‘Does Noah know about your family tendency to seduce co-stars?’ Melissa turned her most innocent smile and wide eyes on Eloise.
Eloise couldn’t take it any more. ‘Melissa, could I please have a word with you outside?’ she ground out between clenched teeth.
‘But darling! We’re all having so much fun here!’
‘I just remembered something about the arrangements for the...ah...photo shoot tomorrow. I’d hate for anything to go wrong.’
Melissa rolled her eyes and slid off her barstool. ‘Oh, fine. Honestly, finding capable people these days... You guys all carry on having fun! I’ll be right back.’
Eloise stalked out of the bar into the empty corridor, breathing deeply in the hope that she’d be able to talk to Melissa rationally and calmly. Like a grown-up. Like she’d never managed to do with her before.
‘So, what’s the problem?’ Melissa asked, all trace of her affected friendliness gone.
‘I’d rather you didn’t bring my mother into conversations, please,’ Eloise said as calmly as possible. ‘My family history has no bearing on this wedding, and I’m sure your friends don’t care about who my mother slept with over a decade ago.’
‘I’m sure they don’t either,’ Melissa said, her tone sharp. ‘Your mother was a slut and a disgrace, but who cares about that now, right? But if you’re sleeping with Noah Cross, you can bet everyone in Hollywood will care about that. It’ll be the biggest story of my wedding—and that is unacceptable.’
‘I’m not...I’m not sleeping with Noah. I only just met the guy,’ Eloise said, taken aback.
‘So? What difference does that make?’ Melissa asked. ‘He’s a huge name, he’s gorgeous, he’s loaded and he’s interested. Of course you’re going to sleep with him. You’d be an idiot not to. But not at my wedding, okay?’
Melissa turned and strode back into the bar, her perfect smile in place on her perfect face. Eloise stared after her, stunned.
‘But... But I’m not sleeping with Noah Cross,’ she said again, to the empty hallway.
‘And isn’t that a crying shame?’ Noah said from behind her.
* * *
Noah hadn’t meant to gatecrash the hen night. It was just that he felt about ten years too old for the stag do. Not in actual age, he supposed, but in maturity. And, given that he regularly expected to be the least mature guy at the table, that was saying something.
Riley might be getting married, but he still seemed like a kid to Noah. It was as if the whole wedding was a game, another act. That at the end of the day he could take his ring off and go back to being just Riley again—no harm, no foul.
Marriage meant somewhat more to Noah. That was why he had no intention of ever entertaining the institution.
Still, even knowing that not everyone in Hollywood shared his opinion on the importance of marriage, he hadn’t expected the stag do to feel so...shallow. Meaningless.
Irrationally, he blamed Eloise. She was the opposite of shallow. She’d given him false expectations for the rest of the world.
He hadn’t even been looking for Eloise, particularly. He’d been looking for a drink—a proper one, not a cup from the keg Riley had insisted on, as a homage to frat movies past. But when he’d heard Eloise’s voice...he had to admit that maybe it had been her he’d been looking for all along.
Melissa spat out something hateful about Eloise’s mother, and Eloise responded with a denial. Noah moved in closer, in time to hear Melissa rate all the things about him that mattered in her world, none of which were anything he’d want to feature in his obituary.
Then she left, and Eloise was alone in the hallway.
‘I’m not sleeping with Noah Cross,’ she said.
Noah stepped out of the shadows. ‘And isn’t that a crying shame?’
Eloise spun round, her eyes wide. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Just looking for a drink.’ Was it the lights, or was that something akin to lust that he saw in her eyes? ‘And you.’
‘Why?’
He didn’t have an answer. It should have been easy—I want you. I desire you. He’d been sure that was all this was, this strange attraction between them. A game, a flirtation. A friendship with edge, that was all. At least until the kiss they’d shared at the Frost Fair.
Now...now he had no idea what this was, or why the need to be with her was thrumming through his body like a second heartbeat.
But it was. And he did need her. Right now.
Discretion be damned.
Noah moved forward, closing the distance between them in just a couple of steps. Eloise licked her lips, just a quick brush of her pink tongue against her lower lip, but it was enough to drive Noah wild. Enough for him to imagine those lips on his own again. To imagine them on his skin, covering his body, while his own mouth touched every single inch of her...
No, he had no idea what this was between them. But he knew he was done fighting it.
He wrapped his arms around her waist, just as he had on the stage that afternoon. But this time there were no costumes, no parts. No Romeo, no Juliet. Just Noah and Eloise.
She stared up at him, her lips parted, her pupils so large they almost eclipsed the blue-green of her beautiful eyes. She wanted this as badly as he did; he could see it.
But the most frightening thing was, he wasn’t sure that a kiss would be enough. Or one night. Or several nights.
He wanted her body, sure, but what scared him was how much more he wanted. What was it about Eloise that made him want to look deeper? To know more, to understand?
Deeper was off the table—and had been since Sally.
But if it hadn’t been...he had a feeling that Eloise was a woman he could have shown every inch of his soul, and come to know hers in return.
He shook his head, just an inch or so, just enough to dismiss the thoughts. He’d known the woman a couple of days. That wasn’t what this was about, for either of them.
All he needed to concentrate on was kissing her again.
He didn’t say anything—words were unnecessary now. As he stared into Eloise’s eyes he knew she understood everything he wasn’t saying. He tilted his head, lowering his lips to hers, and she rose up on her toes to meet him, pressing her body against his. He could feel every inch of her pressed against him, warm and soft and wanting where they touched, and he couldn’t help but deepen the kiss. It took everything he had not to sweep her up against the nearest wall and make love to her, without a thought for who might see or what they’d think. Or what might get back to Stefan, the director, who needed to believe that Noah could control his baser instincts.
Usually, he could, Noah was sure. He remembered having control, willpower, restraint once. Before he’d met Eloise.
He’d never felt this before—this desperate, unthinking desire. He’d dated the world’s most beautiful women and he’d had true love, yet none of them had ever inspired this sort of passion down deep inside of him.
Noah didn’t want to think too much about what that meant. He just wanted to enjoy it.
But