Rock Kiss 03 Rock Redemption(96)

Ten minutes into the show and there she was, lying in a dirty bed in a crack den, her face scarred by the pockmarks junkies created by digging into their skin, her hair matted and greasy. Her teeth, too, were yellow and cracked.

“Why would they spend all that time making a gorgeous woman look like a hard-core addict?” Noah muttered. “Why not just hire an actual junkie?”

“Watch, it’s a good episode.” It charted the descent of an Ivy League educated heiress into drug addiction and murder. “I get to be glamorous in some of the other shots, but I think I did my best work in the crack-den scenes.”

Noah watched quietly with her, and she could tell that despite his disdain for the show, he’d become hooked on the plot. Content and happy, she wasn’t prepared for him to suddenly jerk to his feet. Unbalanced, she braced one hand against the sofa cushion. “Noah?”

“I can’t watch this crap anymore,” he said and strode out.

Kit stared after him. She knew she should be hurt, but she was just confused. Sure, Blue Force was a spinoff of a spinoff, but it wasn’t trying to be anything but what it was—a quick police procedural that acted as brain candy after dinner. The writing was smart, plus the anchor cast had great chemistry. And it wasn’t as if Noah was a snob with this kind of stuff—she’d seen DVDs of action movies at his house, many of them far more cheesy than Blue Force.

Shrugging and deciding he was just in a mood for some reason, she returned her attention to the show but couldn’t focus, becoming more and more frustrated as the minutes passed. What was wrong with Noah, and why wouldn’t he talk to her?

Unable to let it go, she switched off the TV, then went looking for him. He was in the garden, beer in hand as he sat on the weathered wooden bench by the outdoor table. From the two other bottles lined up on the table, he’d started as soon as he left her. “Planning on getting blind drunk tonight?”

Looking up at her furious question, he laughed, but the sound held little humor. “This barely qualifies as alcohol.” He put the half-full third bottle on the table and got up. “What I’d like to do is get drunk on you.”

Frowning, she held her position just outside the doorway, not about to allow Noah St. John to intimidate her. “You’re drunk,” she said, putting a hand on his chest and pushing when he came too close.

“No, I’m not.” He backed her up against the house, placed his hands palms-down on either side of her shoulders. “You don’t hate the taste of beer, do you, Kit?”

“No, but—”

He kissed her.

Her parched, starving nerve endings shrieked to life. She’d dreamed of Noah’s touch for so long, and now he was finally, finally, touching her. He tasted of the crisp bite of beer and of Noah. Just Noah.

She had no defenses, no shields, no way to protect herself.

Fingers curling into his T-shirt, she rose toward him. He deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he fisted a hand tight in her hair… and a hint of reason infiltrated her mind. This was all too sudden, too fast, too aggressive.

Not romance.

Not passion.

Anger.

Lashes flicking up, she saw his eyes on her face. Flat. Remote. He wasn’t involved, she realized, her pleasure turning into this ugly coldness that made her feel dirty inside. He was kissing her, but he wasn’t the least bit involved. She could’ve been a mannequin for all he cared.

Tearing away from him, she wiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “Why would you do that?” she whispered, her entire body shaking. “Why would you hurt me that way?”

His eyes glittered. “You seemed to be having a good time.”

She wiped the back of her hand across her mouth a second time, bleeding inside. Enough, she thought. Enough.

He’d fucked another woman in front of her and she’d managed to forgive him, had given him another chance, but she wasn’t a self-flagellating doormat. “Get out,” she said quietly.





Chapter 30


“Since you’ve been drinking,” she added, “I’ll call you a car. But you will get out.”

His face was stone, eyes about as soft as concrete. “So that’s how hard you’ll fight for me?”

She trembled, her hand fisting. “How about you fight for me for once?”

Not giving him a chance to answer, she shook her head. “You don’t trust me with your secrets, you mess with my head, you make me feel ugly and unwanted, and you ask why I won’t fight for you?” Anger smashed into hurt, the jagged shards splintering through her. “Fuck. You.”

Noah’s face set into an impenetrable mask. It was the same look he’d given his parents at the charity gala.