Page 252 of Hell Hath No Fury
Before I know what’s happening, Noah draws me up in his arms, hugging me with all the kindness and support I haven’t felt in a long time, and I let him. I let myself lean on him. I let him comfort me. About Jonah, or my dad, or whatever else, I’m not quite sure. I’m not sure it matters. All I know is he wants to be here for me in this moment, and I decide to let him.
His fingers softly trace the bruises on my neck and upper arm and his muscles tense as I press my face into his chest, sucking in all of the comfort I possibly can, being selfish and needy in a way I've spent my entire life avoiding.
“I’ve never liked him, you know,” Noah whispers into my hair. “But I don’t think I’ve ever hated him—ever hated anyone—until this very moment.”
I don’t know why his words are so perfect, but just like his arms, they slip around me, making me feel cared for. Protected.
He finally releases me, and we stand there, awkwardly for a moment. But Noah breaks it expertly. “So are we going to fish, or what?”
Hell yes.
CHAPTER NINE
“Yes!” I squeal, jumping in victory as we measure my latest catch, four inches larger than Noah’s.
They were both bluefish, so it’s not as if they’re actually worth keeping. Bluefish taste horrible if you try to cook them, so it’s all about the sport of the thing, but I become competitive easily, and, what can I say? I love to win.
To his benefit, Noah doesn’t seem to mind, and smiles as wide as ever, reveling in my joy as I jump up and fling my arms around his neck, thanking him for this. For this day. For simply being him.
His arms come around my waist, holding me a foot off the floor of the small fishing boat, squeezing me tightly. After a moment, he slides me down the front of his hard, toned body until my feet finally touch the floor, but thankfully he doesn’t release me, and I’m held just as securely by his gorgeous hazel gaze, by the way it drops down to my lips as if he wants a taste.
Oh, God, do I want him to want a taste.
But he shakes it off, averting his gaze, before muttering something about checking the lines. Even though we checked them minutes ago.
It is getting late, though, and the sun has sunk lower and lower in the cloudless sky. Other than a quick text to my mom to let her know where I am, I haven’t checked my phone in hours, and I couldn’t even guess the time. Frankly, I don’t really care. In fact, I wish the hours would slow, that time would stand still, because even if Noah is here mostly out of pity or some warpedsense of responsibility, selfishly I wish it would last indefinitely, his motives notwithstanding.
Today has been one of the most fun of my life. And how pathetic is that?
“We should get back,” he says suddenly. “I promised Randy I’d have the boat back before dark, since I don’t have an actual license for it and all.” Noah smiles sheepishly, and it is utterly adorable. But then, most kids around here have driven small boats years before they were old enough to even apply for a license.
“Come ‘ere,” Noah says, and I follow like a trained puppy. I don’t even care.
He positions me right in front of the steering wheel, stepping behind me, his chest to my back, his skin heating mine in a way that both calms and excites me all at once.
“You ever drive one of these things?” he asks.
“Only with my dad, but not really. His hands were always on the wheel with mine,” I admit. I was pretty young at the time, after all.
Noah smiles. He laces his fingers through both of mine from behind me, stroking each palm with his thumbs, before setting them together on the steering wheel. He settles my hands in the right position, his fingers rubbing over mine as if he can’t help himself, driving the boat with my hands, slowly letting me take control.
When he’s convinced I’ve got the hang of it, he carefully removes his hands, almost stepping back until I lean into him, preventing him from depriving me of the warmth of his firm chest. He relents instantly, letting me drive, but supporting my stance with his own, and I drive us slowly, cautiously through the channel, my head resting back onto Noah’s shoulder. I suck in a gasp as he subtly nuzzles my hair, inhaling deeply as if he simply cannot get enough of the vanilla scent of my conditioner.
I don’t move a muscle as Noah tenderly runs his nose along the line of my cheek bone, but before he reaches the corner of my mouth, he retreats, following the path down my neck, and I try desperately not to grimace as he traces what I know are the lines of bruises, before ghosting his lips up the same path, as if they alone can vanquish them away. And, in this moment, I believe with all my heart and soul that if anything at all had such power, it would be Noah Reed’s magical lips.
He holds me that way, his palms eventually finding my waist, until we get to the narrows of the channel, and then he takes over, expertly driving us through the bay at low tide, and docking us back at Randy’s.
I try not to be overly impressed. He’s just driving a small fishing boat after all. But something about this eighteen-year-old boy—no, man…definitely man—steering us with the same casual ease of my father who’d had many years of practice just gets to me. I try not to think too much about it. God, Freud would have a field day with this shit.
By now the sun has set, and the mood has changed considerably. We can’t pretend this is just all friendly fun anymore, not with any kind of sincerity. Not after Noah’s lips touched my skin as I drove the boat, as he subtly pressed himself against me, making his desire for me undeniable. And I know myself well enough to be well aware that I’ve been anything but subtle. My desire, my emotions, have been displayed on my skin, on my face, like a fucking power point presentation, and there’s simply no way Noah could have missed it. And, right now, I could not care less.
But Noah doesn’t invite me inside.
The drive home is sobering, and he slowly takes me the few blocks home in a strange silence. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve done something wrong. But before I can thank him for thewonderful day, Noah is out of the car, and, once again, opening my door for me. The perfect gentleman.
Well I’m definitely not going to be throwing myself at him if he’s only going to pretend to be interested, and I take the first step toward my front door.
His palm wraps around my wrist gently, before softly running his fingers over my skin. He’s getting my attention, not trying control me. The move is in stark contrast to Jonah’s of a few nights earlier, and I spin to face him, inwardly cringing at my own eagerness.
