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

too wired to give scotch another try right now.”

“I’m talking about espresso.” I nod towards the sitting thermos, planting the glass of black elixir in her hand. “Your little habit has shown me the dark side of caffeine.”

She wraps her hand around the slim coffee-filled champagne flute. “I was wrong about you,” she says, her eyes rising to mine.

I stare back. “You were?”

“You are a killer.” She lifts her small glass. “Because I know for a certainty that drinking any more of this stuff tonight is certainly going to jackhammer my pulse. My heart’s going to beat right out of my chest.”

“There are worse ways to go.”

I twirl the champagne glass in my hand.

I’d rather think of better ways to leave the world.

Like, with a copy of Salem’s Lot in my hands. Or my head between Little Bear’s legs.

And suddenly, the thought of the little thief beside me squeezed between me and my sheets, her eyes clenched tight, dance in front of eyes in a wicked daydream. Cries of anger and ecstasy at how much we want each other meld together in symphony, and with my teeth at her neck, hands on her body, I allow my Little Bear to come apart, orgasm right under my hands, before I do, too.

And it doesn’t make any sense.

I’ve never been stuck on women. Never had to be.

Bringing them to bed came as easy as breathing, and just like an exhale, they were gone as fast.

Except for this one.

Old habits die hard. And unfortunately, my cock right now is.

Tonight? I would focus on getting through the weekend while finding my father’s watch.

Because soon, I might have to work on saying goodbye.

Goodbye to my company. Goodbye to my old life.

Goodbye to bad habits in favor of better ones.

I pick up the glass of espresso and down the entire drink, for the first time not missing the scotch.

It’s been a long time but getting back in the saddle is just like riding a bike. At least it should be.

I may not get the sexy criminal beside me off, but I could get her out of my mind.

Escaping life’s bullshit between a woman’s legs was one of the few habits that’s ever felt natural.

But right now? I’ve got to be honest: Nothing does, since this ballsy brunette drop-kicked into my life.

Chapter 19

SOPHIA

The next day

Saturday afternoon

A chilled wind kicks up, ruffling my hair, and dark hair falls down my face in tendrils as I try to mentally pull myself straight, instantly needing another shot of life-giving espresso.

To deal with Noah Quinn, a man who takes his caffeine as seemingly black as his soul.

I can’t believe I’d once mistaken his intensity for warmth.

No one could fake that kind of passion. That kind of panty-incinerating stare.

Not after the night we’d spent together.

Not after taking that last tequila shot. Not after ending up in his king-sized bed, my hands tangled in his white sheets, fingernails sliding across his muscular back as…

Oh wait. That never happened.

Cocktail hour last night at the Quinn Estate was more like a meeting, a merger, instead of fun.

Noah introduced me to his family—his brothers Jase and Lachlan and the bride-to-be Mindy—with all the warmth of a man who radiates it. But the second we were alone, the silence was back.

Something was rolling around in that quiet mind of his, silently raging. But he wouldn’t let me in on it, shutting me off so much that I found myself sneaking off from the rest of the cocktail hour guests.

An urgent text message from Drew made me call, and after sneaking into one of the extravagant marbled bathrooms, I dialed his number, resisting the temptation to take a peek inside the linen closets.

My hand lingered around the doorknob of one until Drew picked up.

“Having fun on your weekend off work?” He drawled.

“As if every weekend isn’t that for you.” I leaned against the polished counters. “Any news? I got your text messages about red notices being placed on every apartment.”

“Nothing unusual,” my coworker panned. “Just the same old existential ones that plague every Manhattanite’s existence.” He exhales. “I found out what those red notices were all about. Turns out the building’s being sold.”

My brows twisted together on my face, I could feel them, and subconsciously, I straightened, my hands lightly patting over my gold cocktail dress.

“Our co-op’s being sold?” I blinked. “To who? And why didn’t our landlord Miss Meryl tell us?”

“Didn’t say,” he offered up. “But in my experience, a co-op being sold is never good. Usually means more expensive rent, higher maintenance fees.”

“Maybe.” I swallowed. “But how much worse could it get with wannabe-Disney villain Meryl the Mean Witch staring over our shoulders all the time?”

Drew’s voice was flat when he responded. “You’d be surprised.”

And then he was gone.

I shake off last night’s memories, pulling myself back into the present.

Getting dressed and ready for another day at “Billionaire Ranch,” I slip off to the attached bathroom as Noah wanders around God-knows-where.

Bright and early, Mr. Bubbly was missing from the bedroom’s side couch when I awoke. Slipping out of my clothes, I step into a waiting hot shower.

I try to keep my mind off Mr. Hot-Shot-in-a-Suit, a feat that’s almost impossible as I scrub.

Connecting with a man like a Noah was a mistake; connecting with him and his family for an entire weekend while the fate of my freedom hung in the balance?

Well, that was just freaking lunacy.

But that’s exactly what’s happening.

And all because of one little note. And a night that was still haunting me.

Spending several hours at The Alchemist the first evening, we shared laughs and stories, tales of tequila nights, and his favorite Stephen King stories.

At some point, I’d imagined it would be a night of meaningless sex. A normal one-night stand.

But then he settled those navy-colored eyes on me, setting every sense in my body on fire, and we connected.

Problem was…there was nothing normal about America’s newest import or the fiery look in his blue eyes.

If sex with him was