Page 16 of Reconnected Hearts
Lucy's expression softens, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "Why not?"
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I have to get on the ladder somehow. I can't afford to retrain yet, to go back to school. I'd have to reduce my work hours, and it just wouldn't work. Not right now, anyway."
Lucy nods, her face etched with understanding. "Yeah, I get that. So, let's look at it this way: get to this interview, wow them with the famous Noah Laurier charm..." She says my name with a hint of sarcasm, but somehow, it still sounds like music to my ears. "Land this crappy insurance job, make some moolah, then go back to school! Simple, right?" She grins widely, as if she's just solved all of my problems. I wish she had.
I exhale sharply. “Oh, you mean the interview that I’ve got maybe a ten-percent chance of making? It’s in—” I glance down at my watch and grimace— “eight hours.Eighthours. And we’re still stuck in North Carolina. You’re right, Lucy. My life isn’t a mess. It’s anightmare.”
Lucy laughs softly. It’s such a sweet sound that I find myself looking up at her in wonder. She looks so different with the warm, yellow light of the lamp illuminating her from behind. She doesn’t seem so tough, so rough around the edges. She looks like something nice and comfortable, something that should be adored. Her eyes crinkle happily, and her sweater hangs delicately off of her brown shoulder. I’m sure that if I could reach out and feel the warmth of her skin, it would be like silk.
“No…your life isn’t a nightmare, Noah,” she tells me with a lazy smile tugging at her lips. She leans back on her hands and looks up at me through thick, black lashes, the shadows of the dim room elongating her face. “You just focus on the bad things instead of the good. It’s what you did in school too, you’d analyze books so critically, often missing the beauty of the stories” she laughs to herself, “I always found it so infuriating, I wanted to shake you, make youseewhat I saw.”
"Hey, don't underestimate yourself," Lucy’s tone turns serious as she searches my face. "You've got what it takes, Noah. You're smart, driven, and you clearly care about making a difference."
I feel a warmth spreading through my chest at her words. It's been a long time since someone believed in me like this, since someone saw past the façade and recognized my true aspirations.
"Thanks, Lucy," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "That means a lot, coming from you."
She shrugs, a playful smirk on her lips. "Yeah, well, don't let it go to your head. You've still got a long way to go, Laurier."
I swallow thickly. My hand trembles nearly imperceptibly as I reach out to brush a stray eyelash from her cheek, the power of unexpected desire momentarily unravelling my poise.
I look at her again taking in every blemish and bump on her skin and still finding them painfully perfect. Like everything else about her, they appear to be in a state of organized chaos. She tilts her head back as she idly stretches, and the contour of her jaw sharpens.
My breath hitches and I can feel the alcohol affecting thereasoningpart of my brain. I know I have to leave—immediately. I can’t look at her like this.
I stumble to my feet and stagger toward the door, muttering something about needing to leave. Lucy calls after me.
“Noah?”
Despite my better judgement, I stay in the room. Slowly, I move back toward the bed where she waits, watching me so fastidiously. But then I stop myself.
No. I have to go.
Ican’tgo.
This isn’t right.
What do I do?
Lucy makes the decision for me. She slides off of the bed and closes the space between us. She’s nearly my height, but she’s just short enough that she has to look up at me through her lashes, and it makes my knees tremble. There’s no more than three inches of room between us. I can feel the heat radiating from her body, and I hate how much I crave it.
I tell myself it’s just the alcohol. I don’t want her, and she certainly doesn’t want me. We’re just drunk. But the thought of her beautiful smile—those thick, full lips—and her taunting little laugh. She has always captured my attention. I know that she’s intoxicating enough without the cheap vodka lowering my inhibitions.
“I know you hate me,” she mutters, her gaze flickering across my face before landing on my lips. They stay there for much too long before returning to my eyes. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t want me.”
“Jesus, Lucy.” My words are rough and agonizing. I might not be ready to admit to myself how much I want her, but I know that right now,I need her.
In one quick movement, I push her up against the wall. She gasps in surprise, her eyes wide and bright with desperation. I reach out and caress her soft cheek, burning with heat, and get consumed by the need to touch every inch of her body.
“Is this okay?” I ask her. She was already nodding eagerly before I finished the question.
I tug my fingers through her frizzing curls and lean in close enough to smell the vanilla lotion lingering on her neck.I was right. In response to me, her back arches and her eyes flicker shut. I move slowly and with purpose. I want to cherish every moment of this—every moment of her.
My lips find their way to the tender skin beneath her ear. The noise she makes when I finally begin to suck on the saltiness of her skin only makes me slow down even more. I make my way down her jaw, my hand playing with the hem of her sweater until I feel her shiver. I move my hand under the fabric and take my time trailing the length of her spine. She’s trembling, her goosebumps rough against my fingers.
My lips are millimeters away from hers, then we brush together, so briefly that it makes her whine.She tastes like coconut, I think.Her hand reaches out and curves around the back of my neck, pulling me in closer and closer until our lips connect. Somewhere deep down, I know that this is wrong. I know she hates me and I hate her and this is a trulyterribleidea, but when I feel her tongue slipping into my mouth and her fingers raking through my hair, the only thing I care about is how right it feels. Her body fits so perfectly against mine and all I want is her.
I pull away from her just long enough to pull her shirt over her head. She’s left in only a modest bra and jeans that expose the hem of her lacy, black panties. For a moment, all I can do is admire her, the contrast of her hard, dark nipples against the innocent white of her bra. Her trembling body. Her whimpering breaths. She watches me through heavily-lidded eyes, as if she’s daring me to touch her in places no one else ever has before.
