So Steady: Silver Daughters Ink, Book Two (Silver Daughters Ink Book Two) Page 9

  Something clattered downstairs and Nicole shoved him away. “We can’t! We shouldn’t! Not again!”

  She sounded so panicky, he laughed for what felt like the first time in ages. “Sorry, Nikki.”

  “Stop calling me Nikki!”

  “Sorry, Nicole.”

  “Screw you.” From the hot way she was looking up at him, he knew she wanted him to kiss her again. Normally he’d oblige but her sisters were way too fucking close. “My place?”

  She glanced nervously at the doorway. “Tonight?”

  He thought of Paula and her mystery meeting. “Tomorrow. I’ll have the place to myself.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do you live with—”

  “I have a roommate. Sort of. I’ll explain tomorrow.”

  “Oh my god, fine,” she said, then hesitated. “Are you going to meet up with Daniella?”

  Jesus Christ, she was cute. “You still jealous?”

  “No,” she said, practically green. She still had soap bubbles in her hair. He brushed them away, chest throbbing like he had a big internal bruise. “I’m not interested in Daniella.”

  “What about Kelly?” she shot back. “Or any of the other girls you’re sleeping with?”

  Unbidden, the truth came out of his mouth. “I’m only interested in one girl. She’s tall and pretty and she doesn’t know what she wants.”

  Nicole’s brows drew together, and he didn’t know if she was going to hit him, kiss him or cry. He held his breath and the front door creaked open, Tabby and Sam’s voices floating in.

  Nicole took a step back, her hands on her hips. “Text me your address. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She turned and strutted away, heels clicking on the hardwood floor. Noah felt that psychic lifting of hairs. None of his problems were solved and bigger ones were looming but right now he couldn’t bring himself to care. He turned back to the sink and kept washing.

  Chapter 8

  What did you wear to an interview with a possible biker? Pantsuit? Too formal. Tracksuit shorts? Too casual. Heels and a pencil skirt? Too work-y. And too sexy. Noah might get even more of the wrong idea.

  Nicole had laid out every piece of clothing she owned, sure that if she could just figure out what to wear, everything would take care of itself. The problem was, most of her stuff was still hanging in her walk-in wardrobe in Adelaide. She could borrow something from Sam. Dressing in her black skinny jeans and docs might make her feel a little tougher and Noah wasn’t attracted to—

  Nicole froze. How had she not considered this before? She whirled around and picked up her phone. Opening the notes app, she typed another question:

  34. Do you, or have you ever wanted to sleep with Sam? If so, am I a consolation prize now she’s with Scott?

  She nodded grimly then locked her phone. Whatever happened this evening, she was going to ask Noah everything she wanted to know. Which as of now was thirty-four separate things.

  She held up a baggy Panda t-shirt she’d brought to clean in. This would do. It would remind her she was going to him as a detective, as a journalist, as Miss freaking Fisher. She was not—not!—going to sleep with him. She put on the t-shirt and an old pair of denim shorts. Her phone vibrated and she looked down, expecting to see Noah’s address. It was a text from Aaron. ‘Call me.’

  Her finger hovered over the little phone icon, then she moved it away. They would have to talk eventually, but not right now. She needed her wits about her. Even though she and Aaron were over, and her sisters weren’t entitled to every detail of her life, she felt guilty about the kiss she and Noah shared in the kitchen. It was strange to feel guiltier about that, than him giving her an orgasm in his tattooing chair. But that had been panicked and purely sexual, the kiss on the other hand... it came loaded with implications.

  Nicole cupped the back of her neck, echoing the way he’d held her. The numbing bliss of it all had to be an exaggeration. It just couldn’t have felt that good. She stroked her palm across her right breast, feeling her nipple harden. He’d been so controlled, so comfortable giving her pleasure. She’d never been with a man who needed so little reassurance to make her feel good...

  Sam pushed open her door. “Knock, Knock. What are you up to?”

  Nicole tore her hands away from herself. “Nothing!”

  “Are you doing yourself standing up?”

  “No! God, you’re so gross!”

  Sam raised her hands. “It’s not an accusation. There’s nothing wrong with doing yourself.”

  Nicole shoved her feet into her runners. “I know! I got the same speech when we were kids.”

  “Yeah, that was brilliant of dad, wasn’t it? Girls never get told they should knock out a few solo runs before they have sex and it’s fucked.”

  Nicole didn’t say anything. She’d done time in therapy, dissecting what it meant to be a prude in a family of ‘live and let live’ hippies. Two years and five thousand dollars to learn what she already knew—her mother’s abandonment and Greyson’s carelessness had left her terrified of sex. And being terrified of sex was twenty times harder when you were surrounded by people who talked about sex as though it was Monopoly or something. But that was her problem, not something she had a right to burden the Tinder-happy population with.

  She tied her laces in triple knots. “Do you need something?” she asked Sam.

  “Nah, Scott and I are getting Vietnamese, do you want anything?”

  “No thanks, I’m going out.”

  Sam eyed her t-shirt and shorts. “Where?”

  “Coffee with Amberley,” Nicole lied. “From school, remember?”

  “No,” Sam said with the apathy she had for everyone they went to school with. “Are you wearing makeup?”

  Nicole touched her cheek. “No. Why, is it noticeable? Does it look bad?”

  “No. I’m just surprised. I haven’t seen you go out without makeup since…” Sam made a face. “Your whole adult life? And most of your teen years?”

  “It hasn’t been that long.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” Sam said, clearly not believing her. “What gives?”

  “I’m just trying to be more relaxed about the way I look.”

  The pride in Sam’s face was equal parts endearing and offensive. Was she really such a basket case? God, Sam didn’t even know she’d been debating lip injections. Or her plans to get rid of her tattoo. Nicole tugged her sleeve over her watch strap. “Okay, I should get going.”

  “To see Amberley?”

  Nicole couldn’t meet her twin’s eyes. “Yeah.”

  Sam frowned. “Nix, are you up to something?”

  Nicole hesitated. She could tell her sister she was going to see Noah, but that would mean unloading everything that had happened, and her suspicion Noah was a bikie. She loved Sam, but she got mad first and asked questions later—as her boyfriend could attest. When they were kids, Scott had accidentally gotten on Sam’s bad side and she’d built a website to auction off his virginity.

  Her phone vibrated and this time she knew it was Noah texting her his address. Her stomach squirmed like live snakes. “I’m not up to anything,” she told Sam. “Can I please borrow your car?”

  “Sure.” Sam still had a funny look on her face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Definitely. See you later.”

  Once she was safely in Sam’s car, Nicole checked the text. Noah’s address was 313 Sherbet Street, Brunswick. She typed the address into Google Maps, waited as it calculated the time it would take to drive there. One minute. Noah lived two streets over. How did none of them know that? She growled and opened the driver side door, before realising it would make Sam incredibly suspicious if she didn’t drive. Gritting her teeth, she started the engine.

  His place was an inoffensive two-story brick, not so different from her house. The garden surprised her with its pink and yellow roses and smooth green grass. Maybe he was renting off one of those old Italian guys who still showed up every week to mow? Or it was a decoy be
cause the house was full of goat skulls and inflatable sex dolls…

  She killed the ignition, rubbing her sweaty palms on her thighs. This would be over in an hour. She’d ask Noah her questions then get the heck out. She shoved the car door open and headed up the front path with what she hoped was an authoritative-yet-relaxed expression. It felt like her cheeks were set in concrete. She rapped on his door. There was no answer. She knocked harder. “Hello? It’s Nicole. DaSilva. From work.”

  God, why was she always saying ridiculous things around Noah? Why couldn’t she be quiet like he was? It made people give you way more intelligence credit. She heard footsteps pound toward her and swallowed, trying to rehydrate her tongue. Her whole body felt like it had dried out.

  Noah opened the door. As always, he was bigger than she remembered, tall and wide as a wall. The green of his eyes seemed darker, too, moss on a Nordic mountain. He looked at her, seeing in the way only he seemed to see her. Through and beyond in the way that made her face feel like a disguise. “Hey, Nikki.”

  “Hey.” She tugged at the sleeves of her hoodie. “Nice garden.”

  A curl of his lip. “You find the place okay?”

  “Ha-ha. I can’t believe you live so close to the studio. You could have said something.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Hmph.”

  He stepped aside, showing her a long cream-coloured hallway. Music was playing from somewhere, that thudding rap Noah liked. Trap music, maybe? Tabby would know.

  “Coming inside?” he asked.

  “If I did, where would I go?”

  “Down the hall and to the left. We’ll have a drink in the kitchen.”

  She licked her cracked lips. “Okay.”

  Noah Newcomb’s house was not only free of dead goats, but nice. As clean as her house, with the most gorgeous art on the walls. She stopped to examine a painting of a quince tree luxuriating in the afternoon sun, and Noah cleared his throat.

  She kept moving, turning left into the sweetest little kitchen she’d ever seen, with a big wooden countertop and herb pots everywhere. “Okay. Who owns this place?”

  “Me.” Noah strode toward the fancy stainless-steel fridge. “Pinot okay?”

  “Sure. Did your house come furnished?”

  He grinned. “You were expecting deer heads and grease on the walls, weren’t you?”

  “Umm…?”

  He pulled a green wine bottle from the fridge. “Not my style.”

  “How did this become your style?”

  “If you grew up where I did, you’d like nice things, too.”

  It was easily the most personal thing he’d ever told her. Nicole was bursting to ask for details, but sensed the time wasn’t right. She scanned the kitchen, taking in the shelves of brightly-coloured cookbooks and the pretty lighting. It was still bizarre to think this house was Noah’s.

  “When did you move in?”

  “Three years ago,” he said, collecting glasses from a kitchen cabinet. “Me and your dad fixed it up on weekends.”

  So, her dad had been here. She felt an unexpected throb of homesickness. Not for the house a couple of streets away, but her father. “That doesn’t surprise me. Dad loves fixing up houses. We used to want to get him on one of those renovation shows.”

  “He would have hated it.”

  She smiled, struck by how weird it was that the stranger getting her a drink knew her dad so well. “How did you…”

  The painting hanging over the dining table stopped her in her tracks. She moved closer to study the canvas. A tiny ship bobbed at the base of an enormous cliff, indigo waves surging around it, gushing veils of pearly foam. She wasn’t as artistically talented as the rest of her family, but she knew this was a beauty. The brushwork was flawless and the colours…you could practically feel the churning pressure of the sea, the frailty of the boat as it teetered on the verge of capsize.

  “Who did this?”

  No answer. She turned to see Noah pulling the cork from the pinot bottle, caution etched across his handsome-ugly face.

  “It’s yours! You paint?”

  Noah poured a huge quantity of pinot into a single wine glass. “Want ice?”

  “That quince tree in the hall, that’s yours too, isn’t it? Are they all yours? They’re amazing! Who taught you? Why doesn’t anyone else know you paint?”

  Noah brought the glass over. He gestured for her to sit below the painting and she did. He sat across from her and she noticed his cheeks were ruddy. Was he embarrassed? God, maybe he was. She accepted the wine and took a panic swallow. It was good, crisp and applish. “Thanks. And sorry for asking a million questions, but your work is beautiful.”

  The red on Noah’s cheeks darkened. “Thanks.”

  “How long have you been painting?”

  He shrugged. “Couple years?”

  “Did my dad teach you?”

  Noah smiled. “Nah. He bought me my first set of brushes, though.”

  Again, she wasn’t surprised. If there was one thing her dad liked more than tea and renovations, it was helping people find what they were good at. She glanced at the seascape. “I knew you’re a great tattooist, but these should be in galleries. You should be famous.”

  Noah shook his head. “I don’t want to sell them.”

  “Why not? Do you only want to paint for the love of it or something?”

  A pained expression crossed his face. “It’s…complicated.”

  More complicated than being a bikie’s son? she thought, but didn’t say anything.

  He had to be referring to his family history. The thought of asking him about his father, the bail jumper, sent prickles down her spine. Nervous, she took another sip of her wine. It occurred to her that Noah had pinot in his house. “Do you drink white?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you have it?”

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “For you. I figured you’d be nervous.”

  “I’m not nervous!”

  Noah raised a brow.

  “Okay, so maybe I’m a little nervous. Can you blame me?”

  “Nope. That’s what the wine’s for.”

  “Thanks,” she said and took a pointed sip. She was barely half a glass in but she already felt a little drunk on nerves and revelations. She squinted at her wine. “We should discuss things. I have a list of questions, you know. Thirty-four of them.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. About bikers and money and tattooing and lots of things.”

  Noah shifted forward. The chair creaked ominously, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Did you really wanna talk?”

  “Yes?”

  He stared intently at her. “Look at me and say it.”

  She tried, but the minute she met his gaze, heat flared in her middle. She buried her face in her wine. “I can’t. But I do want to talk.”

  “Nikki, it’s okay to be uncomfortable being alone with me.”

  She shouldn’t have liked the nickname, but she did. She liked the nickname and she liked the reassurance that came with it. “I’m not uncomfortable, I just don’t know what to do.”

  “Do you need to know?”

  It was a strange question, like a riddle. Did she need to know what to do? “Yes. Otherwise how would I make decisions about what comes next?”

  Noah didn’t say anything, but she could feel him thinking about the answer. She could ask what it was, but she had a feeling she didn’t want to know. Instead, she sipped her wine until she emptied the glass.

  “More?”

  “Do you want me to be drunk?”

  “I want you to be comfortable. Do you want to be drunk?”

  “A little bit,” she admitted. “I think I need to be for things to progress. Not heaps drunk, just…tipsy.”

  A small smile. “So get tipsy.”

  “Isn’t that going to be annoying for you? Waiting for me to get drunk enough to say things?”

  He shrugged his massive shoulders. “I’
ve got nowhere to be.”

  So, he refilled her glass and she drank. She drank and studied the ocean painting above him and thought about sex and love. Noah watched her, refilling her glass when she came close to the bottom. When she’d had almost three, her brain was buzzing as well as other, less savory places.

  His eyes, she thought. They’re like jade in the afternoon sun. And he lets me be quiet. He doesn’t fill up the silences because that’s easier. He just lets it all be. That’s so attractive. He’s so attractive.

  It was the first time she let herself admit it without a guilt chaser. She smiled at Noah and he smiled back. Then he reached out and brushed his hand against hers. Electricity zapped through her. She let it thrum for a second and then pulled away. “I don’t know why I want you. It doesn’t make sense.”

  He nodded, but something in the composition of his face changed.

  Nicole could have slapped herself. “I mean, you’re not my usual type. You’re attractive, obviously.”

  Noah’s brows shot up.

  “I mean, you must know that. Heaps of women are into you.”

  He said nothing.

  “Seriously,” she said, feeling like an idiot. “You’re huge, and you’re stoic which falls into that whole, you know, alpha thing. And you’re covered in tattoos and most of them are nice even though they’re old—which isn’t a diss, sleeves just all used to be horrible. Oh, and your eyes are pretty. Or handsome, or whatever it is you say when a man has pretty eyes.”

  The silence that followed this word-vomit was deafening. Nicole pressed her fingers to her face and when she had the courage to peer through them, Noah smiled a pirate smile at her. “Alpha?”

  “Shut up!”

  “And huge?”

  She swatted his arm. “Stop it!”

  “Pretty eyes?”

  “Leave me alone!”