“Yeah, I’m sort of living that reality, Ethan. I’m aware of how much it sucks.”
“All right, Noelle, today your picture’s in the paper. What about tomorrow?”
She didn’t really want to think about tomorrow. She was safe now. Safe and warm, and feeling pretty happy to be back in the public eye in a positive way. But that attitude was what had gotten her into trouble in the first place. She might be enjoying these snatches of happiness right now—enjoying them too much to see something bad around the corner, something like her mother running off with all her money.
“I don’t know.”
“No one should have the power to decide how you feel about yourself, Noelle, good or bad. Give yourself that power.”
“I suppose it’s easy for you.”
He shrugged. “I’ve never cared what other people thought. As long as I’m getting where I want to go, I don’t care what other people think of my methods. When you’re successful there will always be people waiting to watch you fail. They don’t matter.”
Ethan’s heart was pounding heavily in his chest, a strange, protective sort of anger pumping through him, hot and fast. Reckless. There was no reason he should care, none at all, about the way Noelle saw herself. About the look on her face when she’d seen her picture in the paper.
But it reminded him too much, far too much, of how his mother had reacted to reviews, good and bad, about how she’d been disappointed when the paparazzi had stopped following her. About how thoroughly demolished she’d been when the press had gleefully dissected Damien Grey’s appearance with Celine Birch at a major Hollywood industry event, leaving his wife, the movie star, at home.
The constant bitter regret, the desperate wishing that she’d never moved away from California, never sacrificed her figure to give birth to a son who didn’t bring her happiness anyway.
Terrible memories of trying to revive her after she’d swallowed a whole bottle of pills.
Putting Noelle in that spot made his gut tighten so hard he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
He didn’t know why he was doing this, why he was putting her in that place. Why he was feeling things for her.
All he knew was that he wanted to touch her, to comfort her in some way. But the minute he did that, the minute his hands touched her smooth, silken skin, it would be over for him. He would take her in his arms. Kiss her. Seduce her.
No. He wouldn’t. He would be in control. Just as he always was. She wasn’t different. She wasn’t special. He tightened his jaw, clenched his teeth, tried to stop his body’s intense reaction to the thought of what it would be like to seduce her.
So sweet. For a moment.
It would almost be worth it.
“What?” she asked, her voice breathless, her breasts rising and falling sharply. She knew. And she was just as affected as he was.
“We’ll have more public appearances to make over the coming weeks,” he said, his eyes fixed on her full, pale lips. “We have to be sure we’re comfortable touching each other.”
He took a step toward her, his body urging him on, his mind screaming at him to pull back. He would. He would pull away before it was too late. Just not yet.
Not quite yet.
He put his hand on her cheek, shocked to see how unsteady it was. She was soft, softer even than he’d imagined she would be. And the need to do more, touch more, was so strong it made his body shudder.
“Comfortable?” she asked, her words hushed, her blue eyes wide.
“Not even a little bit. You?”
She shook her head.
“Then we’ll have to change that,” he said.
He dipped his head and closed the gap between them, pleasure bursting in his stomach, heating him to boiling point, his whole body instantly hard with desire. She tasted sweet, her kiss better than any wine he could remember. And far outstripping any other kiss he’d experienced. He couldn’t remember being affected this strongly by the simple touch of lips against his, not even when he’d been a teenage virgin.
A soft sound escaped her mouth and he devoured it, taking the chance to dip his tongue inside, to taste her a bit more thoroughly. Just a taste.
But a taste could never be enough. Not when it made him crave more. Everything.
He raised his other hand and allowed himself to rest it on the indent of her waist, another step into temptation. Another concession. But he would pull away in time. Before it got out of control. There was no ‘out of control’ for him, he always had it. Always had the power.
She touched the tip of her tongue to his and need shocked him, like a lightning bolt from the point where she made contact straight to his groin.
He couldn’t breathe. But it was all right. He would gladly drown in her. In the passion that poured from her and filled him, pushing at the bonds of his control, cracking it, threatening to shatter it.
Was this what his father felt when he was with his mistresses? A pull, a need that felt essential as air?
The thought was a bucket of ice water to his overheated libido. He pulled away from her, his throat tight, his lungs burning with the need to draw a breath he couldn’t quite manage to pull in.
“That’s enough, I think,” he said, his voice rough.
She looked dazed, dizzy. A lot like he felt. “I …”
“Don’t worry about the press,” he said. “I’ve got work to do, so I’m going to go to my room now.”
He turned without looking at her again. Because if he did, if the look in her eyes reflected the longing he felt, if he caught her scent, he would be lost again.
He couldn’t afford that. It was a matter of keeping his focus. And it was a matter of pride. He wouldn’t lose either.
Notes moved through her. Music, a melody, vague and unstructured. Noelle turned over in bed, felt the cool sheets against her bare legs. The chill didn’t last long. As soon as her thoughts came into sharper focus, she remembered the kiss.
Ethan’s lips moving over hers, so expertly. So sensually.
Her first kiss. And it had been … it had been so much more than she’d imagined it could be. All fire and need. Exciting. Terrifying. It had brought something out in her that she hadn’t felt before, something she hadn’t realized lived in her.
She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, her toes digging into the plush carpet. She could feel it swelling in her, moving through her. It made her ache. Or rather, it added to the ache that was already centered in her chest. An ache that was physical as well as emotional.
It was as if everything was changing, shifting beneath her feet. Not like the cold shock of change that had happened when her mother had disappeared with her money, but something else, something more subtle, but even more dangerous in some ways.
She was starting to feel changed, rather than simply feeling that her life had changed around her. She felt more power. More control. And less, at the same time. She wasn’t sure how that worked exactly.
She closed her eyes again, found the melody she’d heard in her sleep. Vague still, but present. Inspiration that felt familiar, like something she used to feel before. She stood, excitement flooding her, and walked through her room, out into the main area of the hotel suite. It was automatic, sitting at the piano, her fingers resting lightly on the keys.
She could still feel Ethan’s lips on hers, the hot press of his hand on her waist.
She