Yes, Mr. Van Der Wells (Not Another Billionaire Romance) (35 page)

Noah:
Muscles is jealous because he wants what isn’t his, and Q…well, he’s on point. Also, you’re definitely not mopping floors; you’re polishing my hardwood.

Me:
I am NOT ur gurl. And I am most definitely not polishing your hardwood!

Noah:
You’re not? Then what, pray tell, keeps my hardwood so smooth and, well, hard?

Me:
Ur disgustingly humongous ego?

Noah:
Hmm. Seems I’ve been overpaying you then…

Me:
I don’t want this laptop.

Noah:
You’re right. You don’t want it. You NEED it. Especially if you plan on getting that degree.

Me:
Noah!

Noah:
Have a meeting. Got to go. Mutton Curry for dinner, please.

Me:
Noah!

Bastard.

“That was Nate,” Gloriel tells me, even though I didn’t ask. “He wanted to know what time you’ll be back. I told him you’re sleeping over.”

I’m sprawled on my stomach on Gloriel’s carpet in her living room, the new laptop open in front of me as I type like mad on my philosophy paper that’s due tomorrow—I know I said I didn’t want the laptop, but really, typing on an unbroken keyboard and reading on an unsoiled screen is so much faster. “What did he say?”

Gloriel tucks her phone into the wide pocket of her apron. “That you shouldn’t miss training tomorrow.”

Like I missed it today
.

Once I was through preparing his stupid curry mutton, I’d stuck it in the oven, packed an overnight bag, and rang up Muscles to take me to Gloriel’s. And
oh Lorttt
, I won’t even comment on how awkwardly quiet that ride was. 

Nodding at Gloriel, I push thoughts of both men aside and resume working on my paper.

But I notice, after a full two minutes, that Gloriel hasn’t left the room. I glance up again and find she’s still standing there, watching me, a warm, motherly expression on her face. “You’re doing the right thing, Charlotte,” she speaks at last. “Focusing on school instead of… You are too young for what he wants. Live a little first. Graduate. Go to law school. Get that degree. Stay single for a few years. Just don’t…go
there
with him.”

Again, I nod and duck my head, but it’s perfunctory. Her advice is perfect. Aligns seamlessly with my own initial plans. But feelings, like the unexpected ones I have now, the ones I’m fighting now, the ones I’m running from, can be so powerful it’s as if they have physical arms, wrestling you to their ill, sweeping your feet from underneath you, making you
fall
, undermining you.

You know what you should do, what is right, what is prudent, but your emotion-controlled heart won’t let you.

I’m running now, barefoot, but I know it’s not long before I get wrestled to ground and eaten alive by these stupid and inconvenient feelings. 

My concentration is already shattered, so as Gloriel leaves the room I pick up my cell phone that I’d turned off hours ago in case Noah tried to call or text me.

Rolling over onto my back, I power it on. Notifications chime in a minute later. Missed calls from Noah and Kiera, along with a message from Kiera that just says “Hey.”

I message her back.

Me
: Muscles told me.

Kiera
: He did? Oh, thank God! One simple secret & it’s been KILLING me. U know I’m not good with those.

Me
: LOL. I know.

Kiera
: But y ask me not to tell u if he was just gonna tell u anyway?

Me
: Same thing I said.

Kiera
: He LIKES, likes u. He just made out with me like we’re in kindergarten or something.

Me
: I don’t think kindergartners “make out.” Share their PB&J sandwich? Yes. But even sharing a Capri Sun with 2 straws is too much.

Kiera:
?!?!?! Clearly u haven’t met the kiddies of today. But whatevs. U need to do something to repulse Muscles so I can get him and his hard muscles on top of me.

Me:
Think I already did that today. So u r in the clear :)

Kiera
: Best. Friend. Ever. Gonna call him now. Let u know if I get laid ;)

Laughing, I set the phone aside and resume working on my paper.

Kiera.

Horniest. Friend. Ever
.

My head is vibrating.

Wait, no, it’s my pillow.

Sleep submits to consciousness, and I blink awake, eyes adjusting to the darkness. I lie still and listen. Nope, it’s not my pillow. It’s the phone
under
my pillow.

Snaking my hand under the pillow for my phone, I squint at the screen. A groan leaves me when I see
“Mr. Van Der Wells
” flashing across the screen. I check the time. 1:18 AM. Seriously? What could he want at this ungodly hour?

I pause a second, my heart pounding with a thought. Trouble. Andrew. He’s abducted Noah and is calling me from his phone.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh Go—

‘
Just shut up and answer the damn phone, you idiot
,’ Rational Lotty snaps at me.

Reckless Lotty titters.

I hate the both of them.

Taking a deep breath, I answer the phone, bracing for the worst. “Noah?”

“I’m on the doorstep.”

I take a minute to process his words, then, “What?”

“I’m on the doorstep.” He hangs up.

Fumbling out of bed, I slip on my bed-slippers, tie a robe around me, and pad out of the guestroom. The house is dark and quiet, as most houses are at this hour, the tick-tick-tick of Gloriel’s antique owl clock the only sound echoing through the house.

At the front door, I go to turn the lock, but Rational Lotty cautions me to utilize the peephole. So, I tip up on my toes and press one eye to the peephole. And there is Noah, on the doorstep, just like he said, staring straight into the peephole with an arched brow. He knows I’m on the other side.

He doesn’t seem agitated, panicked, or worried, like something terrible has happened. So
why
is he here?

Annoyed, I turn the lock and swing open the door. “It’s your mother’s house. Don’t you have a key or something?”

As I snap this out at him, my eyes rove down and up the length of him. He’s wearing his pajamas, bed-loafers, a sleep tee, and a sleep robe knotted loosely at his narrow waist. Hair all rumpled and eyes a bit lazy, as though he:
A)
. Just woke up from a flailing nightmare, or
B).
Just gave a lucky woman amazing, thigh-squeezing, hair-gripping head. Mostly likely, this lucky woman was Sienna. I mean, hey, why not play while Lotty is away?

“Yes,” he affirms, “But I don’t want to come in inside.”

“Open your mouth.”

He pauses for a beat, frowns, looks from side to side, then asks, “What?”

“Open your mouth. I want to smell it.”

His eyebrows kiss the sky. “You want to
smell
my mouth?”

“Yes.”

He looks as if he’s about to ask me to expound on this, or maybe laugh at me, but then he thinks better of it and slowly opens his mouth.

I step forward, grab the lapels of his robe, yank him forward, and sniff. Nope. His mouth doesn’t smell like vagina. Smells a lot like vanilla, though, and a hint of alcohol.

As I release his lapel, he steps back, smiling. “What’s that about?”

My eyes flick to car waiting on the curb behind him, taillights on. “Oh, just checking for vagina breath.”

His smile falters, no longer amused. “You think I was sleeping with someone?”

“Nope. Eating someone.” I wrap my arms around myself, the chill of the night air biting into my bare legs. “What’s so important that you had to call me out of bed at one in the morning?”

“You didn’t smell my dick.”

My eyes snap up. “What?”

“I don’t eat every time I screw,” he deadpans. “So you should smell my dick instead.” As he says this, his hands are opening his robe and moving to his pajama bottoms. 

Appalled, I cover my eyes and a turn away. “Stop, you perverted jackass!”

A deep chuckle caresses me, and I peek through my fingers to see him retying his robe.

“Come on, Lotty, don’t tell me you’re cock-shy.”

Spinning back to him, I punch his arm. “I’m not ‘cock-shy,’ you turd. But we’re standing on your mother’s doorstep. Now,
why did you come here
?”

He shrugs, as if it’s simple and obvious. “I missed you at the apartment.”

My eyes circle the heavens. “Don’t tell me you’re catching Q’s monophobia.”

“Nah. I’m just Lotty sick.” He makes a mock sob sound in his throat, and coughs. “Help me.”

My heart is doing something in my chest. Something that feels warm and expanded and tingly and melty. “Get a vaccine.”

“Vaccines
prevent
. I’m already sick.”

I shake my head, but it’s mostly to block out Reckless and Rational Lotty who are dancing and shaking tambourines of happiness. “Seriously? You called me out of my bed to tell me you miss me. You couldn’t have sent a text?”

Taking a step into me, daring me to move back, he says, “Your bed is not in here. Your bed is in
our
apartment. And no, I didn’t just come to tell you I miss you; I came for medicine. I told you: I’m sick.”

My legs are no longer suffering from chill bites, because heat percolates me through and through, heartbeat uneven and unpredictable, my stomach coiling.

“What…What’s the medicine?”

Noah takes another predatory step into me, sealing the gap, and I’m forced to tilt my head back as he gazes down at me with raw, carnal hunger. “Your lips. Your tongue. The soft touch of your hands on my—”

“You’re asking me for a blow-job? On your mother’s doorstep?”

Noah folds his lips and watches me, his eyes smiling, glinting. As though he can’t hold back any longer, he breaks into a grin. “No, Lotty. I’m asking you for a
kiss
.”

“Oh,” I start to say, but before I can go any further, he holds my face between his warm palms, dips his head, fusing our lips. My hands reach up, gripping his biceps for balance. But as soon as I receive that balance, I go all in.
All in.

I let go and give in, getting swept up in a vortex of blazing passion and fervor. One hand moves from my face to my waist, pulling me flush against him, his arousal hard and tempting and pressing against my belly.

I slip my hands around his neck, fingers curling in his hair. The billionaire groans in my mouth, sending shivers down my spine, lust through my veins.

I want him. I want to devour him. Right here and now. My bud pulses with the reminder that I haven’t climaxed in days. And that’s a record because I’m fueled by my orgasms.

With one hand, I begin a caressing path down into the waistband of his pajama bottoms. But as soon as I get a sweet feel of his V, he swiftly catches my hand and parts from me.

“We can’t go that far. We’re on my mother’s doorstep, remember?”

“Then come inside,” I beg.