The Note by Natalie Wrye (urban books to read .TXT) 📗

she couldn’t keep her hands to herself either. Sounds just like you.”

Noah goes silent, his searing gaze never letting up, and I close my eyes briefly, desperately gathering my scattering thoughts to form a sentence against the rising panic that is settling inside my overactive system. I lick my lips.

“If it helps, I had no idea how much the watch was.” My voice sinks to a whisper. “And neither did the pawnshop I sold it to.”

Noah’s eyes flutter closed, and he leans back, rotating to sit straight. His back is taut, his demeanor stone cold and anger radiates off the muscular body beneath his suit like an avalanche of ice. I say nothing.

Suddenly he speaks up. “I’ll tell you what…” He looks straight out the window, over the driver’s shoulder, his jaw ticking quietly. “If you promise to return the watch in the next day or so, we can forget this entire debacle never happened.”

My breath hitches in my throat, my tongue numb as I chance a glance at his face again. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He nods to himself. “And then I won’t have your arse thrown in jail.”

My heart stops. Every part of my body tightens at the thought of jail, the notion of going to prison pounding into my system like an unwelcome guest. I never considered this possibility.

I scratch out the single word. “Jail?”

Noah remains seated straight. “Yes, jail. That’s where robbers usually go when they’re caught. Robbers…like you, Sophia.”

I want to deny it. To argue against the label.

But he’s right.

I pretended I was normal. That I was beyond my past.

That I could forget.

And for a second, with a man like Noah showering me with his attention at a lonely bar, I imagined that I could.

That I could forget I was just some basic waitress, barely able to afford her rent, begging someone to buy her art.

Noah being back, for however long, in my life was just another reminder that I wasn’t. That I probably never will be.

And that prospect stings more than any insult, remark or label.

I sigh, sinking into the luxurious leather seat beneath me. I swallow. “Can I have some time to think about your little deal?” My words grow biting. “Or are you driving me to Manhattan County right now?”

A shadow of a smile pulls on Noah’s full lips. “No, I’m taking you home.”

I blink. “But the driver doesn’t know where I live…”

“Of course he does.” The shadow of a smile becomes full-fledged. “Nancy was kind enough to tell me where back at the gallery. So, Caesar knows exactly where you live…” He sits farther up, inclining closer to the driver’s front seat, and I remind myself to murder Nancy when I have the chance. “Don’t you, Caesar?”

“Sure I do, sir.”

My heart sinks into my stomach. The town car navigates through the slush, and several tense miles later, we arrive at the corner outside of my tiny Manhattan two-bedroom apartment.

I thank the driver quietly, opening the back door, ready to step out into the rain. Before Noah stops me.

His hand lands on mine in my lap, and a flame ignites inside my chest, threatening to consume. For a few emotion-filled seconds, nothing happens. He just stares.

His ocean deep eyes are searching as they scan my face, and the memory of his dark countenance above mine, scanning my body floods me with such embarrassment that I flush, hoping he can’t see the effect on me.

He shows no sign that he does. His voice is a hush across my skin.

“I have your note, Sophia. Don’t forget. And unless you return my watch to me, so will the police. And your boss, Nancy. And every newspaper that will listen in New York City. My thoughts?” His sapphire eyes darken. “It’s better in my hands than any of theirs.”

I lick my suddenly dry lips, needing the moisture now more than ever. “How do I find you?”

“I’ll come to you.” The words almost seem to have a hidden meaning, but then he backs off, sliding back into his own seat, his shoulders straight. “I’ll see you soon.”

Chapter 11

NOAH

I can’t sleep that night. I don’t even know why I try.

The second Caesar and I dropped Sophia off at her apartment, a flame ignited inside my body that won’t stop fucking burning.

By the time I make it to my apartment, I’m in full inferno mode. The smell of her lilac perfume is still on my clothes, and every time I close my eyes, I can see her in the red dress from the art auction, all slender taut skin and curves.

The skirt of that sexy number held a slit clear up to her thigh and every time she moved, every time she swayed or talked or nodded, I swear that slit slid up another inch until I could only think of what was underneath.

And the “underneath” is what I can’t get out of my head right now.

I plunk down on my bed’s edge, reaching for the nightstand. Removing my little black book for numbers of past flings, I start dialing the first one I can find. But that’s a bust.

I just need to get Sophia out of my head. She is a thief, not someone I need in my life even if we feel a spark.

It’s just that…a spark.

Except all the women I’ve known in New York are taken—married or crazy. Or maybe both.

By the time I’ve made it a quarter through my rolodex of numbers, I’m wiped…and out of luck. I fall back, still in my suit, the back of my head meeting the mattress with a thunk as I slam backwards on the black bed spread.

I glance up at the ceiling, taking in the cream paint, the coffered ceilings.

The smell of cedar and something indiscernible reaches my nostrils, and I inhale, relaxing for the first time all night.

Being back in my family-inherited apartment feels strangely good, despite it all.

Even with the city of New York staring at me from its steel heights