“Looking up everything I can find on the Internet about nanotechnology. As I said, it’s the only hint he gave me.”
If Noah had held better to his part of the bargain on Friday night, she wouldn’t have to be looking up stuff. She couldn’t believe he’d left her with a one-word hint!
They had just over three more weeks ahead of them, and he’d pony up or there’d be consequences. And, there wouldn’t be any more kissing. If he hadn’t caught her off guard, the kiss on Friday night would never have happened. She was a reporter doing a story, and he was her subject, for Pete’s sake.
Still, truth be told, wasn’t she partly to blame? She’d let herself get swept up in the mood of the evening.
She’d become attuned to every brush of his leg against hers, every smile that lit up his face, every nuance of conversation. So much so that she’d lost track of her mission, which was to get information on Whittaker Enterprises.
Of course, then there’d been that near brush with a photographer to distract her. She’d been hoping she could shadow him for a story without attracting the attention of the press. She definitely hadn’t anticipated drawing media attention on their first outing together.
And then, to top it off, he’d kissed her—and she’d enjoyed it. She’d wanted more.
Good grief. She had to get a grip. She reminded herself that Noah Whittaker was a smooth-talking and accomplished seducer.
“So what’s wrong with Noah?” Samantha asked.
“Nothing!” Then, because she realized she’d practically shouted, she took a deep breath. “Nothing.”
“He’s only wealthy, good-looking, smart—”
“Stop! He’s also irritating, smug, arrogant, born with a silver spoon in his mouth and way too used to having women fall at his feet. I’m only trying to get a story here, okay? I am not interested in Noah.”
“If you say so. You know, denial of physical chemistry is often the first step in a romantic relationship.”
“Argh!” Kayla exclaimed in exasperation. Ever since Samantha had started majoring in psychology—supplemented by a steady diet of popular self-help books with titles such as From Toxic Dates to Toxic Hate—it had been “get in touch with your emotions” this and “express your feelings” that.
Her sister regarded her thoughtfully from her position in an overstuffed armchair. “You know, not every rich guy is a cad. Just because Mom made a mistake—”
“It wasn’t a simple mistake. It was a catastrophe that sent her life reeling off course.”
“Yes, but she got you in the process, and I don’t think she’s ever regretted that.”
Kayla tamped down the wellspring of feeling that her sister’s comment aroused. True, she’d always had a great relationship with her mother, but she couldn’t forget the hard years they’d endured, years during which her mother had completed her college degree at night and raised a child as a single parent. Even with the help of her family, it had been hard.
“Have you heard anything about him recently?” Samantha asked.
“Who?” she responded, though she knew perfectly well what her sister meant. “Bentley Mathison IV?” She hadn’t thought about her biological father in a while.
Her sister nodded.
“No.” She busied herself straightening the papers on her computer desk. “He and his wife retreated to a luxury cottage on Martha’s Vineyard after he was released from prison. He’s been keeping a low profile ever since.”
Which was fortunate for her. The chances she’d run into him at some gala or other that she had to cover for the Sentinel were slim—though, of course, he wouldn’t recognize her since he’d never been involved in her life and she now used the common surname Jones.
When the apartment’s buzzer sounded, Samantha said, “I’ll get it,” and popped out of her chair.
“Who is it?” she said into the intercom mounted on the entryway wall.
“Noah Whittaker,” came the reply, unmistakable even though garbled by static.
Samantha turned, eyes wide with excitement. “It’s—”
“I heard,” Kayla said dryly. Her stomach did a somersault. Why was he here?
Samantha spoke into the intercom again. “Come on up.” She pressed a button to let Noah in.
Kayla looked down at her sweatshirt and tights. She was a mess and Mr. Lady-killer was coming up in the elevator.
“Quick!” Samantha said, jumping into action and pulling Kayla out of her chair. “Into the bedroom,” she said, shoving her along. “Jeans tight, blouse low-cut, and put on some lipstick! Think Cosmo ad—casual but ready to frolic.”
Thrust into her bedroom, Kayla turned around and started to protest.
“I’ll stall him as long as I can,” Samantha said and shut the door in her face.
Five
Noah knocked and, a full minute later, the door to the apartment opened and a knockoff of Kayla stood in front of him. She was wearing a T-shirt that had Tufts Field Hockey in big letters on the front, and her hair was caught up in a ponytail.
“Wow, look who has a license to thrill,” she said, leaning against the door jamb. She stuck out her hand.
“Hi, I’m Samantha, Kayla’s sister.”
Noah broke into a grin as he grasped the proffered hand. “I’m—”
“Mr. Naughty-and-Nice,” she finished for him. “I know.”
“What?” he spluttered on a laugh.
“Never mind,” she said, pulling him in. “Can I get you something to drink? Beer? Wine? Sangria?”
“A beer is fine. Thanks.”
“Kayla’s in the bedroom changing into something comfortable,” Samantha said as she walked into the small kitchen next to the entry. “She’s been working all morning.”
Noah noticed she didn’t say Kayla had been at work all morning, but he limited himself to saying, “She’s too intense.”
“Well, she’s going through her blond-ambition stage,” Samantha said, opening the fridge.
Noah leaned a shoulder against the archway to the kitchen. “Don’t you mean blind ambition?”
“That too.” Samantha took a beer out of the fridge.
“She’s a real blonde by the way, in case anyone’s interested.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a bottle opener. “Ask me anything. I’ll tell you everything you want to know. Well, almost everything.”