Full House Seduction. A.C. ArthurЧитать онлайн книгу.
manager’s eye for detail meant she was prone to start fussing about wallpapers and paints and who knew what else, then Brock and this project were definitely in for a long summer.
“Hi. I’m Noelle Vincent. I think you’re expecting me.”
Brock heard the voice and snapped out of his reverie. He’d been so focused on his thoughts, so intent on what he didn’t want this manager from the west coast to do to his casino that he hadn’t even noticed the plane had landed. With a sharp movement he turned and was quickly face-to-face with her.
She’d extended her hand and was smiling up at him, obviously waiting for him to act or get lost. He chose the former and cleared his throat. “Yes. I’m Brock Remington,” he said, reaching to clasp her hand.
Damn, it was soft.
He’d been hoping that her million-watt smile and sparkling light brown eyes weren’t actually as attractive as he’d first thought. But coupled with her soft hands and that sweet buttermilk complexion, he was dead wrong. His earlier projection was now corrected—this was going to be a long, hot summer.
Chapter 2
“Nice to meet you, Brock. Linc told me a lot about you.” She adjusted her purse and a smaller bag on her right shoulder.
“Oh, really? I don’t even want to know the specifics.”
She laughed. Brock liked the sound.
Her hair, hanging just past her shoulders in three intriguing shades of brown, all intertwined to create its own enticing rainbow, slipped back, revealing a long slender neck. Brock’s entire body heated. Even living a solitary life he still made time to enjoy a woman on occasion and this was definitely a woman he could enjoy.
With that thought his brow furrowed and his hands slipped into his pockets. The last thing he should be thinking about was enjoying the woman he was supposed to work with. He cleared his throat. “We should get going.”
“Lead the way,” she said in a voice that was way too chipper for the way he was beginning to feel.
“Wow, it’s almost as warm here as it was back in Vegas,” Noelle said the moment they stepped outside of the small airport.
Brock walked a step or two in front of her, not intending to be rude, rather trying to keep his mind on business where it should be. Although not blood related, Brock was just as intense and notorious when it came to a good-looking woman as the rest of the Donovan men.
The sound of her voice growing louder clued him in to how ill mannered he must appear, and so he slowed down until she caught up. A breeze, warm and thick, sifted through the air. The scent of her perfume went right up into his nose and he sighed.
“My truck’s just over here,” he said, directing her toward the parking lot.
As she walked beside him he noticed how tall she was. At six feet two inches, the top of most female heads came midchest to Brock. Noelle, however, was at shoulder level, which was actually the perfect kissing height. The minute that thought crossed his mind, Brock knew he was doomed.
“It was ninety-three degrees when I left Vegas, with eighty-five percent humidity,” she was saying when Brock had to blink quickly and refocus once more.
Lifting a hand she pulled her hair together, then fanned the back of her neck. “What’s it here, about one hundred percent humidity? I thought that since you were close to the Chesapeake Bay, it would be much cooler.”
Brock took a deep breath, inhaling the sultry air of which she spoke. He needed to get a grip. She just stepped off the plane and was being nothing but cordial to him and here he was with the beginnings of sexual thoughts about a woman he’d known less than ten minutes.
“The evenings are cooler,” he added, quickly cringing inwardly because he felt his remark sounded idiotic. “Here we are.” Grateful, he unlocked the doors to his Ford F-350 truck and stood at the passenger side ready to help her up.
“Great ride,” she commented, and there was that smile again.
Brock felt it, as plainly as she felt the heat, that little tug in his gut as her mouth spread wide, her high cheekbones made even higher. And her eyes—he’d heard it said before that eyes sparkled, he’d even seen it written in the poetry he’d been forced to read in his literature class in college. Yet Brock had always found the euphemism sappy and unrealistic, until today. Until Noelle.
Damn, he’s uptight, Noelle thought the minute he slammed the door.
Pulling her seat belt over her chest and making it click, she shook her head. He was also fine as hell. Normally the rugged look wasn’t her preference, but then she’d never seen a man wear a pair of jeans the way Brock Remington did. He walked with a slow precision that put you in mind of hot summer days, winding porches with white wicker furniture and tall glasses of lemonade. With his tight ass and a slow eastern drawl she’d bet there were women lined up to date him.
Okay, calm down, that’s the absolute last thing she should be thinking.
Once inside he immediately started the truck and Noelle looked out the window, giving up on casual conversation. She’d broached the usual subject, the weather, and he’d just about brushed it off, opting for more clipped answers than actual participation. So if he wanted to be quiet, she could oblige. She had a lot of things going on in her life that could bear thinking over.
Not that she was a fan of giving her problems a lot of thought. Then again, the way she’d been dealing with things so far hadn’t proved successful, so why not go for the change now?
Surprise, surprise, what should be the first issue to come to mind? Luther Simmons. Now that was a chapter Noelle was glad she’d finally closed the book on. As hot and intense as their affair had been, its demise followed a similar suit. Luther had come into her life like a whirlwind. She’d met him one night at the casino, watched him lose a few grand at the blackjack table without breaking a sweat, then stopped by to speak to some of the regulars and ended up leaving the table with him. He’d waited for her to finish with her shift, at which time they’d shared her favorite cappuccino and chocolate chip cookies that evening at the restaurant.
She’d been instantly overwhelmed by his charm and his quick wit. Surely a man like this couldn’t be a free agent, Noelle distinctly remembered thinking. And yet the next evening when Luther showed up at the blackjack table once more she’d been elated to see him. The physical aspect of their relationship happened fast, too fast, and before she knew it she was spending all of her free time in Luther’s arms.
Finally, as were so many things in her life, her time with Luther became too good to be true. And before the end of the second month that they’d been together she found out he was married.
Leaving him alone had been a no-brainer at that point; unfortunately, Luther was the hard-headed type. For the next four weeks he’d bombarded her with phone calls and gifts and then the pop-ups at her job started. Afraid that Linc, or worse, Trent Donovan, the ex-Navy SEAL turned private investigator with a fuse as short as her baby finger, would find out, and on the advice of her friend, Karena, she’d obtained a restraining order. Somebody probably should have warned her that those pieces of paper were just about worthless when it came to a man like Luther.
He wasn’t your typical stalker in that he wasn’t slashing her tires or breaking into her house—which would have been almost suicidal, since she still lived with Jade and Linc. No, instead, Luther sent her text messages, e-mails and letters by mail, all asking her to give him another chance, to give their love another chance. Luther was definitely not a threat—he was what they called a lover, not a fighter. So in the twisted world of stalkers, Luther was very low on the totem pole and Noelle was not afraid of him.
What she was, however, was tired. Sick and tired, to be correct, of all the drama. It seemed as if her entire life had revolved around the word. Whether she was a magnet for it or somehow thrived from the chaos, it was always there.
She’d told