Crossing the Line: Without a Trace series, a contemporary erotic romance novel (6 page)

CHAPTER 6

IT’S ELEMENTARY, MY DEAR NOAH

I
don’t know the last time I slept so well. If I dreamed, I don’t remember it. I wake to an arm snaking around me, securing me against a warm body.

“Good morning.”

His velvet voice makes my toes curl. “Mm.” I relax against him, enjoying his warmth. His finger makes lazy circles around my nipple, and I turn my head as he leans down to kiss me.

“Can I talk you into some morning sex?”

I chuckle softly. “Depends on how much
talking
you do.”

He takes the hint.

Afterwards, we’re spooned together in my bed, enjoying the silence. His fingers interlock with mine, and he’s anchored me against him. What is this crazy emotional elation and hormonal overload that I’m experiencing? I know it’s not love—it’s way too soon for that. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

“As much as I want to stay here with you, I regretfully have a client appointment in a few hours. And I need to run home and change.” He drops a kiss on my shoulder, holding me tightly before shifting to get up.

I’m mildly alarmed that my brother might see him when he heads downstairs, but it’s barely eight in the morning. There’s no way Noah will stir before noon. At the door, Ian kisses me, slow and soft, and I melt yet again.

“You are turning into a habit, Ms. Storm,” Ian whispers against my mouth. “A very lovely habit.”

I laugh when he releases me, then pull him back into me, exploring his mouth with my own. “Hm. Well, there are worse habits I suppose.”

After he leaves, I manage a shower, and my stomach flutters every time I think about Ian’s smile and the feel of his skin. Holy shit. What is happening to me?

“You are entirely too sunshine-y happy this morning. Who pooped rainbows in your coffee?” Noah grumbles as I hand him a mug.

I can’t suppress a grin at his comment—it’s something our mother used to say. “Nothing. I’m just feeling productive today. I finished all of our receivables this morning and scheduled two more meet-and-greets. You, my darling brother, are Mr. Lazy Bones.”

He frowns into his coffee. “It was a crazy night.”

I stare at him, daring him to meet my gaze. “Uh-huh. Why’s that?”

He doesn’t look up—it’s our usual game. I play mother, and he gets to imitate a dejected college kid. “I hung out with Mark and Jamie. Damn, they haven’t slowed down a bit. I swear, Jamie can drink any man under the table.”

“Mm. Always could. Tell me you didn’t try to keep up with her.” I love my brother, but his drinking and bad boy behavior do wear thin after a while.

“God no. I’m smarter than that. But she’s…something. And I definitely had too much. I vaguely remember going home with someone—a brunette, I think. Phenomenal ass, I’m pretty sure. But then I woke up here, so I’m not sure how all of that happened.”

“Noah—”

He holds up a hand. “I don’t need the lecture. I’ll be more careful the next time.”

If there is one person who fires me up within seconds, it’s Noah. “Don’t you dare act impatient with me. Did you use protection last night? Do you know where you were?” I could wring his neck, I’m so mad. “This is dangerous.”

“I know,” he answers softly, his voice rasping with exhaustion. “It was stupid, Ella. I’m not arguing.”

“Then what are you doing? Why does there even need to be a next time? Why can’t you just have some fun with people without getting so drunk you can’t remember your own name?”

And as Noah always does, he makes me feel horrible for yelling at him. “I know, Ells. Believe me. I know I shouldn’t have done it. I won’t do it again.”

“And I’ve heard that somewhere before. Oh, right, the last time you did this. What is wrong with you? We have everything we’ve ever said we wanted: a good business, financial stability, and lives we get to determine. Why are you trying to screw it up?”

He doesn’t say anything. After a few beats, he shuffles out of the room. I hear the creaking of his desk chair as he sits. I want to follow him and lay into him more, but I root myself to the spot. My cheeks are flaming, my heart pounding, and my rage, which is usually pretty wrapped, could boil over at any moment.

I barely catch his next words, might have missed them if I’d made a noise. “We have what you wanted, Ella.”

I’m pretty sure the echo of my grinding teeth can be heard in the grave silence that follows. Between deep breaths, I remind myself that he’s my brother and I love him. Mostly so I don’t round the corner and throttle him. After biting my lip so hard I can taste blood, I take a few steps to the edge of the kitchen. He’s curled over, his elbows balanced on his knees, his mug held between pale, long fingers.

“That’s not fair, Noah. We both wanted this. We sat down, we drew out a business plan, we made decisions and investments based on our shared goals. I didn’t imagine all of that.” I keep my voice low, controlled.

He draws in a ragged breath before exhaling. “I know. And I know you stayed in the city for me.” He finally looks up, meets my eyes. “We both made choices to make each other happy, because no one else ever did that for us since Mom and Dad.” He looks down at his hand, the silver band on his middle finger our father’s wedding ring, just as I wear our mother’s. “I wanted to take theater, Ella, in college. That’s what I wanted to major in. But a business degree was more stable. So that’s what I did. You wanted to write, and you are a magnificent writer. So this business…it made sense, too. And it let me act, which I thought would be enough.” His eyes shine like mirrors, and I swear, I can see my heart breaking in them. “But it’s not what I wanted. Not really. And it’s my fault for agreeing to this. But I can’t help wanting more. You ask me why I go out all the time? Why I get so shit-faced, I can’t remember what happened? Because I live in a city of actors and artists, of people going after their dreams, and I sit behind a desk most days and put together numbers, and organize schedules, and bullshit with vendors to get the best prices.”

The lump in my throat forbids any response from me, but I can’t look away from him. To his credit, he flinches a bit, as though doing so since I can’t. “I’m not ungrateful. I appreciate everything we have. I wouldn’t change what we’ve done. But there’s still a kid inside me that wants nothing more than to be on stage. And right now, even though I know it’s unfair to you and what we’ve agreed to, I want nothing more than to quit and go after my dream. But I can’t do that—I won’t do that. And none of this is your fault. I’m not blaming you.”

I swallow hard, tears burning my eyes. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? Why didn’t you—” I break off, emotion choking my words.

“Ells, look at me.” He stands, but seems to question whether comforting me would be the right move. So he leans back against the desk instead. “You have been mom and dad to me since the day our parents died. You were there when our grandparents couldn’t be bothered to show up. Always. You were there.” His eyes are glassy too, and not just from the misery of his hangover. “I will never forget standing on stage my junior year, looking out in the audience, knowing that you were there, alone, just for me. No one else came. Just you.

“Do you really think I would walk away from something that could give you everything you’ve ever wanted? Elementary was a great idea, but it wasn’t mine. I know you think it was, because I mentioned it one time as a ‘hey, wouldn’t this be cool’ idea. But you’re the one who latched onto it and started making plans. This is what you
love.
And the adult in me doesn’t regret any of it. This has been amazing, and most days, I love what we do.”

The silence draws barriers between us, but I dare to cross them anyway. “But you still want to act. On the big stage. Not just living rooms.”

He sucks on his lower lip a moment. “Yeah, I do. And I know I’m good enough. Maybe not for Broadway or movies or anything. But I could do smaller stages, and I could definitely try for a traveling gig.” There’s a bit of dawn in his eyes, a glimmer in the shadows that lurk. Then it’s snuffed out. “But I won’t. Because we do this together. And Elementary’s growing like crazy.”

“And you hate it.”

“No, I don’t.” He digs his hands into his pockets, his dark hair falling over his face.

Normally, I’d tease him about needing a haircut, and it occurs to me that I’ve been more mom to him than sister and business partner. For better or worse, that was my role. And maybe…just maybe, I’ve played it for too long.

“I don’t hate what we do. I’m struggling because the dream I had as a child is dying. I’m committed to this, and now that it’s really taking off, the likelihood of me ever doing anything more with acting is waning. And in some ways, that’s fine.
I
think I’m good, but who knows? Maybe I’m crap.” He holds up a hand when I try to interject. “I know—I get told all the time that I’m amazing.
I know
. I already know what you’re going to say,” his gaze holds a spark of mirth, “’down the road, anything could happen.’ And you’re right. But the more successful Elementary gets, the more my dreams get crowded out. And I need to figure out a way to reframe my thinking perhaps, rather than avoid it by partying too hard.”

I’m not sure what to say. So I just nod my head and step away quietly, seeking the refuge of walls so I can release the emotion I don’t want him to see.

It’s an hour or more later when a knock vibrates my bedroom door.

“Since when do you knock?” I try for a playful tone, but fail. Not that it matters—Noah pushes the door open and slumps against the jamb.

“You going to spend the day in here?”

I look away, back down at the gift I made for Noah for his senior year.

He joins me on the bed and peers over my shoulder. “What’s this?”

“The scrapbook I made for you during your senior year of high school.”

He bumps his head with mine, then drops his chin on my shoulder. “I never saw this.” He reaches for a page, turning to yet another layout of photos. He stars in every one, from the age of six months to eighteen.

“I didn’t give it to you. I chickened out and bought you that leather jacket you wanted instead.” I tap a photo with a fingernail. “This was when you were summer stock, that summer that Grandpap got the job at the paper mill and would truck you along with him. Do you remember that?”

He snorts. “Um, yeah. It was the first and only time I saw a girl naked until I turned sixteen.”

“What? How did that happen?”

He shakes his head, his whiskers tickling my neck. “About the way you’d expect between two twelve year olds. A game of truth or dare gone very wrong—well, wrong for one of us.”

“The secrets you’ve kept from me,” I say with mock indignity, but the truth behind the words sucks the humor out.

He slips his arms around me, and I turn, nestling my forehead against his neck so I can hear the strong, steady thrum of his heartbeat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you give me that book?”

I jab him in the ribs with a finger, and he twitches. “You first.”

“Because as much as I’ve wanted to do other things, you know as well as I do, I don’t regulate myself very well. You’ve always saved me, Ells. And I think—beneath all the angst and ridiculousness that goes on in my head—I know that.”

“I don’t want you to be unhappy, Noah. Maybe we could find someone to replace you in the office? In a few months, we should be able to bring on someone part-time.”

He squeezes me tightly. “No. I may be struggling with accepting being an adult. But it doesn’t mean I don’t need to step up and act like one. Now, your turn. Why haven’t I ever seen this book?”

I inhale him, the familiar scent of laundry detergent and Noah settling my nerves. While the boy that was always shorter than me is long gone, the heart of him remains. “Because I made this book thinking that it would be a memory piece, you know? A way to document everything you’d done. But I realized, even when I was nineteen and still stupid, that it was a gift that I would want, but not something you would have valued at the time. The leather jacket, on the other hand—”

He releases me and chuckles. “That jacket saw a lot of action. Remember that redhead our freshman year—”

I clap my hand over his mouth. “I don’t want to know.”