Chapter 92

Hannah

Noah towered over me, the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen pressing against my body so forcefully I could barely breathe. The cool marble of the sink felt like ice against my lower back, my fingers instinctively curling around the edge. Still, I stared defiantly at Noah, refusing to be intimidated. “I wasn’t with Drake,” I stated firmly, squaring my shoulders. “At least… not in the way you’re implying.”

Noah’s deep green eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me,” he growled, leaning closer until I felt the heat radiating from his body. “I saw you two together. Hugging. Looking awfully cozy.”

Anger flared, my cheeks flushing. “It was a friendly embrace, Noah,” I retorted, lifting my chin. “Is that not allowed? Am I supposed to isolate myself from everyone except you?”

A muscle ticked in Noah’s jaw. For a moment, I anticipated a verbal or physical lashing, though he’d never laid a finger on me before. The air crackled with tension.

“Oh wait,” I continued, almost enjoying his anger. “I’m not allowed to have any contact with you either. I almost forgot how I offended you by touching your arm when you were talking to your precious Zoe.”

“That was different,” Noah insisted, pressing closer. Something feral gleamed in his eyes.

I laughed, running a manicured finger up his forearm. “You’re just jealous,” I murmured.

For a long moment, Noah glared, his jaw clenched. I thought he might storm out or…ravish me right there. Then, he seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping slightly as he broke eye contact. He stepped back, and I could finally breathe. “Maybe I am jealous,” he admitted in a low grumble.

I blinked, my amusement fading. “What?”

“Maybe I’m jealous,” he repeated, his eyes intense. “Because even if you…sleep with Drake—” He spat the words—“he’ll never really know you. Not like I do.”

My mouth opened and closed. A retort danced on my tongue.

“You don’t know the first thing about me anymore,” I whispered. “Maybe you never have. You never make time for me.”

“Is that what you think?” he asked.

I nodded. “It’s the truth. We’re strangers, Noah.”

Before I could speak again, Noah moved, closing the distance until his body pressed against mine. His hands framed me against the sink.

“Very well. But you have to admit,” he purred, his lips brushing my earlobe, “I know every inch of this body better than anyone. Maybe even better than you do.”

One of Noah’s hands trailed lightly across my collarbone, his fingertips scorching a path over my clothes. My breath hitched, a jolt of electricity coursing through me.