He was trapped, eyes closed, as Noah’s palm cradled his cheek.
“Cole,” Noah breathed. His words brushed over Cole’s lips, his face. “I have thought of you, of this, every single moment since that night.” His lips closed over Cole’s.
