“Maggie’s outnumbered by Sloan men. No one would even remember Richard if I’d had a string of affairs or gotten married, but I haven’t. I have no complaints, Noah. I like my life.”
“You have a life that you think will never change. In five years, ten years, thirty years, you’ll be the director of the Knights Bridge Free Library, living on Thistle Lane.”
Phoebe dug into the box for another book. “And what’s wrong with that?”
Noah remained intent on her. “Nothing at all is wrong with that, except that I’ve found that the future is hard to predict.”
“I get that, Noah. I get that anything is possible. I could get fired. The library could get shut down. I could decide to move in with my mother and raise goats. I could go into catering with Maggie. You see? I get it.”
“Possible doesn’t mean probable.”
“Is that an MIT way of talking?” With sudden energy—a burst of defensiveness—she lifted three books out of the box and set them on the table. “The library’s always been in excellent hands. People love it. It’ll be okay regardless of what I do. I’m a temporary caretaker, whether I’m there for five years or fifty years.”
“Phoebe…I’m not trying to upset you.”
She nodded. “I know.” She opened the faded, yellowed paperback copy of Le Petit Prince. “Do you speak French?”
“Some.”
“What does ‘some’ mean to you?”
“It means I can get along okay in Paris,” he said.
“Do you like Paris?”
“Dylan and I were there on business a few times. It’s such a romantic city, and there we were, a couple of straight guys on our own, working twelve-hour days. We both thought it was terribly unfair.”
“You regretted not bringing one of your Hollywood babes,” Phoebe said, then winced. “I’m sorry. That was rude and uncalled for.”
Noah didn’t seem to take offense. He tucked a finger under her chin. “I regretted not being there with a woman I cared about. So did Dylan. At the time, though, we didn’t have that kind of woman in our lives.”
Phoebe resisted an urge to grab his hand, thread her fingers into his. It seemed crazy and at the same time inevitable. “You two worked hard,” she said. “You had no guarantees that any of the risks you took—all your hard work—would pay off, especially early on.”
“Part of what made it fun did.” Noah slid a hand along what was left of her ponytail, down her back. “Phoebe…”
She knew he was attracted to her. She could see it in his eyes, in the set of his jaw. She could feel it in the way his hand drifted lower on her back. “My seamstress taught herself French and fashion design, and as I said, I’m guessing she lived here.”
“You’re starting to identify with her.”
“I want to know her story. I wonder if she went to Hollywood. If it was her dream and she seized the moment and went. To act, to be a costume designer—I don’t know. If she wanted us to find her—anyone in Knights Bridge, I mean—she’d have been in touch in the past forty years. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”
“She could have changed her name.”
“I don’t even know her name when she was here.”
“But you’re on the case,” Noah said.
She nodded. “I love a good mystery, too.”
“Nero Wolfe always gets his man.”
“He never really changes. It’s one of the things I enjoy about him. But that’s not how life is, is it?” She draped her arms over Noah’s shoulders. “I think I’d like you to kiss me again, Noah Kendrick.”
He was already lowering his mouth to hers, slipping his arms around her waist. He drew her against him, lifting her off her feet, nothing gentle or tentative about him when his lips touched hers. She felt her dress ride up, her bodice go askew, but didn’t care about her exposed skin.
He sat her on the table, old books falling onto the floor as he skimmed his hands up her sides, letting his thumbs ease under her breasts, find her nipples under the fabric.
Awareness, the ache of desire, spread through her. She opened her mouth to his kiss, tasted him. She shut her eyes, gasped when she felt him ease her dress off her shoulders. The bodice fell to her waist.
Hardly aware of what was happening, she suddenly felt her bra come off, the cool night air on her breasts. She couldn’t breathe. “Noah,” she whispered, kissing him again, holding on to his shoulders.
He trailed light kisses down her throat, slowing when he reached her breasts. She still had a grip on his shoulders as he took a nipple between his lips. When she felt the wet heat of his tongue, it was all she could do to stay upright on the table.
The crack of a heavy tome hitting the floor brought him to his senses.
He stood back, gently easing her dress up over her exposed breasts. His eyes were dusky, a rawness to his movements despite his impressive, never-faltering control. Phoebe tried not to let her gaze drift too low, but she knew he wasn’t unaffected by their near lovemaking.
She held her dress to her and smiled. “Well. I’m glad we’re in the kitchen and don’t have to worry about neighbors peeking in the windows.”
“It’s a small town.”