The Sweet Talker (Boston Hawks Hockey #1) - Gina Azzi Page 0,48

shouldn’t have asked him.

Noah watches me for a long moment. “What’s this dinner you’ve got at work?”

“Oh, that.” I wrinkle my nose. “It’s just a department thing. Going to be boring but I have to make an appearance.”

“Of course.” Noah shifts his weight.

“I’d uh, I’d invite you but it’s Tuesday night,” I say finally.

Noah nods, sipping his wine. “I have an away game.”

“Yeah,” I say, both relieved and disappointed that Noah won’t be able to join me. On the one hand, it would be nice to finally have a date to one of these things. Instead of always being the usually lone single woman that all the divorced men feel the need to chat up. On the other hand, I’m not ready to mix my professional life with Noah. All the overlap of my circles causes anxiety to flare in my chest because this thing with Noah isn’t for forever. Deep down, I know that. I need to stick to what we agreed on. I drain my wine glass. “Shall we?” I tip my head toward the kitchen where my aunt is calling everyone to dinner.

Noah nods but his eyes are guarded, watching me with an edge of uncertainty I don’t like. Even if I put it there. Even if I need it there.

For the rest of the night, things between Noah and me feel off. I don’t know exactly what changed but I suddenly feel nervous around him and he seems guarded.

We keep shooting each other surreptitious glances that only heighten the anxiety I feel.

After dinner at my aunt’s, Noah and I head out at the same time.

“I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.” He pulls open the driver’s side door to my car.

“I know.”

He hesitates, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “If you want to come by…”

I swallow past the lump forming in my throat, unsure if he wants me to say yes or no. “Um, it’s going to be a busy week for me so…”

“I get it.” He nods.

“I mean, if I don’t come tonight, I won’t see you ‘til the weekend so,” I take a deep inhale, “I’d like to come.”

Relief streaks across his face and he smiles. It’s genuine and it eases some of the tightness in my chest. “Come.”

“Okay.” I smile back. “I’ll follow you.”

I trail Noah to his house and once we’re tucked inside the warmth of his brownstone some of the awkwardness from dinner evaporates.

“You want a drink?” he asks over his shoulder as I follow him into the kitchen.

“No, thanks.” I slide onto a barstool.

He fills a glass of water and downs it.

“What time is your flight tomorrow?” I ask, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of my sweater.

“Seven a.m.”

I whistle and he grins.

“So you’ve got a busy week?” He leans forward over the kitchen island and I try not to be distracted by the way his shoulders roll and bunch. All muscle. All of him. It’s unfair really; how could I not be distracted?

“Yep. Midterm exams before the students go home for Thanksgiving break, things to finalize for our research trip, and a holiday reception with the Political Science department.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Liar.”

Noah chuckles and tips his head toward the stairs.

I lead the way and he swats my ass as I scurry up the stairs.

Once I’m in his bedroom, I collapse in the center of his bed. Bracing my arms behind me, I gaze up at Noah as he enters the dark room and kicks the door closed behind him. The moonlight streams through the windows, casting shadows on his face.

He stares at me with an intensity I’m unprepared for. His eyes burn with emotions I don’t understand. “Indiana,” he murmurs my name, and it’s both a plea and a curse.

I drop to my elbows as he strides to the side of the bed. His frame hovers over mine, his eyes boring straight to my soul.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

He shakes his head and tugs off his shirt.

I inhale, watching as the moonlight ripples over his abdomen. He could be carved from marble, that’s how breathtaking he is. He’s art. His body is powerful, strong, and mesmerizing. Tenderness sweeps his expression and I gasp at the longing in his gaze. My elbows give out from underneath me and the back of my head hits his mattress. Noah climbs onto the bed and straddles me, careful to keep his weight from crushing me.

His teeth scrape over his bottom lip and he swears. “God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” His face hovers