Safe in Noah's Arms Read online

  This man had her standing on shaky ground and she didn’t like it one bit. He must be dangerous in the courtroom.

  Expression neutral, he said, “My door is always open.”

  What did that mean?

  She’d met a lot of men in her life, but this man rattled her.

  She left his office unsure of herself. What had just happened? His door was always open? For advice? For dinner? For sex? For what?

  CHAPTER TEN

  NOAH GAVE MONICA the space she needed to grieve, or recover from shock, or whatever it was that she had to do. He could empathize, but this situation was so far beyond anything he’d ever experienced, he couldn’t fully comprehend what kind of havoc this would wreak in a person’s life.

  Day after day on the farm, he watched her grow a little stronger, become more herself again.

  A week later, she came to him one morning to talk, standing amid the soft drizzle of another rainy day.

  “Remember I mentioned the idea of fund-raising? Of putting on some kind of benefit?”

  “How could I forget? You were criticizing me for not doing enough for people.” He infused his tone with a smile so she would know he was joking. He’d long gotten over how miffed he’d been when she’d first taken him to task.

  The flush that spread across the top of her chest and into her throat fascinated him.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so harsh. I should have found a better way to offer criticism or advice.”

  “You were right, though. I need to find a way to do more.” Funny how hard it would have been for him to have said that to Monica a couple of short weeks ago. Now, it seemed easy, natural.

  Every day she spent on his farm, she became more a part of his team. He knew she wasn’t sleeping well because of the dark circles under her eyes, and yet still she showed up early every morning.

  After that day he’d delivered coffee and cinnamon buns to her apartment and then brought her out here to farm in the rain, Monica hadn’t wanted to talk about Marcie. And Noah let it go. It wasn’t his place to interfere.

  “What ideas have you come up with about fund-raising?”

  “I’ve been thinking the best thing would be to hold a really fun different kind of charity bash this August in Denver. I’ve put out feelers to the women my dad used to work with and they’re very excited.” He followed her to the storage shed.

  “Who are these women?”

  “Some are the wives of corporate giants. Some are corporate successes, women who’ve broken through the glass ceiling. One thing they have in common is a willingness to give back.”

  She handed him a couple of tools, grabbed some for herself and closed the shed door. She took a pair of gloves from her back pocket and slipped them on.

  “Imagine how incredible it would be if you had the cash to hire local students, or anyone who needed work, to harvest your crops and take them into Denver to the food bank and churches for distribution?”

  She grasped his good arm. The electricity of her excitement shot through him. “Imagine if you could hire people to help plant in the spring? With employees, you could plant even more fields, make more use of your acreage.”

  His dream. The level of her enthusiasm rubbed off on him. “Let’s rush through chores then sit with a coffee. We need to discuss details.”

  Later, seated at his kitchen table, he said, “You’ve obviously been thinking hard about this. Share.”

  “Originally I thought we should do a big gala dinner, but now I’m thinking something more rustic. Still posh, because we need to attract people with money. That’s the bottom line, Noah—you need money. And these women will help me set up the right guest list. But I’m also thinking we should do something different, something fun, that will raise awareness.”

  She leaned forward, cheeks pink with fire. That her passion was inflamed for his project was sexy as hell.

  “What’s your idea?”

  “How about a barbecue?”

  Deflated, he sat against the back of the kitchen chair. “That’s it? A barbecue?”

  Unfazed, she replied, “I realize it doesn’t sound like much, but have faith, Noah. I know what I’m doing.” She plunked her elbows onto the table and rested her jaw on her fists. “We could purchase a couple of cows from Robert Keil. Or is it steers? Bulls? Whatever. Anyway, we could give Robert an exceptional price. Our local butcher, Hiram, could slaughter and prepare the meat for us. We could ask Tonio’s to cater. And we could hire all of the local men and women who rely on our food to help Tonio’s prepare and transport their food and then cook it on location. We could hire a bunch of our local high school kids to serve and clean up afterward.”

  He sat stunned, not because of the grand breadth of her ideas, and not because of her boundless enthusiasm, but because of something she had inadvertently let slip. Our. She had called the food he grew on the farm our food. He didn’t know what it signified, but it stunned him.

  He reached across the table, cradled her face in the palm of his good hand and laid a big smacker on her lips. He’d meant to make it quick and fast, an impulse innocently gotten out of hand by desire for this woman and her passion for his passion.

  Once he began, though, the kiss became a different creature. He couldn’t make it fast, or quick, not when he’d wanted Monica for so long—not when he’d craved this for an eternity. So instead, he savored. He luxuriated in the warmth and moisture of her lips. And she let him!

  She opened to him slowly, almost shyly. Just another way for her to charm him.

  His tongue explored the textures of her mouth.

  He pulled away by increments and stared into the surprise in her blue eyes. Sunny skies had nothing on Monica’s pretty eyes. The skin of her cheeks was the softest fleece between his fingers. The flavor of her lips sweetened his. Lordy, lordy, lordy, he was a goner.

  “Sorry,” he whispered, dropping his arms. They were both standing up. When had that happened? “I couldn’t help myself.”

  She smiled, and again he sensed shyness. “May I take this to mean you like my ideas?”

  “I love your ideas. Let’s do it. Tell me what you need from me.”

  “At the moment, not much.” She sounded breathless. Had she been as affected as he’d been? “Once I talk to my dad I know he’ll help out for sure. It’s the kind of thing he enjoys doing. All I need you to do is keep doing the great stuff you do here.”

  She headed for the door, too quickly. “I’d better hustle or I’ll be late for work. Did you notice how good the beets are looking? They’re really coming along. The radishes, too. Maybe I didn’t kill too many of them.”

  She was babbling.

  Noah followed her outside. The heat of Monica’s pretty body suffused his senses. Curiosity burned inside of him. He’d smelled her perfume on her wrist before, but there had been that time on the ladder leading up to the attic when he could have sworn she’d sprayed her legs.

  The rainy day he’d taken her to the farm after learning about Marcie, her perfume had emanated from every part of her.

  Did she spray it on different parts of her body? If he didn’t find out where she had sprayed her perfume today, he would perish.

  He’d sensed it as an aura around her while he’d been kissing her. Where was it?

  With that rash but perfect kiss, everything had shifted. Now he wanted to know everything about her.

  Trying to appear nonchalant, he shuffled close to stand beside the goddess and drink in her heavenly aroma—God, when had he become so lame?

  On the front veranda, when she turned to him, her direct gaze dared him to pretend he hadn’t been trying to get close to her. She knew!

  Sheepish in his honesty, he declared, “Okay, I give up.”

  “Give up about what, Noah?”

&
nbsp; She was going to make him spell it out. He told her about the ladder, about how he suspected that she changed where she put her perfume each day.

  He spread his hands and must have looked enough like a poor bumbling fool for her pity, because she smiled, too sweetly to be a siren’s smile. And he knew that her perfume would draw him onto a whole host of rocky shoals and destroy the equilibrium he’d nurtured since the first time he’d ever laid eyes on Monica. Despite his best intentions, he asked, “Where did you spray it today?”

  She didn’t move and he wondered if he’d been too forward, but hell, he’d just kissed her and she hadn’t complained.

  She held out her arm. Her wrist? A bit pedestrian and done before, but hey, whatever.

  Then she surprised him by pulling up the long sleeve of her flowered blouse. Okay, not her wrist. She raised it higher. Aaah. The inside of her elbow. Ni-i-ice. But no. She pushed it even higher, to her underarm, then held out her arm and caressed the inside of her biceps, opposite her left breast.

  “Here,” she whispered. In that quiet, husky voice was the siren. To the horror of his crumbling equilibrium, Noah leaned in. Heaven. Ancient freaking womanly goddess. His discipline completely disappeared when his cheek touched her breast.

  He didn’t smell her arm. He licked it, with one long, languorous swipe of his tongue and she shivered. Her skin tasted like spring water and bluebells. Bluebells? Cripes, his brain was turning to mush. He didn’t care. He could rhapsodize about sirens and sipping from flowers all day.

  He broke. Grasping her by the back of her head, he kissed her deeply, ravenously slaking his thirst thoroughly this time. That kiss in the kitchen? An appetizer. An amuse-bouche. He wanted more. The whole enchilada. But nope. There would be no quenching here, because the longer he kissed her, the more he wanted. He could only try to quench, and then still crave.

  When at last he pulled away, he whispered, “Oranges.”

  She smiled and the clouds literally parted and the sun came out. Coincidence? He thought not. “Yes, Noah. I added just a hint of orange essential oil. Does it work?”

  He didn’t answer the question, caught by an observation. “You say my name a lot. Why?”

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes, shy again. Had Kayla Keil been right when she’d said that she’d sensed shyness in Monica all of those years ago? Today, it certainly seemed that way.

  “I like your name.” With her nail, she scraped a piece of peeling paint from one of the porch’s support posts. “It’s a good, strong name.”

  She liked his name? He liked the rosiness of her lips plumped by his kiss. Monica flummoxed him—she was calmly confident one minute and quietly bashful the next, but always reserved and cool.

  One day, he planned to break through that reserve. Sure he’d seen her cry, and she was passionate about her hobbies, but what would the cool princess be like in bed? Was she cool through and through?

  * * *

  MONICA WALKED TO her father’s house at lunchtime. It had been a long day, starting with those kisses from Noah this morning.

  She’d spent the rest of the morning trying to forget about them, which was about as easy as forgetting she had ten fingers and toes.

  What was she to make of his kisses, other than loving them?

  She touched her lips, imagining him doing it again. Like a giddy teenager, she’d been distracted for hours. A couple of times, she’d caught Olivia watching her strangely, only to realize the woman had spoken to her a number of times and she had neither heard nor responded. How embarrassing.

  Billy had been a big, sloppy kisser. Wet and enthusiastic. While Noah was passionate, he kissed with finesse. Wow, did he ever, as though concentrating all of his über-intensity in his lips. And fingers. And his one good arm. How could one arm hold her so tightly?

  She wanted more, but how to get it? She’d never been sexy. She didn’t know how to attract men.

  He seemed to like her perfume. She needed to ramp that up. Not that she had a goal. Not that she necessarily wanted Noah in her bed...

  Then why did just the thought of making love with Noah send her pulse skittering like fireflies trapped in a jar, and why did her knees turn to jelly when she imagined his long fingers on her bare skin?

  She stepped into her father’s house and called out to him. “Hey, Dad, are you home?” She hoped like crazy that he was alone.

  “In here.”

  She didn’t realize she’d been cringing, worried that he was drinking again. When she entered the living room, she found him in his favorite armchair reading the day’s paper. He looked more like himself, relaxed, happier. Well-groomed. Maybe things were working out with Marcie.

  The twinge of jealousy that cramped her stomach was beneath her so she ignored it.

  “Dad, I need to talk to you about something.”

  He set aside the paper. “Sit. Talk.”

  These men. Did they not know how to speak in full sentences?

  She told him about Noah’s need to feed the hungry, to keep food in the food bank and the food kitchens in Denver full. Then she outlined her plan for a gala barbecue.

  “You used to do these things all the time. What do you think? Could it work?”

  “Definitely. It’s a great idea, Monica.”

  “Could I count on you to be a supporter? Our first sponsor?”

  “Of course. I’ll hook you up with my network. What you really need are corporate sponsors. Let me talk to some of my buddies in Denver.”

  “You would do that, Dad?”

  A shaft of sunlight slanted through the window and across her father. Some of the tiredness that marred his face of late had abated, thank goodness. His eyes were clear. He hadn’t been drinking today.

  “Why would you think I wouldn’t help you?”

  Dare she express her concerns out loud? Would she be opening a Pandora’s box to not only acknowledge her feelings, but to also share them with her father? He watched her without blinking.

  “I thought that maybe now that Marcie was here, she might, sort of...” Why was this so hard? “I thought she might be replacing me in your affections.”

  The newspaper fell from his limp fingers to the floor. “How could you possibly think that? My heart isn’t that small. There’s room for both of you.”

  “I know. It’s just that you used to call me every day. You said you liked to touch base. You haven’t in more than a week.”

  “Haven’t I?” The question was disingenuous. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  “No, not since before Marcie arrived.”

  “He’s been spending time with me.” Marcie’s voice came from behind Monica, in the hall doorway. Monica turned around. How long had she been standing there?

  “That’s nice, Marcie.”

  “Yes, it is. I missed out on all of the years of his affection that you had.” A trace of bitterness tinged her voice. “Is it okay with you that he’s spending time with me?”

  “I need to clear the air. You seem to mistakenly believe that I don’t expect you to get to know your own father.” She approached Marcie. “You deserve every bit of attention and affection you missed as a child.”

  Monica worked hard to be as honest as possible. If she wasn’t, then the future would be bleak. She’d had time to think and had come to the conclusion that she didn’t want to live with this tension for years to come.

  “I’ll admit that I’m having trouble accepting your existence. Until a little while ago, I was an only child. Let’s get this straight, though. Despite a natural and understandable reluctance, I do want to get to know you.”

  Marcie looked like she released a breath she’d been holding.

  “O-kay. In that case, I will try to, um... I’m not sure how I’m supposed to deal with this,” Marcie said.

  �
�Me, either.” Monica smiled, perhaps not as broadly as she should, but she was trying. Turning to her dad, she said, “Dad, thanks for your help. I have to get back to work.”

  That evening in her own apartment, Monica started making phone calls. Olivia was on board with a small sponsorship. Maria loved the idea both of catering the barbecue and of hiring locals to help her cook and serve.

  On her lunch tomorrow, she’d call around Denver to get a license to hold an event in one of their parks. If that didn’t work out, maybe a corporate sponsor would let her use a parking lot. One way or another, she was getting this done.

  Late in the evening, Dad phoned, wanting to know when he could organize a dinner at the house for just the three of them, calling it a “family” dinner. Family. So strange. Begging off for a weeknight, saying she was too tired after work most days, she booked it for the following weekend. She needed time to build her defenses. She might have always dreamed about having a sibling, but the reality of one showing up out of the blue in adulthood was still too weird.

  “Marcie happened to overhear the stuff about your charity event,” her dad mentioned. “She’d like to be involved.”

  Oh. Did Monica want to get that close to her sister that quickly? Dad sounded hopeful, though.

  “Sure,” Monica said too brightly. “Maybe she would be willing to donate one or two of those fabulous pieces of silver jewelry she wears.”

  “I was thinking of a more substantial role than that.” Monica knew her dad well. Even across the phone lines, she could sense his frown.

  “Dad, this is my project that I’m doing for Noah.”

  “She’s your sister.”

  “I know that, but why should she be involved in this?”

  “Because it would be good for her. She can get to know people in town. You can introduce her around.”

  “I can do that just as easily without having to deal with her along with all of the other millions of details of the benefit.”

  “See? You could use her help with some of those details.”