Friendship On Fire
Joss Wood
Best friend and fake fiancé?Jules Brogan has no shortage of work. So why she said yes to designing a yacht with old flame Noah Lockwood, and posing as his fiancé, she has no idea. But what are old friends for…especially if she can coax him into one last kiss.
Fool her once, as her best friend.
Fool her twice...as her fake fiancé?
Top Boston interior designer Jules Brogan has no shortage of work. So why say yes to designing a yacht with Noah Lockwood—her former best friend who disappeared from her life ten years ago after one smoldering encounter? Especially since the job requires posing as Noah’s fiancée! But what are old friends for...especially if she can coax him into one more kiss?
JOSS WOOD loves books and traveling—especially to the wild places of Southern Africa. She has the domestic skills of a potted plant and drinks far too much coffee.
Joss has written for Mills & Boon Modern and, most recently, Mills & Boon Desire. After a career in business, she now writes full-time. Joss is a member of the Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers of South Africa.
Also by Joss Wood (#u692d7f81-9592-5d24-82dd-0b56e45100ff)
Convenient Cinderella Bride
The Nanny Proposal
His Ex’s Well-Kept Secret
One Night to Forever
The CEO’s Nanny Affair
Little Secrets: Unexpectedly
Pregnant
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Friendship on Fire
Joss Wood
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07660-9
FRIENDSHIP ON FIRE
© 2018 Joss Wood
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
Cover (#u94c628b9-588a-5952-98c2-ac30ba68ed86)
Back Cover Text (#u33e0fdef-b544-51c1-9920-c521f41d0aa4)
About the Author (#u6e5f6641-6843-52cb-9354-df6aef4b70d2)
Booklist (#u8bf2e4cb-f54f-5776-8f71-d9d9ad1a1e89)
Title Page (#u26250a4e-960a-5b0b-9f91-75ec0c04f774)
Copyright (#u7c348e97-758c-5d76-b7ed-fe51ebee723c)
Prologue (#ubff2b657-cda9-5336-a6f9-20a810c8ef21)
One (#ub540e7e0-5420-5eef-b163-dbed59469c2e)
Two (#u0fec72ab-3fe2-51ad-b90a-a8bcc9bf37ec)
Three (#u1a8fdadd-5cf1-54c0-a02a-5b7a384f3c84)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue (#u692d7f81-9592-5d24-82dd-0b56e45100ff)
Callie...
As she’d done for nearly thirty years, Callie Brogan kissed her daughter’s sable-colored hair, conscious that nothing was guaranteed—not time, affection or life itself so she took every opportunity to kiss and hug her offspring, all seven of them.
God, no, she hadn’t birthed them all. Levi and the twins—Jules and Darby—were hers. The Lockwood brothers—Noah, Eli and Ben—were the sons of her heart. Biologically, they belonged to her best friend and neighbor, Bethann Lockwood, who had passed away ten years ago. Dylan-Jane, well, DJ was another child of her heart.
The life Callie had lived back then, as the pampered wife of the stupendously wealthy, successful and most powerful venture capitalist in Boston, was over. Her beloved Ray was gone, too. She’d been a widow for three years now.
Callie was, gulp, alone. At fifty-four, it was time to reinvent herself.
So damn scary...
Who was she if she wasn’t her kids’ mom and her exuberant, forceful husband’s wife?
At the moment, she was someone she didn’t recognize. She needed to get to know herself again.
“Mom?”
Callie blinked and looked into Jules’s brilliant eyes. As always, she caught her breath. Jules had Ray’s eyes, that incredible shade of silver blue, incandescently luminous. Callie waited for the familiar wave of grief, and it washed over her as more of a swell than a tsunami.
Damn, Callie missed that man. His bawdy laugh, his strong arms, the sex. Yeah, God, she really missed the sex.
“Mom? Are you okay?” Jules asked, perceptive as always.
Callie waved her words away. She considered herself a modern mom but telling her very adult daughter that she was horny was not something that she’d ever do. So Callie shrugged and smiled. “I’m good.”
Jules frowned. “I don’t believe you.”
Callie looked around and wished Noah—and Eli and Ben—were here. Eli and Ben had excused themselves from Sunday lunch; both were working overtime to restore a catamaran. And Noah was in Italy? Or was it Greece? Cannes? The boy used jet travel like normal people used cars.
Would Noah ever come back home to Boston? The eldest Lockwood boy wasn’t one to wear his heart on his sleeve but his stepdad’s actions after Bethann’s death had scarred him. He had far too much pride to show how wounded he was, to admit he was lost and lonely and hurt. Like Bethann, he saw emotion and communicating his fears as a failure and a weakness.
Noah’s independence frustrated Callie but she’d never stopped loving the boy...the man. Noah was in his midthirties now.
Her own son, Levi, sat down on the bigger of the two leather couches and placed his glass of whiskey on the coffee table. “Right, Mom, what’s the big news?”
Callie took her seat with Jules next to her, on the arm of the chair. Darby and the twins’ best friend, DJ, bookended Levi.
Jules rubbed her hand up and down Callie’s back. “What is it, Mom?”
Well, here goes. “Last Tuesday was three years since your dad died.”
“We know, Mom,” Darby murmured, her elegant fingers holding the stem of her wineglass.
“I’ve decided to make some changes.”
Jules lifted her eyebrows, looking skeptical. Jules, thanks to Noah’s desertion and Ray’s sudden death, wasn’t a fan of impetuous decisions or change. “Okay. Like...?”
Callie looked out the picture windows to the lake and the golf course beyond. “Before you were all born, Bethann’s father decided to turn Lockwood Estate into an exclusive gated community, complete with a golf course and country club. Your dad was one of the first people to buy and build on this estate and this house is still, apart from Lockwood itself, one of the biggest in the community.”
Her kids’ faces all reflected some measure of frustration at the history lesson. They’d lived here all their lives; they’d heard it all before. “It’s definitely too big for me. The tenants renting the three-bedroom we own on the other side of the estate have handed in their notice. I’m going to move into that house.”
Callie could see the horror on their faces, saw that they didn’t like the idea of losing their family home. She’d reassure them. “When I die, this house will come to you, Levi, but I think you should take possession of it now. I’ve heard each of you talk of buying your own places. It doesn’t make sense to buy when you have this one, Levi. The twins can move in here while they look for a property that suits them. This house has four bedrooms, lots of communal space. It’s central, convenient, and you’d just have to pay for the utilities.”
“Move in with Levi? Yuck,” Darby said, as Callie expected her to. But Callie caught the long look her daughter exchanged with her twin sister, Jules, and smiled at their excitement.
Callie knew what was coming next...
“DJ could move into the apartment over the garage,” Jules suggested, excitement in her eyes.
She loved this house; they all did. And why wouldn’t they? It was spacious, with high ceilings and wooden floors, an outdoor entertainment area and a big backyard. It was close to Lockwood Country Club’s private gym, which they all still used. The Tavern, the pub and Italian restaurant attached to the country club, was one of her kids’ favorite places to meet, have a drink. The boys played golf within the walls of the pretty, green estate where they were raised, as often as their busy schedules allowed.
It was home.
“I don’t want to live with my sisters, Mom. It was bad enough sharing a childhood with them,” Levi said.
He was lying, Callie could tell. Levi adored his sisters and this way, he could vet who they dated without stalking them on social media. Levi’s protective streak ran a mile long.
“It’s a good solution. This way, you don’t have to rent while you’re looking to buy and, Levi, since I know you and Noah sank most of your cash into that new marina, it’ll be a while before your bank account recovers.”
Callie wrinkled her nose. Levi probably still had a few million at his fingertips. They were one of Boston’s wealthiest families.
Levi shook his head. “Mom, we appreciate the offer, but you do know that we are all successful and you don’t need to worry about us anymore?”
She was Mom, Callie wanted to tell him. She’d always be Mom. One day they’d understand. She’d always worry about them.
“Are you sure you want to move into the house on Ennis Street?” Jules asked.
Absolutely. There were too many ghosts in this house, too many memories. “I need something new, something different. Dad is gone but I’m still standing and I’ve made the decision to reinvent my life. I have a bucket list and so many things I want to do by the time I turn fifty-five.”
“That’s in ten months,” Darby pointed out.
Callie was so aware, thank you very much.
“What’s on the bucket list, Mom?” Jules asked, amused.
Callie smiled. “Oh, the usual. A road trip through France, take an art class, learn how to paint.”
Jules sent her an indulgent smile. God. Jules would probably fall off her chair if Callie told her that a one-night stand, phone sex, seeing a tiger in the wild, bungee jumping and sleeping naked in the sun were also on her to-do list. Oh, and she definitely wouldn’t tell them that her highest priority was to help them all settle down...
She wasn’t hung up on them getting married. No, sometimes marriage, like her best friend’s, wasn’t worth the paper the license was written on.
Callie wanted her children to find their soft place to fall, the person who would make their lives complete.
But, right now, Callie wanted Noah home, back in Boston, where he belonged.
How was she supposed to get him to settle down when he was on the other side of the world?
One (#u692d7f81-9592-5d24-82dd-0b56e45100ff)
Noah...
Noah pushed his hand into her thick hair and looked down into those amazing eyes, the exact tint of a new moon on the Southern Ocean. Her scent, something sexy but still sweet, drifted off her skin and her wide mouth promised a kiss that was dark and delectable. His stupid heart was trying to climb out of his chest so that it could rest in her hand.
Jules pushed her breasts into his chest and tilted her hips so that her stomach brushed his hard-as-hell erection...
This was Jules, his best friend.
Thought, time, the raucous sounds of the New Year’s party receded and Jules was all that mattered. Jules with her tight nipples and her tilted hips and her silver-blue eyes begging him to kiss her.
He’d make it quick. Just one quick sip, a fast taste. He wouldn’t take it any further. He couldn’t. He wanted to, desperately, but there were reasons why he had no right to place his hand on her spectacular ass, to push his chest into her small but perfect breasts.
One kiss, that’s all he could have, take.
Noah touched his lips to hers and he fell, lost in her taste, in her scent. For the first time in months his grief dissipated, his confusion cleared. As her tongue slid between his teeth, his responsibilities faded, and the decisions he’d been forced to make didn’t matter.
Jules was in his arms and she was kissing him and the world suddenly made sense...
He was about to palm her beautiful breasts, have her wrap her legs around his hips to rock against her core when hands gripped his shoulders, yanked his hair.
Surprised, he stumbled back, fell onto his tailbone to see Morgan and his dad looking down at him, laughing their asses off. His eyes bounced to Jules and tears streaked her face.
“Bastard!” Morgan screamed.
“That’s my boy,” Ethan cooed. “Blood or not, you are my son.”
And Jules? Well, Jules just cried.
Another night, the same recurring dream. Noah Lockwood punched the comforter and the sheets away, unable to bare the constricting fabric against his heated skin. Draping one forearm across bent knees, Noah ran a hand behind his neck. Cursing, he fumbled for the glass of water on the bedside table, grimacing at the handprint his sweat made on the deep black comforter.
Noah swung his legs off the side of the large bed, reached for a pair of boxers on the nearby chair and yanked them on. He looked across the bed and Jenna—a friend he occasionally hooked up with when he was in this particular city—reached over to the side table and flipped on the bedside light. She checked her watch before shoving the covers back, muttered a quick curse and, naked, started to gather her clothes.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
Hell, no. He rarely opened up to his brothers or his closest friends, so there was no chance he’d talk to an infrequent bed buddy about his dream. Without a long explanation Jenna wouldn’t understand, and since Noah didn’t do explanations, that would never happen. Besides, talking meant examining and facing his fears, confronting guilt and dissecting his past. That would be amusing...in the same way an electric shock to his junk would be nice.
He tried, as much as possible, not to think about the past...
Noah walked over to the French doors that opened to the balcony. Pushing them open, he sucked in the briny air of the cool late-autumn night. Tinges of a new morning peeked through the trees that bordered the side and back edges of the complex.
He loved Cape Town, and enjoyed his visits to the city nestled between the mountains and the sea. It was beautiful, as were Oahu or Cannes or Monaco. But it wasn’t home. He missed Boston with an intensity that sometimes threatened to drop him to his knees. But he couldn’t go back...
The last time he left it nearly killed him and that wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat.
Noah accepted Jenna’s brief goodbye kiss and walked her to the door. Finally alone, he grabbed a T-shirt from the chair behind him and yanked it over his head and, picking up his phone, walked onto the balcony, then perched lightly on the edge of a sturdy morris chair.
The dream’s sour aftertaste remained and he sucked in long, clean breaths, trying to cleanse his mind. Because his nightmares always made him want to touch base with his brothers, he dialed Eli’s number, knowing he was more likely to answer than Ben.
“Noah, I was just about to call you.” Despite being across the world in Boston, Eli sounded like he was in the next room.
Noah heard the worry in Eli’s voice and his stomach swooped.
“What’s up?” he asked, trying to project confidence. He was the oldest and although he was always absent, his hand was still the one, via phone calls and emails, steering the Lockwood ship. Actually, that wasn’t completely true; Levi buying into the North Shore marina and boatyard using the money he inherited from Ray allowed Noah to take a step back. Eli and Ben were a little hotheaded and prone to making impulsive decisions but Levi wasn’t. Noah was happy to leave the day-to-day decisions in Levi’s capable hands.
“Callie called us earlier—a for-sale sign has gone up at Lockwood.”
“Ethan’s selling the house?” Noah asked.
“No. He’s selling everything. Our childhood home, the land, the country club, the golf course, the buildings. He’s selling the LCC Trust and that includes everything on the estate except for the individually owned houses.”
Noah released a low, bullet-like curse word.
“Rumor has it that he needs cash again.”
“Okay, let me assimilate this. I’ll call you back in a few.”
Noah sucked in his breath and closed his eyes, allowing anger and disappointment to flow through him. Ten years ago he’d taken the man he called Dad, a man he adored and whom he thought loved him, to court. After his mom’s death he discovered that the marriage that he’d thought was so perfect had been pure BS. The only father he’d ever known, the man he placed on a pedestal was, he discovered, a serial cheater and a spendthrift.
Stopping Ethan from liquidating the last of Lockwood family assets, passed down through generations of Lockwoods to his mom—a legacy important enough to his mom for her to persuade both their biological dad and then their stepdad to take her maiden name—meant hiring expensive legal talent.
Noah ran his hand over his eyes, remembering those bleak months between his mother’s death and the court judgment awarding the Lockwood boys the waterfront marina and the East Boston boatyard and Ethan the Lockwood Country Club, which included their house, the club facilities, the shops and the land around it. Ethan was also awarded the contents of the house and the many millions in her bank accounts. All of which, so he’d heard, he’d managed to blow. On wine, women and song.
Fighting for his and his brothers’ inheritance had been tough, but he’d been gutted by the knowledge that everything he knew about his mom and Ethan, the facade of happiness they’d presented to the world, had been a sham. A lie, an illusion. By cheating on his mom and choosing money over them, Ethan had proved that he’d never loved any of them.
Why hadn’t he seen it, realized that his dad was actually a bastard, that every “I love you” and “I’m proud of you” had been a flat-out lie? Faced with proof of his father’s deceit, he’d decided that love was an emotion he couldn’t trust, that marriage was a sham, that people, especially the ones who professed to love him, couldn’t be trusted.
And Morgan’s actions had cemented those conclusions.
The year it all fell apart, he’d spent the Christmas season with Morgan and her parents. Needing something to dull the pain after her parents retired for the night, he’d tucked into Ivan Blake’s very expensive whiskey and dimly recalled Morgan prattling on about marriage and a commitment. Since he’d been blitzed and because she’d had her hand in his pants, he couldn’t remember what was discussed...
The following day—feeling very un-Christmassy on Christmas morning thanks to a hangover from hell—he’d found himself accepting congratulations on their engagement. He’d tried to explain that it was a mistake, wanted to tell everyone that he had no intention of getting married, but Morgan had looked so damn happy and his head had been on the point of exploding. His goal had been to get through the day and when he had Morgan on her own, he’d backtrack, let her down gently and break up with her as he’d intended to do for weeks. He’d had enough on his plate without dealing with a needy and demanding girlfriend.
Yet somehow, Ivan Blake had discerned his feet were frozen blocks of ice thanks to his sudden engagement to his high-maintenance daughter. Ivan had pulled him into his study, told him that Morgan was bipolar and that she was mentally fragile. Being a protective dad, he’d done his research and knew Noah was a sailor, one of the best amateurs in the country. He also knew Noah wanted to turn pro and needed a team to sail with, preferably to lead.
Ivan had been very well-informed; he’d known of Noah’s shortage of cash, his sponsorship offers and that there were many companies wanting to be associated with the hottest sailing talent of his generation.
Ivan had known Noah didn’t want to marry Morgan...
He’d said as much and that statement was followed by a hell of an offer. Noah would receive a ridiculous amount of money to sail a yacht of his choice on the pro circuit. But the offer had come with a hell of a proviso...
All Noah had to do was stay engaged to Morgan for two years, and Ivan would triple his highest sponsorship offer. Noah’s instant reaction had been to refuse but, damn...three times his nearest offer? That was a hell of a lot of cash to reject. It would be an engagement in name only, Ivan had told him, a way for Morgan to save face while he worked on getting her mentally healthy. Noah would be out of the country sailing and he only needed to send a few emails and make a couple of satellite telephone calls a month.
Oh, and Ivan had added that he had to stay away from Jules Brogan. Morgan felt threatened by his lifelong friendship with Jules and it caused her extreme distress and was a barrier to her getting well.
A week later he’d forgotten that proviso when he kissed the hell out of Jules on New Year’s Eve...the kiss he kept reliving in his dreams.
Not going there, not thinking about that. Besides, thinking about Jules and Morgan wasn’t helping him with this current problem: Ethan was selling his mom’s house, his childhood home and the land that had been in his family for over a hundred and fifty years. That house had been the home of many generations of Lockwoods, and he’d be damned if he’d see it leave the family’s hands. His grandfather had built the country club and was its founding member. His mom had been CEO of the club and estate, had kept a watchful eye on the housing development, limiting the estate to only seventy houses to retain the wide-open spaces.
Think, Noah, there’s something you’re missing.
Noah tapped his phone against his thigh, recalling the terms of the court settlement. Yeah, that’s what had been bugging him...
He hit Redial on his phone and Eli answered. “In terms of the court settlement, Ethan has to give us the opportunity to buy the trust before he can put it on the open market.”
“I don’t remember that proviso,” Eli said.
“If he wants to sell, he has to give us three months to buy the property. He also has to sell it to us at twenty percent below the market value.”
Noah heard Eli’s surprised whistle. “That’s a hell of a clause.”
“We had an expensive lawyer and I think it’s one Ethan has accidentally on purpose forgotten.”
“Then I’ll contact our lawyer to enforce the terms of the settlement. But, No, even if we do get the opportunity to buy the trust—”
“We will get the opportunity,” Noah corrected.
“—the asking price is enormous, even with the discount. It’s a historic, exceptional house on a massive tract of land. Not to mention the club, the buildings, the facilities. The golf course. We’re talking massive money. More than Ben and I can swing.”
Noah considered this for a moment. “We’d have to mortgage it.”
“The price to us should be around a hundred million,” Eli said, his tone skeptical.
“We’d need to raise twenty percent.” Under normal circumstances he would never be making a financial decision without a hell of a lot more due diligence. At the very least, he’d know whether the trust generated enough funds to cover the mortgage. He didn’t care. This was Lockwood Estate and it was his responsibility to keep it in the family.
“Ben and I recently purchased a fifty-foot catamaran which we are restoring and that’s sucked up our savings. We’ll be finishing it up in a month or two and then we’ll have to wait a few weeks to sell it. Even if it does sell quickly, the profit won’t cover our share of the twenty-million deposit. Do you have twenty mil?”
“Not lying around. I invested in that new marina at the Boston waterfront with Levi. I’ll sell my apartment in London, it’s in a sought-after area and it should move quickly. I’ll also sell my share in a business I own in Italy. My partner will buy me out. That would raise eight million.”
“Okay. Twelve to go. Ben and I have about a million each sitting in investments we can liquefy.”
Thank God his brothers were on board with this plan, that saving Lockwood Estate meant as much to them as it did to him. He couldn’t do it without them. Noah ran through his assets. “I have three mil invested. That leaves seven. Crap.”
Noah was silent for a long minute before speaking. “So, basically we’re screwed.”
Damn, his head was currently being invaded by little men with very loud jackhammers.
Eli cleared his throat. “Not necessarily. I heard that Paris Barrow wants to commission a luxury yacht and is upset because she has to wait six to ten months to get it designed. If you can put aside your distaste for designing those inelegant floating McMansions as you call them, I could set up a meeting.”
“What’s the budget?”
“From what I heard, about sixty million. What are your design fees? Ten percent of the price? That’s six mil and I’m sure we can scrounge up another million between us. Somehow.”
Noah thought for a moment. He had various projects in the works but none that would provide a big enough paycheck to secure the house. Designing a superyacht would. At the very least he had to try. Noah gripped the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb and stepped off the cliff. “Set up a meeting with your client’s friend. Let’s see where it goes.”
“She’s a megawealthy Boston grande dame, and designing for her would mean coming back home,” Eli said softly.
Yeah, he got that. “I know.”
Noah disconnected the call and stared down at his bare feet. He was both excited and terrified to be returning to the city he’d been avoiding for the past ten years. Boston meant facing his past, but it also meant reconnecting and spending time with Levi, Eli and Ben, DJ, and Darby.
And Callie. God, he’d missed her so much.
But Boston was synonymous with Jules, the only person whom he’d ever let under his protective shell. His best friend until he’d mucked it all up by kissing her, ignoring her, remaining engaged to a woman she intensely disliked and then dropping out of her life.
She still hadn’t forgiven him and he doubted that she ever would.
Jules...
Jules frowned at the for-sale sign that had appeared on the lawn of Lockwood House and swung into the driveway of her childhood home—and her new digs—and slammed on the brakes when she noticed a matte black Ducati parked in her usual space next to the detached garage. Swearing, she guided her car into the tiny space next to it and cursed her brother for parking what had to be his latest toy in her space.
Jules looked at the for-sale sign again. She was surprised that the Lockwood boys would let the house go out of their family but, as she well knew, maintaining a residence the size of the houses on this estate cost an arm and a leg and a few internal organs. Jules shoved her fist into the space beneath her rib cage to ease the burn. She’d spent as much time in that house as she had her own, sneaking in and out of Noah’s bedroom. But that was back in the days when they were still friends, before he’d met Morgan and before he’d spoiled everything by kissing her senseless.
It had been a hell of a kiss and that was part of the problem. If it had been a run-of-the-mill, meh kiss, she could brush it aside, but it was still—aargh!—the kiss she measured all other kisses against. Passionate, sweet, tender, hot.
Pity it came courtesy of her onetime best friend and an all-around jerk.
Jules used her key to let herself into the empty house. It was still early, just past eight in the morning, but her siblings would’ve left for work hours ago. Thanks to efficient workmen and an easy client, her Napa Valley project had gone off without a hitch and as a result, she’d finished two weeks early, which was unexpectedly wonderful. Since winning Boston’s Most Exciting Interior Designer award five months ago, she’d been running from one project to another, constantly in demand. For the next few days, maybe a week, she could take it a little easier: sleep later, go home earlier, catch her breath. Chill.
God, she so needed to chill, to de-stress and to rest her overworked mind and body. Despite her business-class seat, she was stiff from her late-night cross-country flight. Jules pulled herself up the wooden stairs, instinctively missing the squeaky floorboards that used to tell a wide-awake parent, or curious sibling, she was taking an unauthorized leave from the house.
Parking her rolling suitcase outside her closed bedroom door, and knowing the house was empty, Jules headed for the family bathroom at the end of the hall, pulling her grubby silk T-shirt from her pants and up and over her head. Opening the door to the bathroom, she tossed the shirt toward the laundry hamper in the corner and stepped into the bathroom.
Hot steam slapped her in the face. A second later she registered the heavy and familiar beat of the powerful shower in the corner of the room. Whipping around and expecting to see Darby or DJ, her mouth fell open at the—God, let’s call it what it was—vision standing in the glass enclosure.
Six feet four inches of tanned skin gliding over defined muscles, hair slicked off an angles-and-planes face, brown eyes flecked with gold. A wide chest, lightly dusted with blond hair and a hard, ridged stomach. Sexy hip muscles that drew the eye down to a thatch of darker hair and a, frankly, impressive package. A package that was growing with every breath he took.
Noah...
God, Noah was back and he was standing in her shower looking like Michelangelo’s David on a very, very good day.
Jules lifted her eyes to his face and the desire in his gaze caused her breath to hitch and all the moisture in her mouth to disappear. Jules swallowed, willed her feet to move but they remained glued to the tiled floor. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All she wanted to do was touch. Since that was out of the question—God, she hadn’t seen him in ten years, she couldn’t just jump him!—she just looked, allowing her eyes to feast.
Noah. God. In her bathroom. Naked.
Without dropping his eyes from hers, Noah switched off the water and pushed his hair off his face. Opening the door to the shower cubicle, he stepped out onto the mat and placed his hands on his narrow hips. Jules dropped her gaze and, yep, much bigger than before. Strong, hard...
Were either of them ever going to speak, to turn away, to break this crazy, passion-saturated atmosphere? What was wrong with them?
Jules was trying to talk her feet into moving when Noah stepped up to her and placed a wet hand on her cheek, his thumb sliding across her lower lip. He smelled of soap and shampoo and hot, aroused male. Lust, as hot and thick as warm molasses, slid into her veins and pooled between her legs. Keeping her hands at her sides, she looked up at Noah, conscious of his erection brushing the bare skin above the waistband of her pants, her nipples stretching the fabric of her lace bra.
Noah just stared at her, the gold flecks in his eyes bright with desire, and then his mouth, that sexy, sexy mouth, dropped onto hers. His hands slid over her bare waist and down her butt, pulling her into his wet, hard body. Jules gasped as his tongue flicked between the seam of her lips and she opened up with no thought of resistance.
It was an exaggerated version of the kiss they’d shared so long ago. This was a kiss on steroids, bold, hotter and wetter than before. Noah’s arms were stronger, his mouth more demanding, his intent clear. His hand moved across her skin with confidence and control, settling on her right breast. He pulled down the cup of her bra, and then her breast was pressed into his palm, skin on skin. She whimpered and Noah growled, his thumb teasing her nipple with rough, sexy strokes.
Jules lifted her hands to touch him, wanting to feel those ridges of his stomach on her fingertips, wrap her hand around his—
Holy crap! What the hell? Jules jerked away from him, lifting her hands up when he stepped toward her, intent on picking up where they left off.
Jules slapped her open hand against his still-wet chest and pushed him back. Furious now, she glared up at him. “What the hell, Lockwood? You do not walk back into my life and start kissing me without a damn word! Did you really think that we would end up naked on the bathroom floor?”
“I’m already naked.” Noah looked down at her flushed chest, her pointed nipples and her wet-from-his-kiss mouth. “And, yeah, it definitely looked and felt like we were heading in that direction.”
Jules opened her mouth to blast him and, flummoxed, couldn’t find the words. “I—You—Crap!”
Noah reached behind her for a towel and slowly, oh, so slowly, wrapped it around his hips. He had the balls to smile and Jules wanted to slap him silly. “So, how much does it suck to know that the attraction hasn’t faded?”
Jules glared at him, muttered a low curse and turned on her heel and walked toward the open door.
“Jules?”
Jules took her time turning around. “What?”
Noah grinned, his big arms folded across his chest. “Hi. Good to see you.”
Jules did her goldfish impression again and, shaking her head, headed to her bedroom. Had that really happened? Was she hallucinating? Jules looked down and saw that the fabric of her bra was wet, water droplets covered her shoulders and ran down her stomach.
Nope, she wasn’t dreaming the sexiest dream ever. Noah was back and this was her life.
* * *
So this was her punishment for finishing a project early?
Unfair, Universe. Because all she wanted to do was catch a plane back to Napa Valley and Jules hunted for a reason to return to the project she’d just wrapped up. Jules ran through her mental checklist and, dammit, she’d definitely covered all her bases. The workmanship was exemplary, the client was ecstatic and his check was in the bank. There wasn’t the smallest reason to haul her butt out of this house and fly back to California.
Balls!
After three months in California she’d desperately wanted to come home, to unpack the boxes stacked against the wall and to catch up with Darby and DJ, her best friends but also her business partners. Darby, her twin, was Winston and Brogan’s architect. Jules was the interior designer, and DJ managed the business end of their design and decor company. She spoke to both of them numerous times a day but she wanted to hug them, to be a part of their early-morning meetings instead of Skyping in, to share an icy bottle of wine at the end of the day.
Jules scowled. It was very damn interesting to note that during any one of those many daily conversations one of them could’ve told her that Noah was back in Boston.
Five words, not difficult. “Noah is back in Boston.”
Or even better: “Noah is back in Boston, living in our house.”
He was tall and built and it wasn’t like they could’ve missed him!
Jules sat down on the edge of her bed, her feet bouncing off something unfamiliar. Looking down, she saw a pair of men’s flat-heeled, size thirteen boots. Lifting her head, she looked around her bedroom. A man’s shirt lay over the back of her red-and-white-checked chair, a leather wallet and a phone were on her dressing table. No doubt Noah’s clothes were in her closet, too. Noah was not only back in her life, he’d moved into her bedroom and, literally, into her bed.
Jules frantically pushed the buttons on her phone, cursing when neither Darby nor DJ answered her call. She left less-than-happy messages on their voice mails and she was about to call Levi—who hadn’t shared the news either—when her phone vibrated with an incoming call.
“Mom, guess what I found in the house when I got home a little while ago?” Jules asked, super sarcastic. “Guess you didn’t know that Noah was home either, huh?”
“Damn, you found him.”
In the shower, gloriously, wonderfully naked. Spectacularly naked and I must’ve looked at him like I wanted to eat him up like ice cream because, before saying a damn word, he kissed the hell out of me. “Yeah, I found Noah.”
“I told your siblings to tell you,” Callie said.
Hearing a noise coming from her mom’s phone, Jules frowned. “Where are you?”
“At a delightful coffee shop that’s just opened up next to the gym at LCC,” Callie replied. “Amazing ambience and delicious coffee—”
“And the owner is really good-looking!” A deep voice floated over the phone and was quickly followed by Callie’s flirty laugh. Wait...what? Her mom was flirting?
“Is he?” Jules asked, intrigued enough to briefly change the subject.
“Is he what?” Callie replied, playing dumb.
Really, they were going to play this game? “Good-looking, Mom.”
“I suppose so. But too young and too fit for me.”
“I’ll admit to the fit but not to the too young. What’s ten years?” the cheerful voice boomed. “Tell your mom to accept a date from me!”
Well, go, Mom! Despite her annoyance at her family in general, Jules laughed, listening as her mom shushed the man. “Maybe you should take the guy up on his offer. Might be fun.”
“I’m not discussing him with you, Jules,” Callie said, and Jules was sure she could hear her blushing.
Since Callie normally shared everything with her daughters, Jules knew this man had her unflappable mom more flustered than she cared to admit. Now, that was interesting. Before Jules could interrogate her further, Callie spoke. “So, how do you feel about Noah being back in Boston?”
Sidewinded. Horny. Crazy. Flabbergasted.
Not wanting her mom to know how deeply she was affected by this news—hell, the world was Jell-O beneath her feet—Jules let out an exasperated laugh. “It’s not a big deal, Mom. Noah is entitled to come home.”
“Oh, please, you’ve been dreading this day for years.”
Jules stared down at the glossy wooden floors beneath her feet. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mother.”
“Jules, you’ve been terrified of this day because you’ll no longer be able to leave your relationship with Noah in limbo. Seeing him again either means cutting him out of your life for good or forgiving him.”
“There’s nothing to forgive him for.” Okay, she had a couple of minor issues with that gorgeous, six-foot-plus slab of defined muscles. Things like him getting engaged to a woman he didn’t love and kissing her on New Year’s Eve while he was engaged. And then for remaining engaged to Morgan, disappearing from her life without an explanation—she was still furious that he dropped out of college without finishing his degree—and not trying to reconnect with her when he and Morgan had finally called it quits.
In the space of seven years, the two men she loved the most, her best friend and her dad, had dropped out of her life without rhyme, reason or explanation. Her dad had been healthy, too healthy to be taken by a massive heart attack but that was exactly what happened.
Jules doubted there was a reasonable explanation for Noah abandoning her and their lifelong friendship, for not being there at her dad’s funeral to hold her hand through the grief.
Okay, maybe that last one wasn’t fair; Noah had been in the middle of his last race as a professional sailor at the time.
“No more coffee for me, Mason,” Callie said, snapping Jules out of her wayward thoughts.
She grabbed her mom’s words like a lifeline. “Mason is a nice name. Is he hot? If he’s too young for you, can I meet him?”
“He’s far too old for you and not your type.” Well, that was a quick reply...and a tad snappy. Did her mom have the hots for Coffee Guy? And why not? It was time she started living for herself again.
“I don’t have a type, Mom,” Jules replied, and she didn’t. She dated men of all types and ethnicities but none of them stuck. She didn’t need a psych degree to know that losing the two men she loved and trusted the most turned her into a card-carrying, picket-sign-holding commitment-phobe.
“Of course you do—your type is blond and brown-eyed and has a body that would make Michelangelo weep.”
She hadn’t said anything about Michelangelo, had she? How did her mom know that? “Why do you say that?”
“I’m old, not dead, Jules. The boy is gorgeous.”
Noah, wet and naked, flashed behind her eyes. Goddammit. Like she needed reminding.
“You need to deal with him, Jules. This situation needs to be resolved.”
Why? Noah had made his feelings about her perfectly clear when he dropped out of her life. She’d received nothing from him but the occasional group email he sent to the whole clan, telling them about his racing and, after he retired from sailing, his yacht design business. He didn’t mention anything personal, instead sharing his witty and perceptive observations about the places he visited and the people he met.
His news was interesting but told Jules nothing about his thoughts and feelings and, once having had access to both, she wasn’t willing to settle for so little, so she never bothered to reply. For someone who’d had as much of his soul as he could give, she’d needed more, dammit...
“Mom. God, just butt out, okay?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone but Jules ignored it, knowing that it was her mom’s way of showing her disapproval. “Mom, the silent treatment won’t work. This is between Noah and me. Stay out of it.”
Jules rubbed the back of her neck, feeling guilty at snapping. Her mother had mastered the art of nagging by remaining utterly silent. How did she do that? How?
“Mom, I know you love me but I need you to trust me to do what’s best with regard to Noah.” Not that she had any bright ideas except to avoid him.
“The problem, my darling, is that you and Noah are so damn pigheaded! Sort it out, Jules. I am done with this cold war.”
Jules heard the click that told her Callie had disconnected the call and stared at her phone, bemused. Her mom rarely sounded rattled and considered hanging up to be the height of rudeness. But as much as she loved her mother, she was an adult and had to run her life as she saw fit. That meant leaving her relationship with Noah in the past, where it belonged.
Jules looked up, waited for the lightning strike—her mom, she was convinced, had a direct line to God—and when she remained unfried, she sighed. What to do?
Her first instinct was to run...
Jules heard the bathroom door open and, hearing Noah’s footsteps, headed down the hallway in her direction, flew to her feet. Grabbing her bag off the bed, she pulled it over her shoulder and hurried to the door. She pulled it open and nearly plowed into Noah, still bare-chested, still with only a towel around his waist. Do not look down, do not get distracted. Just push past him and leave...
“I’m going out, but by the time I return, I want you and your stuff out of my room,” Jules stated in the firmest voice she could find.
“Levi said that you were away for another two weeks. He insisted I stay here when he picked me up from the airport yesterday. I’ll find a hotel room or bunk on the Resilience.”
His forty-foot turn-of-the-century monohull that he kept berthed at the marina. The yacht, commissioned by his great-great-grandfather was his favorite possession. It was small but luxurious, and Noah would always choose sleeping on the Resilience over a hotel.
“How long are you staying?” She needed to know when her life was going to go back to normal. With a date and a time, the Jell-O would, hopefully, solidify into hard earth.
“I’m not sure. A month? Maybe two?”
Great. She was in for four to eight weeks of crazy. Like her life wasn’t busy and stressful enough. Jules rubbed her forehead with her fingers. God, she did not need to deal with this now. Today. Ever. Seeing him created a soup of emotion, sour and sticky. Lust, grief, hurt, disappointment, passion...
All she wanted to do was step into his arms and tell him that she’d missed him so damn much, missed the boy who’d known her so well. That she wanted to know, in a carnal way, the man he was now.
Jules shook her head and pushed past him, almost running to the stairs. Sort it out, Mom?
Much, much easier said than done.
Two (#u692d7f81-9592-5d24-82dd-0b56e45100ff)
Callie...
After a brief and tense conversation with Levi, Callie dropped her forehead to the table and banged her head on the smooth surface. Levi reluctantly admitted to her that none of them told Jules that Noah was back. Nor had they informed her that Noah was sleeping in Jules’s bedroom at her old house.
Really, and these people called themselves adults?
Aargh!
The whisper of a broad hand skated over her hair and she lifted her head a half inch off the table to glare at Mason. With his dark brown hair showing little gray, barely any lines around his denim-blue eyes and his still-hard body, the owner of the new coffee shop looked closer to forty than to the forty-five he claimed to be. Yes, he was sexy. Yes, he was charming, but why, oh, why—in a room filled with so many good-looking women, most of them younger, slimmer and prettier than her—was he paying her any attention?
Mason slid a latte under her nose and took the empty seat across from her. Callie glared at him, annoyed that he made her feel so flustered. And, holy cupcakes, was that lust curling low in her now-useless womb? “Did I invite you to sit down?”
“Don’t be snippy,” Mason said, resting his ropy, muscled forearms on the table. “What’s the matter?”
Callie thought about blowing his question off but suddenly she wanted to speak to someone with no connection to her annoying clan. “I’m arguing with my daughter.” Callie sipped her coffee and eyed Mason over her mug. Because his expression, encouraging her to confide in him, scared her, she backtracked.
“She asked if you were good-looking, whether she could meet you. She’s gorgeous, tall, dark-haired with the most amazing light silver-blue eyes.”
“She sounds lovely but I have my heart set on dating a short, curvy blonde.”
Callie looked around, wondering who he was talking about. His low, growly laugh pulled her eyes back to his amused face. “You, you twit. I want to take you on a date.”
“I thought you were joking.”
“Nope. Deadly serious.”
Okay, this was weird. He seemed nice and genuine, but what was his game? “You don’t want to date me, Mason.”
“I’ve been making up my own mind for a while now and you don’t get to tell me what I do and don’t want.” Mason’s tone was soft but Callie heard the steel in his voice and, dammit, that hard note just stoked that ember of lust. Man, it had been so long since she’d felt like this around a guy, she didn’t know what to say, how to act.
For the first time in thirty-plus years she wanted to kiss someone who wasn’t her husband, to explore another man’s body. The problem was, while he was a fine specimen for his age, she was not. Her boobs sagged, she had a muffin top and lumpy thighs. Despite her wish for sex, a one-night stand, that was more hope than expectation. And if she found the courage to expose her very flawed body to a new man, he wouldn’t have the lean, muscled body of a competitive swimmer.
Mason made her feel insecure and, worse, old. There were, after all, ten years between them and, God, what a difference ten years could make. Age, the shape their bodies were in, and then there was the difference in their financial situations.
She was, not to exaggerate, filthy rich. Mason, she’d heard, was not. Did he know how wealthy she was? Was he looking for a, ugh, sugar mommy? What was his angle?
“Tell me about your daughter,” Mason said, leaning back in his chair.
Yeah, good plan. When he heard about her family he’d go running for the hills. “Which one? I have two by blood, one by love. I also have four sons, one by blood.”
Mason blinked, ran his hand over his face and Callie laughed at his surprise. “Do you have kids?”
“Two teenage boys, fifteen and seventeen.”
“My youngest, Ben, is twenty-eight,” Callie said, deliberately highlighting the differences in their ages again.
“You old crone.” Mason sighed, stood up and pushed his chair into the table. He placed one hand on the table, one on the back of her chair, and caged her in. His determined blue eyes drilled into hers. “You can keep fighting this, Callie, but you and I are going on a date.”
The Ping-Pong ball in her throat swelled and the air left the room. He was so close that Callie could see a small scar on his upper lip, taste his sweet, coffee-flavored breath.
“And while I’m here, I might as well tell you that you and I are also going to get naked. At some point, I’m going to make you mine.”
Callie was annoyed when tears burned, furious when her heart rate accelerated. “I’m not... I can’t... I’m not ready.”
Mason’s steady expression didn’t change. “I didn’t say it was going to be today, Callie. But one day you will be ready and—” he lifted his hands to mimic an explosion “—boom.”
Boom. Really? Callie blinked away her tears and straightened her spine. “Seriously? Does that work on other women?”
“Dunno, since you’re the only one I’ve ever said it to.” Mason bent down to drop a kiss into her hair. “Start getting used to the idea, Cal. Oh, and butt out of your kids’ lives. At twenty-eight and older, they can make their own decisions.”
Callie scowled at his bare back as he walked away from her. Really! Who was he to tell her how to interact with her children? And how dare he tell her that he was going to take her to bed? Did he really think that he could make a statement like that and she’d roll over and whimper her delight? He was an arrogant know-it-all with the confidence of a Hollywood A-lister.
But he also, she noticed, had a very fine butt. A butt she wouldn’t mind feeling under her hands.
Noah...
Noah would’ve preferred to meet with Paris Barrow at her office—did the multidivorced, once-widowed socialite have an office?—but Paris insisted on meeting for a drink at April, a Charles Street bar. Hopefully, since it was late afternoon, the bar would be quiet and he could pin Paris down to some specifics with regard to the design of her yacht. Engine capacity, size, whether she wanted a monohull or a catamaran. He had to have some place to start. Oh, and getting her to sign a damn contract would be nice—at least he would be getting paid for the work he was doing.
But Paris, he decided after couple of frustrating conversations, had the attention span of a gnat...
Noah pushed his way into the bar. Another slick bar in another rich city; he’d seen many of them over the years. Looking around, he saw that his client had yet to arrive, and after ordering a beer, he slid onto a banquette, dropping his folder on the bench beside him.
It was his second full day back in Boston and, in some ways it felt like he’d never left. After being kicked out of the Brogan house by his favorite pain in the ass, he spent last night on the Resilience and his brothers and Levi had each brought a six-pack. They’d steadily made their way through the beers while sitting on the teak deck, their legs dangling off the side of the yacht. No one had mentioned his abrupt departure from the house and he was glad. The last thing he wanted to discuss was Jules and the past.
Noah murmured his thanks when the waitress put his beer in front of him. Taking a sip, he wished he could make the memory of Jules standing in the bathroom, looking dazed and turned on, disappear as easily as he did this beer. He’d heard the door open and turned and there she was, shirtless in the bathroom, a wet dream fantasy in full Technicolor. Her hair was around her shoulders, her slim body curvier than before, her surprisingly plump breasts covered by a pale pink lace bra. He’d immediately noticed the darker pink of her pert nipples and her flushed skin.
Then he’d made the mistake of meeting her eyes.
Noah shifted in his chair, his junk swelling at the memory. Emotions had slid in and out of her eyes; there was surprise and shock, and it was obvious that nobody had told her that he was back in town. But those emotions quickly died and he’d caught the hint of hurt before appreciation—and, yeah, flat-out furious lust—took over. Her eyes had traced his body and he knew exactly what she was thinking, because, God, he’d been thinking it, too.
He wanted her...his hands on her long, slim body, his mouth on her lips, her skin, on her secret, make-her-scream places. Whatever they started with that one kiss so long ago hadn’t died. It had been slumbering for the past ten years.
Well, it was back, wide-awake and roaring and clawing...
The impulse to kiss her, to taste her again had been overwhelming, so he had. And it was as good—no, freakin’ spectacular—as he thought it could be. He’d thought about dragging her back into the shower, stripping her under the water and taking her up against the tile wall. He still wanted to do that more than he wanted to breathe.
He was so screwed...
“Noah? Noah?”
Noah jerked himself out of his reverie and looked up into Paris’s merry blue eyes, her face devoid of lines. Standing up—hoping he wouldn’t embarrass himself—he took her outstretched hand. She looked damn good for someone in her sixties, thanks to the marvel of modern plastic surgery.
Paris sat down opposite him and put her designer bag on the table. She ordered a martini, and after the smallest of small talk, she leaned back against the banquette, eyeing him. “So, I understand that you were once engaged to Morgan Blake.”
Oh, Jesus. Noah kept his face blank and waited for her to continue. “I told her that you were designing a yacht for me—”
“Well, technically I’m not. Yet,” Noah clarified. “You haven’t signed the contract, nor have you paid me my deposit, so right now we’re still negotiating.”
Paris wrinkled her nose before opening her bag and pulling out a leather case. She flipped it open and Noah saw that it was a checkbook. Paris found a pen and lifted her eyebrows. Noah gave her the figure, his heart racing as she wrote out the check. Taking it, he tucked it into his shirt pocket before withdrawing a contract from his folder. Paris signed it with a flourish and tossed her gold pen onto the table. One payment down and he’d receive the bulk of the money when she approved his final design. “Now, can we talk about Morgan?”
“No.”
Paris pouted. “Why not?”
“Because we need to talk about hulls and engines and square feet and water displacement. I’m designing the yacht, but I do need some input from you,” Noah said, his voice calm but firm.
Paris looked bored. “Just design me a fantastic yacht within the budget I gave you. I hear that you are ridiculously talented and wonderfully creative. Design me a vessel that will make people drool. I don’t want to be bothered by the details.”
The perfect scenario, Noah thought, pleased. There was nothing better than getting a green light to do what he wanted. He just hoped that Paris wouldn’t change her mind down the track and morph into a nitpicking, demanding, micromanaging client. But if she did, he would handle her.
Noah handed Paris her copy of the contract, wincing when she folded it into an uneven square and shoved it into the side pocket of her bag. She drained her martini and signaled the waitress for another. “So, about Morgan.”
God. Really? “Paris, I don’t feel comfortable discussing this with you. You’re my client.”
Paris waved his measured words away. “Oh, please! I’m an absolute romantic and a terrible meddler. I nose around in everyone’s business. You’ll get used to it.”
He most definitely would not. “There is no Morgan, Paris. That ended a long, long time ago.”
“Oh, I got the impression she’d like to pick up where you left off.”
Okay, it was way past time to shut this down. “Yeah, my girlfriend might object to that.”
Paris’s eyes gleamed with interest. “You have a girlfriend? Who is she?”
He could’ve mentioned Jenna in Cape Town or Yolande in London, who were both beautiful and accomplished good friends he occasionally slept with. But another name popped out of his mouth, thanks, he was sure, to a hot encounter in a bathroom yesterday morning. “Jules Brogan.”
Paris’s eyes widened with delight. “I know Jules. She decorated my vacation house in Hyannis Port.”
Oh, crap! Crap, crap, crap.
“She was named Boston’s Most Exciting Interior Designer a few months back.”
She was? Why had he not heard about that? Probably the same reason the family hadn’t told Jules about his return. They didn’t discuss either of them ever.
“She’s your girlfriend?”
“We’ve known each other for a long time.” That, at least, was the truth.
Paris’s pink mouth widened into a huge smile. “She can do the interior decoration for my yacht. Aren’t you supposed to give me an idea of the interior when you present the final design?”
Oh, hell, he didn’t like this. At all. “Yes. But I have my team of decorators I normally work with in London,” Noah stated, wondering how this conversation had veered so off track. Oh, right, maybe because he lied?
“I want Jules,” Paris said, looking stubborn. Her face hardened and Noah caught a glimpse of a woman who always got what she wanted. “Do not make me tear up that contract and ask for my check back, Noah.”
Je-sus. Noah rubbed the back of his neck. She would do exactly as she said. Paris wanted what she wanted and expected to get it. No did not feature in her vocabulary.
Noah leaned back, sighed and eyed his pain-in-the-ass client. “You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?” he asked, resigned.
Paris’s expression lightened. “Oh, honey, you have no idea. So, what should I tell Morgan?”
Noah groaned and ordered a double whiskey.
Jules...
Jules heard the muted sound coming from her phone and, without looking at the screen, silenced the alert. Eight thirty in the morning and today was, Jules squinted at the bottom right corner of her computer, Thursday. The only way to stop thinking about Noah, and his wet, naked, ripped body, and the fact that he was back in her orbit, was to go back to work. Instead of taking the break she needed, she slid right back into sixteen-hour days and creating long and detailed schedules so that nothing slipped through the cracks.
Jules moved her mouse and today’s to-do list appeared on her monitor.
The reminder of her 9:00 a.m. meeting with the girls was followed by a list of her appointments with clients, suppliers and craftspeople. Her last appointment was at five thirty, and then she had to hustle to make her appointment with her beautician, Dana, for an eyebrow shape and a bikini wax. She was not going to dwell on the fact that the bikini wax was a last-minute request.
It had nothing to do with looking good for a brown-eyed blond.
You keep telling yourself that, sweet pea.
Jules reached for her cup of now-cold coffee and pulled a face when the icy liquid hit the back of her throat. Yuck. Resisting the urge to wipe her tongue on the sleeve of her white button-down shirt, she pushed back her chair. Her phone released the discreet trill of an incoming call and Jules frowned down at the screen, not recognizing the number. As early as it was, she couldn’t ignore the call; too many of her clients and suppliers had this number and she needed to be available to anybody at any time.
“Jules.”
She recognized his voice instantly, the way he said her name, the familiar tone sliding over her skin. “Noah.”
There had been a time when she’d laugh with excitement to get a call from him, when her heart would swell from just hearing his voice. But those were childish reactions and she was no longer the child who’d hero-worshipped Noah, or the teenager who’d thought the sun rose and set with him. He was no longer her best friend, the person she could say anything to, the one person who seemed to get her on a deeper level than even her twin did.
“What do you want, Lockwood?”
“We need to talk.”
“Exactly what I said to you ten years ago,” Jules said, wincing at the bitterness in her voice. After their kiss, he’d avoided her, ducked her calls. She hadn’t suspected he was leaving until he came by her mom’s house one evening to say goodbye. The kiss was never mentioned. When she asked to speak to him privately he’d refused, explaining that he didn’t have time, that there was nothing to discuss. He and Morgan were still engaged. He was dropping out of college. He was going sailing. He didn’t know how often he would be in contact.
Please don’t worry about him. He’d be fine.
She’d been so damn happy to receive his first email, had soaked up his news, happy to know that he was safe and leading the race. He’d spoken about the brilliant sunsets, a pod of southern right whales, a squall they’d encountered that day, the lack of winds the next. Reading his words made her feel like they were connected again, that their relationship could be salvaged...
Then she noticed the email was sent to a group and that her mom, her siblings, his siblings, plus a few of his college buds, received the same message. Jules never received a personalized email, nor did she receive one of his infrequent calls back home. She’d been relegated to the periphery of his life and it stung like a band of fire ants walking over her skin. She still didn’t understand how someone who meant everything to her had vanished like he was never part of her life at all.
“There’s nothing to say, Noah. Too much water under the hull and all that. We’re adults. We can be civil in company, but let’s not try and resurrect something that is very definitely over.”
“Oh, it’s not over, Jules. We’re just starting a new chapter of a yet-unwritten book,” Noah replied softly. Then his voice strengthened and turned businesslike. “I do need to talk to you—I need to hire you.”
Jules dropped her phone, stared at the screen and shook her head. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Speaking of work, I’m late for a meeting.”
“Do not hang up on me, Ju—”
Jules pressed the red phone icon on her screen and tossed the device onto her messy desk. Work with him? Seriously? Not in this lifetime.
* * *
The display room of Winston and Brogan doubled as a conference room, and most mornings Jules, Darby and DJ started their day with a touch-base meeting, drinking their coffee as the early-morning Charles Street pedestrians passed by their enormous window. Jules sat down on a porcelain-blue-and-white-striped chair and thought that it was time to redesign their showroom. It was small, but it was the first impression clients received when they walked through the door, and it was time for something new, fresh.
“Creams or blush or jewel colors?” Jules threw the question into the silence before taking a sip of her caramel latte.
Darby didn’t look up from her phone. “Jewel colors. Let’s make this place pop.”
“Whatever you two think is best,” DJ replied, as she always did. Jules smiled, her friend was a whiz with money but, unlike her and Darby, she didn’t have a creative bone in her body. They made an effective team. Darby designed buildings. Jules decorated them, and DJ managed their money.
The fact that they worked so well together was the main reason their full house design firm was one of the best in the city. Oh, they fought... They’d known each other all of their lives and they knew exactly what buttons to push to get a nuclear reaction. But they never fought dirty and none of them held grudges. Well, she would if they allowed her to, which they never did.
Darby crossed her legs and Jules admired the spiky heel dangling off her foot. The shoe was a perfect shade of nude with a heart-shaped peep toe. So, she’d be borrowing those soon. Hell, they’d shared the same womb, sharing clothes was a given.
“Tina Harper, she was at college with us, is pregnant. Four months.” Darby looked up from her cell and Jules noticed that her smile was forced. Her heart contracted, knowing that under that brave face her sister ached for what could not be. When they were teenagers, Darby was told that, thanks to chronic endometriosis, the chances of her conceiving a child were slim to none. Closer to none... It was her greatest wish to be a mama, with or without a man. And the way their love lives were progressing, it would probably be without one.
“Didn’t she date Ben?” DJ asked.
Darby shrugged. “God, I don’t know. At one point, Ben had a revolving door to his bedroom.”
“Ben still has a revolving door to his bedroom,” Jules pointed out, thinking of the youngest Lockwood brother. He was probably the best-looking of the three gorgeous Lockwood boys and he was never short of a date or five. She could say the same for her brother, Levi, and Eli and, she assumed, Noah.
Noah. Jules sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. As always, just thinking his name dropped her stomach to the floor, caused her heart to bounce off her rib cage. Remembering their half-naked kiss threatened to stop her heart altogether.
“So, how does it feel having Noah back?” DJ asked.
“He’s back in your life, not mine,” Jules replied, trying to sound casual.
She’d been interrogated by every member of her family so they could find out what had caused the cold war between her and Noah. Her stock answer, “We just drifted apart,” resulted in rolling eyes and disbelieving snorts but she never elaborated. They periodically still asked her for an explanation. She knew Noah was staying mum because a) Noah wasn’t the type to dish, and b) if he had, then the news would’ve spread like wildfire. The Brogan/Lockwood clan was not known for discretion. Or keeping good gossip to themselves.
Sometimes she was tempted to tell them that she and Noah had shared some blisteringly hot kisses just to see the expression on their faces. But then the questions would follow... Why hadn’t they explored that attraction? Why couldn’t they get past it?
It was a question that, when she allowed it to, kept her up at night. Why hadn’t they dealt with the situation, addressed the belly dancing elephant in the room?
Ah, maybe it was because, shortly after kissing her ten years back, Noah flew Morgan to Vegas to, she assumed, celebrate their engagement. Their kiss, him dropping out of college, his engagement, him turning pro... He’d made every decision without asking her opinion. Okay, she understood that he wasn’t obliged to check in with her but she had run everything past him and he did talk to her about his dreams, his plans. That Christmas season, Noah had clammed up and it felt like twenty-plus years of friendship had meant nothing to him...
That he and Morgan never married wasn’t a surprise, nor was it a consolation. He’d wasted two years of his time, his money and attention on Morgan, but it was his time and money to waste. Still, Jules couldn’t help feeling that his engagement was a big “up yours” to their newly discovered attraction. His lack of communication, blasé explanations and his lack of effort to maintain their friendship had severed their connection. Because she would never be able to fully trust him again, they could never be friends again.
And being lovers was out of the question. That required an even deeper level of trust she was incapable of feeling.
“Did you date anyone in California?” Darby asked her, pulling her attention off the past.
She had actually. “Mmm.”
“Really? And...?” Darby asked, intrigued.
“Two dates and I called it quits. Since we live on opposite sides of the country, there was no point.”
She always gave guys two dates to make an impression before she moved on, thinking that dating was stressful and who got anything right the first date? If they had potential, she extended the period, making sure that hands and mouths stayed out of the equation. Not many made it to twelve weeks and most of those didn’t pass her was-he-a-better-kisser-than-Noah? test. Actually, none of them were better kissers, but the two who came close made it into her bed. One lasted another few weeks; the other went back to his ex-girlfriend.
She hadn’t had a relationship that went beyond four months since college...and at nearly thirty she’d only had three lovers. How sad was that?
Yet, she continued to date, thinking that one day she’d find someone who made her forget about that nuclear hot kiss on a snowy evening so damn long ago. She had to find someone. There was no way she’d allow her best sexual memory to be of Noah Lockwood...ten years or four days ago.
“Maybe I should go back on Tinder,” Jules mused, mostly to herself. But at the thought, her heart backed into the corner of her chest, comprehensively horrified. She didn’t blame it, meeting guys on the internet was a crappy way to find love. Or to find a date with a reasonably normal man.
“Oh, come on,” DJ retorted, calling her bluff. “Psychos, weirdos and losers. You don’t need any of that.”
“Says the girl who has sex on a semiregular basis,” Jules murmured. Since college, DJ had an on-off relationship with Matt, a human rights lawyer, who dropped in and out of her life. It was all about convenience, DJ blithely informed them, and about great sex with a guy she liked and respected.
Jules wanted one of those.
“Please stay off the net, Jules,” Darby begged. “You are a magnet for crazies.”
Jules couldn’t argue the point. All she wanted was to meet guys like her brother and Eli and Ben. Despite their grasshopper mentality when it came to women, the three of them—even, dammit, Noah—were interesting, smart, driven and successful men. They were honest and trustworthy—well, three out of four were—and she wanted a man like them and her dad. Was she asking too much? Were her brother and her friends the last good men left in Boston? And if she found that elusive man, would she ever be able to trust him not to hurt her long enough for her to fall in love? Or would her fear send her running?
DJ gently kicked her shin with the toe of her shoe and Jules blinked, lifting a shoulder at DJ’s scowl. “What?”
“Why don’t you take a break from dating for a while, Jules? You’ve been scraping the barrel lately. Whatever you are looking for, you’re not finding.”
Darby tipped her head. “What are you looking for?”
Jules stared out of the window. I’m looking for a guy who makes me feel as alive as I do when Noah kisses me. I’m looking for a guy who will make me stop thinking about him, stop missing him, who will fill the hole he left in my life. I’m looking for someone who will make me feel the same way I did during that bold, bright moment the other day. Noah can’t be the only man who can make me feel intensely alive... That would be cruel. No, there is someone else out there. There has to be...
Noah was the only man who made her explore the outer edges of love and despair, attraction and loathing. Kissing Noah made her feel sexy and feminine and powerful beyond measure. But his actions when they were younger made her feel insignificant and irrelevant. He’d hurtled her from nirvana into a hell she hadn’t been prepared for.
He’d dismissed her opinions, ignored her counsel, and those actions she could, maybe, forgive. But she’d never forgive him for destroying their friendship, for flicking her out of his life like she was a piece of filthy gum stuck to his shoe.
DJ clapped her hands, signaling that she was moving into work mode. Jules forced herself to think business. She had designs to draw up for a revamp to a historic bed-and-breakfast, craftspeople to meet to finalize the furnishings for a bar in Back Bay. Maybe she should stop dating for a while and immerse herself in work. They had enough of it to keep them all busy for months, if not years.
“Profit and loss, expense reports... I need your receipts,” DJ said, and Jules wrinkled her nose. “I need the cost estimates on the Duncan job.”
“Ack,” Jules said. She loved designing but hated the paperwork it generated. “Deadline?”
“Yesterday.”
“Hard-ass,” Jules muttered.
“I am,” DJ replied, not at all insulted. “That’s why we are in the black, darling. It’s all me.”
Darby and Jules laughed, knowing that DJ was joking. They were a team and each of them was an essential cog in the wheel. As always, they were stronger together.
Darby looked at her watch and stood up, nearly six feet of tall grace. Jules looked out of the window and lifted her hand to wave at Dani, the personal assistant they shared, Merry, their shop floor assistant and their two interns.
Her smiled faded when she saw who was standing behind them, six feet four inches of muscle wearing chinos, a blue oxford shirt and a darker blue jacket. His wavy hair was cut short and, like always, he was days beyond shaving that dark blond scruff off his face.
Through the display window, his eyes met hers and her stomach contracted, her heart flip-flopped and all the moisture in her mouth disappeared.
It seemed that Noah did indeed intend to talk.
Three (#u692d7f81-9592-5d24-82dd-0b56e45100ff)
Jules...
Jules shoved her hands under her thighs and tingles ran up and down her spinal column. Darby and DJ turned in their seats to see who’d captured her attention and immediately jumped to their feet, their beautiful faces showing their delight at seeing him. Noah was, always had been, one of their favorite people.
Kisses and hugs were exchanged and while her sisters—one by blood and the other of the heart—and Noah did a quick catch-up, Jules allowed her eyes the rare pleasure to roam. Tall, broad, blond, hot...all the adjectives had been used in various ways to describe him, and Noah was all of those things. But Jules, because she’d once known him so well, could look beneath the hot, sexy veneer.
There were fine lines around those startling eyes and a tiny frown pulled his thick sandy brows together. He was smiling but it wasn’t the open, sunny smile from their childhoods, the one that could knock out nuclear reactors with one blinding flash. The muscles in his neck were tense and under the blond scruff, his jaw was rock hard.
Noah was not a happy camper.
Noah stepped away from Darby and DJ and their eyes met, the power of a thousand unsaid words flowing between them. Noah pushed back his navy jacket and jammed his hands into the pockets of his stone-colored pants, rocking on his feet. His eyes left hers, dropped to her mouth, down to her chest, over her hips and slowly meandered their way back up. Every inch he covered sent heat and lust coursing through her system, reminding her with crystal clear certainty what being held by him, kissed by him was like. Suddenly, she was eighteen again and willing to follow him wherever he led...
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