“I’ll pass that on to the cops,” Butch said.
Placing the bag beside him in front of the security screens, he quickly brought up the relevant footage. But no matter how carefully they examined it, no one appeared to drop anything into the backseat.
“It could’ve been done as you slowed down to turn into the gate, where the cameras don’t reach, or anywhere else you stopped—even at the traffic lights,” Butch said. “Remember that group of fans that congregated against the car to take photos? Plus you picked up coffee from a drive-through.” Butch’s expression was dark. “I clearly wasn’t watching closely enough.”
“It’s not your fault.” Kit touched his arm. “You were watching for physical threats, not this kind of cowardice.”
Noah looked at the video again, eyes narrowed. “I am never again driving the Mustang with the top down when I have you in the passenger seat.”
“Yes, you are.” Kit scowled at him. “Don’t let the creep get to you—that’s what he does.” Already he’d forced Kit into crushing debt. That, she hadn’t been able to avoid, but she wasn’t about to allow him to steal such small pleasures from her or Noah’s life.
“I’ll go help Casey with the sweep, make sure the bastard didn’t get in.” Butch picked up the paper bag. “And I’ll get this to the cops ASAP.”
Tugging her close after the bodyguard left, Noah held her with one arm, burying the fingers of his other hand in her hair. “That’s it. I’m never moving out.”
Kit smiled despite the circumstances. “Wait until I want you to watch Dancing with the Stars with me.”
“Oh Jesus, Dancing with the Stars? Really? I thought you were a football kind of woman.”
“I can like both.” Laughing at his expression, she said, “You hungry?”
“No, you?”
“No.” She tapped a finger on her lower lip. “Why don’t you go grab the rest of your stuff? It’s not like the paps are going to leave when it gets dark.”
Reaching out to tangle his fingers with her own, Noah said, “Want to come with?”
Kit’s pulse kicked. She had to fight to keep her voice from betraying what his invitation did to her. “Yes.”
Thanks to a traffic jam caused by a Mercedes that had rear-ended an Aston Martin, with both drivers deciding to be assholes about it, it took Noah forty minutes to get to his place. He’d already had stuff on the bus, as well as his instruments, and they’d all been shipped to Kit’s, but there were a few other things he needed.
“Sorry about the mess,” he said to the one woman who mattered. He still didn’t understand why it was so hard for him to have Kit here, but it was. Even now, after he’d specifically invited her to accompany him, his muscles were tight, his chest aching.
“It’s not as bad as I expected.” She stepped around a bunch of autobiographies he’d left stacked on the carpet beside the sofa, which faced the entertainment area. “I do think the mold in that takeout box is probably growing legs by now though.”
Picking up the box, he threw it at her. She caught it reflexively. “Ew!” But then she looked down, eyes going wide. “Hey! This is fake.”
“Abe gave it to me for my birthday. Since I live on takeout, he figured I should have an appropriate piece of art.”
“This is art?” Appearing dubious, she looked at it carefully from every angle before placing it on the coffee table. “I didn’t know Abe hated you.”
Grinning, he headed to the other end of the house to grab what he needed. His place was spread out all on one level, but it wasn’t open plan. He liked doors and walls, which was fucked-up, because he didn’t like being locked in. But if he had to be inside, he wanted it to be in small spaces where he could see everything at a glance.
His room in his parents’ home had been huge, a suite far too big for a small boy. Unlike Kit’s toy store of a room, his had been filled with educational items, charts, and books. He’d had his own desk and computer and a rotation of tutors who were on twenty-four-hour call should he have a question about the homework they’d assigned.
His father had him studying toward the SATs before he was five years old—and since study questions were the one time his father had all the time in the world for him, Noah had liked it. If things hadn’t gone to hell just over a year later, he’d probably have turned into a suit-and-tie-wearing robot like his old man. Christ.
As he chucked things into a duffel, he was aware of Kit moving around in the living area—and also aware that she hadn’t gone any deeper into the house. Respecting the boundaries he’d set… and that just felt weird. He’d never brought her here, but now that he had, he wanted her to feel at home. “Hey, Kit!”