Chapter 4
"This isn't funny." I push past him into the now familiar foyer of his penthouse. "Did you actually think it was funny to call the restaurant and ask for me to deliver your sandwich? I have plans."
"I tip very well." Noah reaches to pull the paper bag emblazoned with Axel Boston's logo from my grasp. "I don't like sandwiches."
I can't help but chuckle at the confession. "Why did you order one then?"
"Now or then?"
"You know you talk in riddles, right?" I turn to look at him and soak in how amazing he looks half dressed. His chiseled torso is still on full, and very welcomed, display but now he's wearing faded jeans.
"Are you asking why I ordered a sandwich tonight or two nights ago when you first showed up?" His brow pops up slightly as the words float across his lips.
"Either," I reply, unsure whether I can actually physically pull my gaze from his mouth.
"I like Bernie." It's a clear and very concise statement. That's not to say it doesn’t surprise me.
"You like the delivery man?" I don't want to sound as judgmental as I do.
He stares down at his hand, picking at the nail on his index finger. "He's a good soul."
"He'll be back at work tomorrow so you two can catch up then," I offer before reaching back to grab the handle of the door. "I need to take off."
"You have plans you said?"
It's a question that catches me off guard. It's becoming increasingly apparent that in Noah Foster's world all he has to do is ask for something and it magically appears. When Sadie texted me to tell me that he wanted me to personally deliver his sandwich I froze. Her insistence that I give in and help with his next project was a waste of her breath. I can't. I won't. After researching him more, and discovering the careless way he uses women, I know that I don't belong in his world.
"I do." I'm not going to fill in the blanks. Why should I bother? He's obviously got more than one call girl on speed dial. He doesn't need me here.
"Cancel the plans." His shoulders tense as he shifts on his feet in front of me.
I step forward, challenging him. "No. I won't cancel."
"You know more about me now than when you took off the other night." A ghost of a smile flashes across his face. "I take it you researched who I am."
"The Noah Foster." I pull air quotes about the words. "Photographer extraordinaire."
His eyes dance as his name skirts across my lips. "Tell me more."
I scowl at the request. He's so full of himself that he actually wants me to recite his life story back to him. "You're twenty-nine and very elusive. You have a showing once a year and your pictures sell for a lot of money."
"Impressive, Alexa." His eyes darken. "You also researched this, no?" The careless way his hand brushes over his cheek is telling. I've seen Sadie do it a million times before when talking about her scar.
"No," I lie. I had tried in vain to find out what happened to his face, but there was nothing out there. I couldn't find a drop of information about the scar or what had caused it. "That I don't care about."
"You're lying."
"It's just a scar, the Noah Foster." I bite the edge of my tongue to temper my amusement. "You don't actually think anyone cares about it, do you?"
His expression shifts as his eyes gloss over. "You wouldn't understand."
I'm not about to tiptoe around this. "I understand. My best friend has a scar."
"She'd understand."
I ignore the inference that I'm not compassionate enough to understand what he feels. "If we're done here I need to get to a club. I'm meeting friends."
"We're not done." He steps into my path. "I wanted to see you again before I made my decision."
"Riddles, Noah." I push on his chest, shaken by the energy that instantly flows between the two of us. "What decision?"
"There's a part of me that wants to photograph you for my next showing." He holds out his left hand as if he's offering it to me. "The other part of me really wants to f*ck you." His right hand darts out.
Somehow I find my voice that is now buried in wanton desire. "You're assuming I want either." I want both. Can I have both pretty please?
"You want both," he counters.
I close my eyes tightly. I'm certain that something that has flashed across my expression is speaking to him the same way a bright neon sign would. "No," I whisper back. "I don't want either."
"You've researched me. You like my work." His tone is so confident and smooth. It's both irritating and alluring. Why the hell am I still standing here listening to him? Why haven't I bolted past him and hopped in a taxi to take me to the club?
"Your work is interesting," I say in a tempered tone. "I didn't know a thing about it until yesterday."
"I like that about you." His hand skirts over the hem of my white dress. "You don't give a shit about who I am, do you?"
I tip my brow in response. "You're right," I say coolly. "I don't give a shit about who you are."
"I want you to be the focus of my new show." He cocks his head as his eyes travel over my face. "You're perfect."
"I'm not interested." The sudden realization that this may actually be happening has dampened my desire to pose nude for him. That was just a fleeting fantasy I was having when I was masturbating to thoughts of him standing above me in all his naked glory holding a camera in one hand. I need to find a way to have less convoluted dreams.
"I'll pay you." Enticement skirts the words. "A lot," he adds for extra measure.
I hesitate. I know he sees it in my expression. I study his brown eyes, admiring the length of the lashes. There's a small mole beside his left eye, just above the scar. I stare at him wondering whether he'd be as seductive without the scar. It adds an edge to him that makes him utterly irresistible.
"Thousands, Alexa," he presses. "I'll pay you thousands of dollars if you'll pose for me."
My sex aches at the thought of diving into an arrangement like that with him. He must f*ck the women he photographs. He's so raw and determined. "I'm going to be a teacher," I almost whimper. I can't do something like that.
"I don't photograph faces." His eyes follow the path of his index finger as it runs across my chin. "You won't be identifiable. It will be our little secret."
"No one will know?"
"No one." His breath hitches as his finger settles on my bottom lip. "You'll sign a non-disclosure agreement as will I."
"I can't talk about it to anyone?" My voice is getting higher with excitement. If no one is going to find out, what's the harm? I can definitely use the money and the idea of spending any time alone with him is too tempting a proposition to pass on. It's also the perfect way to chase away memories of Paris and the mess I'd made of my life there. I'm totally game for this.
He flashes a smile. "No one and there's one more thing before you agree."
My stomach drops. "What?"
"I don't f*ck my models." The words are clear, direct and there's no compromise woven into them at all.
My heart lurches at the announcement. "You never f*ck any of the women who model for you?"
"Never."
"Ever?" I ask quietly.
He stops himself just as his mouth opens to speak. He shakes his head slightly as if to ward off one thought to replace it with another. "Once you sign that form, it's all business, no pleasure."
"Where's the dotted line?" I hear my voice asking the question, although my body is begging me to turn him down.