But she’d gotten between him and some mighty bad damned memories. Victoria had just become another casualty in the war with himself.
And that wasn’t fair.
He spun around, the water dripping from his hands onto the checkerboard tile. “I’m sorry. I—”
What could he tell her? That he’d let down the only people in the world he loved? The only family he really had?
That he’d failed with the one kid who’d needed him more than any other? That he hadn’t been able to say the right words or be there at the right time to stop a life from spiraling into the depths? That he’d kept the real truth about Justin’s street life from Robert, because Noah had thought he, of all the people in the fourteen-year-old’s life, had the right combination to pull him back from the brink?
That he was a man who deserved to be alone, to hide from the world and lick his wounds?
Way to make a good first impression, McCarty.
“I know,” she said, and she approached him again, clearly not afraid of his grizzly bear attitude. She reached out. He watched her hand approach, telling himself he should back away, run from her.
From contact. From caring.
But then her hand touched his arm, warm skin against warm skin, and the human part of Noah that he had told himself was dead roared to life, craving the touch, the nearness of someone who had that understanding look in her eyes.
Longing. Needing. So very desperately needing this, just for now, just this once.
“Noah,” she said again, his name slipping from her tongue as gently as the summer breeze.
He swallowed hard. Then he ignored the warning bells in his head, leaned forward and kissed her.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN Noah McCarty’s lips met hers, Victoria’s entire world screeched to a halt.
It wasn’t that she’d never been kissed before—she had, several times—it was the way he kissed her. Like he’d discovered a buried treasure and was intent on preserving it instead of plundering it.
His lips drifted over hers, slow, sure. Tasting. Exploring. Igniting. The blood rushed to her head, thundering in her pulse, and everything below her neck melted into a helpless puddle of hormones. She had read about kisses like this, dreamed of receiving one, but never, ever imagined a man could truly do such wonderful things with such a small part of her anatomy.
And then, he brought his hands, still damp from the dishes, up to cup her face. That was the touch that sealed it for Victoria, that sent her already frenzied hormones over the edge, screaming for more of whatever Noah McCarty had.
At first, she didn’t touch him back. Her lips returned the kiss, but her arms remained stubbornly at her side, as reclusive as she had been, afraid he was a mirage, a figment of her imagination—which had become far too active in the last few quiet months.
But as his touch explored her face and his thumbs tipped up her chin to allow his lips fuller access, she felt the realness of him, allowed herself to believe she wasn’t dreaming this kiss.
This man. This tingling, building, wanting need.
In one swift movement, Victoria reached around him, the soft cotton of his T-shirt slipping against her palms. Beneath the fabric, his muscles bunched, sending her mind down a path that went way beyond kissing.
And then, Noah pulled back, released her chin with a final reverent slide of his fingers and moved away. As if he’d flicked a switch, everything within him seemed to turn to concrete, going gray and cold. “I’m sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”
“It’s okay,” she said, but not feeling okay at all. She’d thought he’d enjoyed their kiss as much as she had, but then he’d jerked away, and apologized? She may have been kissed before but she had so little dating experience that she wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing…or something else altogether.
Like she was about as desirable as a damp dish towel.
“I don’t normally go around kissing women I’ve just met,” he said.
“And I don’t normally go around kissing the boarders. Temporary or not.” She grinned, trying to make light of the moment. To not let on that her dating experience consisted of a few stolen kisses during clambakes on the beach with the boy who used to live next door.
“We’ll forget the whole thing happened.”
“Yeah, sure,” she said. Liar, liar, lips on fire. If she lived to be two hundred, she wouldn’t forget one second of that kiss.
The phone rang, interrupting the moment of tension still simmering between them. Victoria answered it, then gave the receiver to Noah. “Larry.”
“Thanks.” He took the phone, listened, uttered a few words, then hung up. “You were right. Larry can’t get to the truck until tomorrow. Said he needs to order a radiator, since he didn’t have one for an ’82 in stock. Looks like it’s going to be a couple days before I hit the road again.” He flicked out his wrist, glanced at his watch. “I should probably get going, find a motel.”
“Stay here. No pressure, no lease.” She grinned.
“I’d hate to impose…”
“And I’d hate to see you scouring the neighborhood, looking for a motel that was open after the close of beach season.”
Noah looked down at Charlie, who had curled into a ball beside a very clean and very empty plate on the small rug in front of the sink. He was busy worrying away at one of the bones he’d brought along. “Seems Charlie is already settled in.”
“I think the leftover roast swayed him.”
Noah watched the dog for a long moment, then his green eyes met hers. “Okay. I’ll take you up on the offer of temporary lodging. I’ll be glad to pay you whatever you want. Or, if you don’t want me around—” at this, his gaze strayed to her lips, and the heat stirred within her all over again “—and I’ll understand if you don’t, I’ll call a cab and head over to a motel.”
“And disturb Charlie?” She smiled. “I don’t think he’d like you much if you take him from his spot. Or the possibility of whatever’s lurking in the fridge.” Her gaze went to Noah’s. “Stay. No charge.”
But even as she said the words, she realized she’d just opened a can of worms for herself. When Victoria had gone out on her porch earlier that day, it had been to take down the sign, not hang it up.
Allowing Noah McCarty to stay here was doing the exact opposite of what she planned. One day could easily turn into two, or three. And before she knew it, she’d end up staying, too.
Although if staying here meant being kissed like that again, the idea didn’t seem like such a bad one.
There was a bird knocking at Victoria’s door. A tall, bright orange bird.
Noah had stepped down the hall, to grab his bag that he’d left by the door and settle in—no, not settle in, just get unpacked enough for the night—when the plumed thing started rapping on the oval of beveled glass.
Whether it was Big Bird himself, Noah didn’t care. The interruption came at the perfect time. He could have cut the tension between Victoria and him with a chain saw. Half of him wanted to kiss her again—the half that didn’t think with a brain—while the other half wanted to run like hell and hitchhike to Maine. She’d busied herself with straightening a floral arrangement that didn’t need straightening, which only made Noah feel worse.
What was that line he’d given her? “I don’t normally do that?” Where had he gotten that? Boy, he needed a man tune-up, because he sure had no idea how to be one, at least not one with any finesse.
Victoria