Friendship On Fire

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

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.