‘Another glass of champagne, Honor?’ he asks casually, brushing my bare shoulder with his fingers as he rounds the back of my chair. When I look up, only I see the heat in his eyes, and I’m pretty sure my eyes reflect that heat right back at him, judging by the tiny, knowing smirk on his face.
Hmm. This aspect of having an affair I can handle. The secret glances. The subtle touches. The forbidden nature of it certainly gives me a definite frisson.
What I haven’t thought through sufficiently is juggling these two guys—especially under one roof. That was most definitely not the plan. I’ve been working on the assumption that I can neatly pigeonhole my married life and my relationship (or dalliance, or whatever it its) with Noah in London. After all, Jackson will be back on the road again with his beloved Leila from next week.
But here in Provence, I’m facing the discomfort not just of logistics (I’m not having sex with two guys under one roof!) but of my emotions. My reaction to Jackson tells me my husband still does it for me. Of course he does. Every human being with a pulse has a reaction to Jackson James. But I’m also in this bubble with Noah that’s enchanting, and not just because of its sparkling newness and intoxicatingly forbidden nature.
No, it’s enchanting because of the way he makes me feel. As though I’m this incredible, perfect being, to be seen, and treasured, and adored. Not that one-way adoration is particularly sexy. That’s just a power imbalance. What’s really irresistible about our liaison is that I’m equally drawn to him.
I may not have the history of years of crushing Noah does.Or masturbating—I giggle to myself at the image of Baby Dr Noah crushinghardover me after his night shifts. But I’m as in the moment as he is. I’m crushing equally hard over his skin, with that tan and that body hair, over his laughter lines that bracket that beautiful mouth, over the silkiness of his hair when I claw at it.
And most of all, over the heat in his dark eyes when he kisses me. When he moved inside me this morning. That heat, and the way it makes me feel the entire way through my core, tells me this liaison is rapidly becoming at risk of escalating into something far more than an easy little fling.
One could even say I’m becoming an addict. A Dr Noah addict.
It’s too much. My head and my heart are too full of unfamiliar turmoil and emotions. As soon as supper is over, I practically sprint to bed. With any luck, I’ll be asleep before Jackson materialises. If I’m not, I’ll damn well pretend to be.
One night down; two more to go.
CHAPTER 19
Noah
An insistent rapping on my bedroom door brings me abruptly to consciousness the next morning. I sit bolt upright and rub my eye with the heel of my hand.
‘Come in.’
It’s Honor. She peeks around the door before stepping into the room and closing it behind her. She’s in a tiny romper suit, hair pulled back. A leggy, gorgeous vision. One visitation I wasnotexpecting.
‘Hey. What are you—where’s Jackson?’
‘He’s gone for a run. He’ll be a while.’ She takes a few tentative steps forward. ‘Is this okay? I wasn’t sure—but I wanted to see you.’
‘Of course it’s okay!’ Is she kidding? I spent far too much time poolside yesterday and in bed last night contemplating the uncomfortable question of why I was so devastated when her husband showed up. I swing my legs out of bed and make for the bathroom. ‘Give me a sec.’
Her eyes widen at the sight of my nakedness, and she bites her lip and nods. It doesn’t do my ego any harm.
I’ve never brushed my teeth so quickly. I wrap a towel around my waist—if she’s just here to talk, I don’t want her to feel pressured—and head back through to my room. She’s standing by the window, looking out at the hazy sunrise over the vines. I trail my fingers lightly down her back and run my lips over her bare shoulder before coming to face her.
Her mouth curves into a tentative smile.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi, yourself. How are you holding up?’
She exhales shakily. ‘Fine, I suppose. I don’t know—it’s awkward. I didn’t expect things to get tricky so quickly.’ She fiddles with the draw-string at the waist of her romper.
‘I know you didn’t. You seem to be handling it well.’
‘I just feel so awful—I never meant to put you in this position, Noah. I didn’t sleep with him, you know. Last night. I haven’t touched him.’
‘Hey. Look at me.’ My hands go to her jaw and tip it up. ‘Baby. You don’t owe me any explanations. Or justifications. Okay? I’m a big boy. I knew what I was getting into.’ I take a deep breath, because what I need to say to her next is surprisingly difficult. The sentence catches in my throat. ‘You’re allowed to sleep with your husband. You’remarried. It’s part of the gig for me; I know that.’
She dips her head and wraps her arms around me tightly so I can’t see her face. Whispers against my neck. ‘I didn’t want to, though. I didn’t want him to touch me. At all. All I could think about was you, but I was worried I’d pissed you off, that you’d want to run for the hills.’
This situation we’re in is so bizarre. On the one hand, it’s a game. We’ve been playing make-believe out here in dreamland. On the other, the very circumstances of her being married mean we have to be far more open, honest, with each other than I would usually be with a woman I’ve only been involved with for a day or two.
The extent of her vulnerability is eye-opening. She has no idea that of the three of us, she’s the one in the driving seat. She also has no idea her words thrill me to my core.All I could think about was you.Whatever this is between us, it’s escalated from flirtation and desire to need and raw, intense human connection. I draw back.
