The Longest Night

Bruce got up, looking to intimidate. “It’s not polite to easedrop, friend.”

Noah stood and went chest-to-chest with the guy. Bruce was big, but Noah was bigger. “I’m being plenty polite, considering. And don’t call me friend.”

That finally brought a reaction from Cassandra. She straightened, the chin lifted and the cold, dark eyes fixed on Bruce and Danny-boy. “Get away. Now.”

The men realized paradise was not the place for mortals and slunk back to the more earthly planes of the bar.

Noah, pleased to have finally gotten this rescue thing right, smiled and sat down, waiting for her word of gratitude.

“And you, too,” she said, not sounding thankful at all.

“Excuse me? I thought you would at least thank me?”

“Thank you. Now please leave.” She looked pale. Her sinful red lips were tightly pursed.

He wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet. “You know, I could have just left things alone, let those two jerks ply you with alcohol and then damn the consequences, but I chose to interfere. Do you understand? I chose to interfere for you. I thought you might care.”

The dark gaze lifted in his direction, but now her expression showed only fire. “You worried for no reason. No man takes advantage of me unless I want him to. I appreciate your interference, but I don’t need it. Go practice your knight-errant shtick someplace else.”

Now was the time to escape. Go away, Noah, you’re not invited here. In fact, he started to get up, but then he sat back down because he was curious. “Don’t you care?”

“About what?”

“The way people talk.”

She looked up, her eyes empty and still. “The only person I hear talking is you.”

Her complete isolation tugged at him. She looked so tough, so above everyone else. The goddess alone. Noah had always been surrounded by family, friends or by co-workers and had never stopped to wonder if he would like being alone. He didn’t think he would.

“Can I keep you company?”

She raised a brow. “The word no seems to be a word you don’t understand, so I’ll save my breath.”

“So…you’re friends with Beth?” he asked. He already knew the answer to his question, and he knew that she knew he knew the answer to it, but the ice caps in her eyes were shrinking so he pressed ahead—Titanic-style.

She nodded and Noah continued.

“She seems nice. I don’t know why she’s marrying Spencer, but there’s no accounting for taste.”

Hesitatingly, her lips curved up. It wasn’t much, but he labeled it progress. Soon, he’d have her right where he wanted her. It was only a matter of time.

“They get along well,” she said quietly.

“I guess,” he said as he studied her.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a headache and I need to say good-bye to the bride before they go. Then I’m sneaking out, as well.”

She was leaving?

She obviously hadn’t read his plan for this relationship.

Hell, most women in the great state of Illinois would fight for his company. Noah didn’t consider himself vain, just a realist. The Barclay name and the legendary bank accounts gave him an extra advantage that an ordinary man didn’t have. And the fact that he had a full head of hair didn’t hurt.

One thing his father had taught him about the Barclays: they always got what they wanted. Sometimes it took patience, sometimes it took money, sometimes it was a well-placed rumor and sometimes it was hard-earned luck. But they always got what they wanted, and Noah was a Barclay through and through. An easygoing smile could hide a lot.

“Go out with me,” he heard himself say.

“You told me you weren’t interested.”

“I lied.”

She studied her nails. “Lying will not score you points here.”

“You know, I thought you might have trouble with that.”

“Mr. Barclay, on any one night I have my pick of men to go out with—” Just then her cell phone rang. “Excuse me.”

She pursed her lips, this time completely on purpose, and laughed into the phone. He listened while she cooed over “Christoph.”

“Oh, honey, I can’t tonight. Got this wedding thing. After? No. I don’t do weddings well, so I think I’m heading home to wash the scent of honeysuckle and amore right off of me.

“Yes, alone,” she said in a throaty whisper designed to send Christoph into fantasyland.

He took the phone away and hung up on Christoph.

She wasn’t pleased. “That was rude.”

“That was a marvelous performance.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head and picked up her hand. Lovely skin. It was soft, her scarlet nails shone like water.

She started to pull her hand away, but he raised an eyebrow and her movements stilled.

“You don’t do weddings, huh?”

“Too much sugar makes me nauseous.”

“Go out with me.”

“I’m sorry, but I believe your exact words were, ‘You’re a nice girl, but not tonight.’”

“I don’t like being used,” he said resolutely. Of course, half a year without sex could melt the strongest resolution, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Six months ago, how much of the tartlet performance at the gala was for my benefit and how much of it was to piss off your old boyfriend?” he asked.