Page 36 of Noel
I roll over and stare at the ceiling, willing myself to stop thinking about the way his hand felt against my back earlier, steady and sure, guiding me out of danger like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The man radiates control, but there’s something underneath it.Like a pull I can’t stop feeling.
I should be terrified right now.
But under all the fear, there’s this slow, steady warmth I can’t explain.
It’s justhim.
After a while, I hear it—the low murmur of a voice downstairs.
Noel’s voice, deep and quiet, drifts up from the living room.
He’s talking to someone—maybe on his cell phone or through comms.
“Yeah, Ego, I got her here.No sign of surveillance or tails on the drive.No, I’m not sleeping.Just keep a team on the city perimeter.Whoever’s behind this is organized, but they’re getting sloppy.They’ll slip.”
There’s a pause.I can’t hear the other voice, but I imagine the calm tone on the other end, another Sigma operative somewhere still watching over the city.
I should be asleep.I should be curled up under those flannel sheets, pretending this is just another job, another long day that’ll be forgotten when the gala’s over.
But sleep won’t come.
Every time I close my eyes, I see him—Noel Kane—standing by the fire, steady and unshakable, that same quiet strength in his shoulders and something darker, deeper, burning behind his eyes.
When the low rumble of his voice drifts up the stairs, my breath catches.
He’s on the phone.
I slip out of bed, heart thudding, and pad barefoot to the top of the stairs.The lights from below paint faint amber stripes across the wall, and I can just make out his silhouette—broad shoulders, one hand braced against the mantle.
“Yeah, she’s shaken,” he says, voice low and rough around the edges.“Can’t blame her.I’ve seen seasoned agents freeze up with less.But she’s got guts.She’s still thinking about that damn gala.That’s something.”
He chuckles, the sound soft but wrecked, like gravel under velvet.
Then, his voice grows sharper.“Fuck off.I already know.Not supposed to get attached.Tell the boss I remember the rule.”
There’s a pause.I swear I canfeelhim exhale, the weight of it pressing into the quiet.
“Just don’t ask me to promise anything yet.”
My heart stutters.
He’s talking aboutme.
I press a hand to the banister to steady myself, pulse tripping faster than it should.
The silence stretches, and then his voice again—softer this time, stripped bare.
“She deserves to sleep without looking over her shoulder.Deserves more than this.”
A beat.Then, almost a whisper: “She deserves a damn sight better than me.”
Something inside me twists tight, sharp and sweet all at once.
No one has ever talked about me like that before—with that blend of protectiveness and regret, like I’m something breakable he’s trying not to want.
I should go back upstairs.Ishould.But I can’t.
