Her mother. The jealousy vanished—even though the woman had been trying to set her up. Noelle had said no, at least, and would say no tomorrow.
“I can relate,” he said. “My mother was …” A horrendous bitch. Trash. Uttertly sadistic. “Persistent when she wanted something from me.”
“Was?” The sharpest edge of her anger smoothed and just as she had the first day he’d met her, she suddenly appeared cool, aloof, and untouchable. Now, however, he knew she was none of those things.
“She’s dead.” And I’m the one who killed her.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
Their gazes locked in a long battle for domination. A battle he didn’t give his all. He was too busy enjoying her. She was a visual feast, and he couldn’t help but gorge. Such lush femininity, ripe for the taking.
Careful.
“Why do you care what I’m feeling, anyway?” she grumbled, caving first.
Score one for him. Finally. He always felt out of sorts with her, as if he had never—could never—come out ahead. “I don’t care.” He said the words, an automatic response, but for once, he didn’t mean them.
Her back straightened and her shoulders squared, a predator uncoiling for attack. “That was a very rude thing to say.”
He was getting to her, cutting at her, and she needed that. Needed to drain the poison inside of her, whatever kind of poison it was. “I’m not apologizing for it.” Unlike Dallas, Hector couldn’t make her laugh. At least, he didn’t think he could. He’d never tried to cheer a female up through humor. But he could help her, and maybe … maybe one day, when she looked back on this night, she’d remember him fondly.
Or not. “Oh, you darling man,” she said with her sugar sweetness. “Your lips say no but your eyes say I’ve never been sorrier for anything in my life.”
Will not laugh. “Did you really think you and Ava would grow old together?” he asked, tossing enough disgust in his voice to piss anyone off. “That neither one of you would ever fall in love? Get married?”
Smoldering silence followed his words. She remained still—more predator than before. A wounded panther, ready to strike.
Whatever she dished, he could take. He wanted to take. To do something besides walk away from her—or watch her walk away from him. “McKell won her pretty quickly, didn’t he? I mean, it only took him a few months to rip her from your side. That must mean she was ready to leave you, was probably tired of you.”
Annnd here came the explosion. “She wasn’t tired of me, you bastard! She will never be tired of me, just like I will never be tired of her. I’m her best friend, and she loves me. She loves me.”
Success, he thought, and oh, was it bittersweet. He did not like seeing Noelle so torn up. Did that stop him from continuing to push? No. “And you love her? Enough to miss her already?”
“Yes. Okay? Yes. Is that what you want to hear? I miss her so damn badly.” Tears pooled in her eyes, a bone-deep hurt reflected there. “I love that she’s happy, but I hate that I’m losing her. She’s mine, not McKell’s. Mine. I found her first, and I should get to … she should …” Her shoulders slumped.
“She should appreciate you better? Because you built her up, right? You made her what she is?”
The fire returned, swiftly burning through the hurt. “Hell, no! She built me up.” Noelle thumped her chest, just over her heart. “She made me better. I was on a very dark path, and she became my light. I love her more than … more than …” She raised her chin. “I love her more than anything. I would bend over backward to help her bend someone else over backward! And I will always be there for her—if I’ve got nowhere better to be.”
Maybe the hurt hadn’t burned away. Maybe Hector had absorbed every last drop, because damn, his chest was doing that aching thing again. She was throwing out facts—her love—but mixing it with her pain—claiming she had somewhere better to be. A heartbreaking, amazing mix.
The tears sprang forth anew and cascaded down her cheeks in a white-hot stream. She wiped them away with a shaky hand, then stared down with shock at the wetness on her skin. “I’m crying. Shit! I’m crying. I never cry.”
Yeah, and the sight of those tears nearly undid him the rest of the way. Can’t tug her close. Can’t hold her. “Why are you beating yourself up about your feelings?”
“Because,” she sniffed, retreating into her stubborn shell.
“Don’t make me rip the answer out of you. Why?” he insisted.
“Oh, all right.” Another grumble. “I’ll tell you, but only to save time. I can’t wait to get away from you.”
Hardly. If that were the case, she would have already left. Would have busted his lip with her fist and bolted.
The knowledge that she wanted to be here, with him … He remembered how she’d once begged so sweetly for him to kiss her. Just a taste, she’d said, luring him straight into temptation, unable to resist.
Can’t f**king hold her.
“I’m beating myself up because I should only be happy for her,” she whispered, each word dripping with shame. “I shouldn’t be sad for myself.”
“Just so you know, being both—happy for her and sad for you—doesn’t make you a bad person. It makes you human.”
“I guess.” How miserable she still sounded.
“Would you rather be a cold son of a bitch like me?”
She lifted her head. The first thing he noticed, her lashes were long, spiky, and wet. The second, she was a damn pretty crier. No swollen eyes or red, splotchy skin for this one. Just vulnerability and angel-soft loveliness.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked in that soft tone. “You hate me.”
Hate her? When he hungered for her more than he’d ever hungered for another? But then, he done everything in his power to shove her out of his life, hadn’t he? And he needed to keep shoving.
If he stopped, gave in to her, the consequences would be everlasting.
Yeah. He should leave. Now. Should walk away. He was good at that, as he’d already proven. Instead, he gave her the words that might damn them both. “I don’t hate you, Noelle. I f**king crave you.”
Seventeen
SHOCK BOMBARDED NOELLE AS Hector’s confession rang in her ears. He was breathing heavily, some dark emotion practically bursting through his skin. So badly she wanted to believe him.