What He Fights (What He Wants, Book Ten) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) Read online

  WHAT HE FIGHTS (What He Wants, Book Ten)

  By Hannah Ford

  Copyright 2015, Hannah Ford, all rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  NOAH

  She looked so innocent. Her hair fell in a soft wave over her forehead, her cheeks flushed. She sat down with the folder I’d given her and took a deep breath, the way I imagined she would before she was getting ready to take a particularly hard test.

  Then she opened the folder.

  And I saw it.

  I saw her face cloud with confusion, and then panic.

  I struggled to keep myself calm. I’d been through hundreds of these hearings -- they didn’t have any bearing on what was actually going to happen. The prosecution would pull out their big guns, would rush around throwing evidence at the wall, hoping something would stick. It was an intimidation tactic. Whatever was said at an evidentiary hearing almost didn’t matter.

  The state would never bring charges against someone unless they were certain they had enough evidence to get a trial – they did not want to look foolish. But evidence presented at an evidentiary hearing was just that. It had no bearing on a trial. No one could be sent to jail because of what was presented at an evidentiary hearing.

  That’s what I would have told a client. That’s what I was telling myself. But telling myself was the easy part.

  Something foreign pulsed through me.

  Fear.

  Not about the case.

  Not about being found guilty or about going to jail.

  But about Charlotte, about her not believing me.

  She turned to look at me, and I opened my mouth to speak, to tell her all the things I would tell a client to keep them calm. It’s just an evidentiary hearing, it does not mean anything, this is not what we will see at trial.

  I stopped when I saw the emotion in her eyes. It wasn’t doubt. It wasn’t fear. It was something else. Something far more powerful, more intense.

  It was anger. Accusation. Not burning bright, on the surface, but bubbling slowly, underneath, the kind of emotion that was far more serious. Emotions that exploded off of people tended to burn themselves out quickly. Once the fuel of that emotion had been exhausted, there was nothing left. But emotions that simmered under the surface were much more dangerous. They had the ability to boil and roll, so slowly that you were somehow able to convince yourself you didn’t even feel them. Until one day you woke up and realized they’d ruined everything.

  Charlotte turned to me. Her eyes were watery.

  “Who did…” she trailed off.

  She said it at a normal volume, but to my ears, it sounded as if she was whispering.

  “What?” I asked. “What is it?” I was struggling to keep calm, struggling to keep the panic out of my voice. It was a strange feeling. For the first time in a very long time, I felt the first tiny bit of my control start to slip from my grasp, the first crack in a carefully controlled existence.

  “Who did you tell about us?” she demanded. “Who knows?”

  “No one. Why?”

  “Because I’m on the witness list.”

  The crack suddenly got wider. It wasn’t slow, the way a crack in a carefully built foundation would split over time. It was immediate, deep, devastating.

  They would call her to the stand.

  They would ask her about us.

  They would ruin her.

  I’d seen it happen, over and over.

  They’d take a fiancé or a girlfriend – never a wife, since spouses had spousal privileges – put her on the stand, try to trip her up, to make her say something incriminating. If the person decided to be stupid and lie, the prosecution would threaten them with a perjury charge, only to swoop in later and offer them a deal – testify against your boyfriend and that pesky little perjury charge will go away.

  They were going to try to play with her.

  And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  CHARLOTTE

  My whole body was shaking. Thoughts swirled through my head, impossible to untangle. My heart pounded, sending blood whooshing through my veins so loudly I was afraid I was going to have a heart attack.

  “Charlotte,” Noah was saying, but he sounded like he was talking to me from a tunnel, his voice echoing off the walls. “You’re having a panic attack.”

  “No,” I shook my head. I didn’t have panic attacks.

  My fingers and toes were numb, and I felt Noah’s hand on the back of my neck. I was shaking, and my entire body felt cold, the way you would after coming inside after a long day out in the snow.

  “Lie down,” he commanded, and I felt him guiding me down on the bed gently, my head sinking into the pillow.

  As soon as I was lying down, my stomach stopped rolling, and my fingers and toes started to tingle, as if they were waking up. I flexed them over and over until they began to feel normal. My heart rate started to slow.

  Noah disappeared for a moment and then returned with a glass of water, made me take a sip.

  He walked to the other side of the bed, lied down next to me and pushed my hair off my forehead. His touch was calming, safe.

  “Better?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Good.”

  I clung to him, holding his shoulders tight. His arms were loose around my waist, and I had a moment of panic, thinking that maybe he was going to do what he’d done before– leave me, thinking he was protecting me.

  The calm I was feeling began to dissipate, but my panic didn’t come back – instead I was filled with a reckless feeling. This was only the beginning. My name on the witness list was just the first surprise in whatever else was waiting inside of that folder.

  There would be evidence.

  Evidence tying Noah to Katie’s murder, evidence I probably hadn’t heard about until now.

  They have nothing, a voice in my head whispered. They have absolutely nothing. He would have told you. He’s not a murderer.

  I wanted to show him I believed him, wanted to show him that I trusted him, that this wouldn’t tear us apart.

  So I pushed my leg up onto his, letting the robe I was wearing fall open slightly in the front.

  I moved my lips toward his neck, inhaling his scent, brushing my cheek against his skin. I kissed him softly on the chin, then reached out and traced the lines of his collarbone. He was so goddamn beautiful. His body, his face, his cock, his heart, his soul. Everything about him was beautiful.

  I felt like I was standing on a cliff, looking down into a dark abyss.

  Once I looked in that folder, everything was going to change.

  I pushed my body into his.

  “Charlotte…” he said.

  “What?” I asked, moving my hand down over the smooth planes of his stomach. He was dressed in just his boxers, and when I got to the waistband, I slid my hand underneath.

  But Noah grabbed my wrist. “Don’t.”

  “Why?” I breathed. “Don’t you want me?” I pushed my robe open more, exposing my breasts to him.

  “Not like this.”

  “Not like what?”

  “Not like you trying to fuck so you don’t have to face the truth.”

  I climbed on top of him. It the first time I’d ever been on top of him, and I loosened my robe completely so that he had full access to my body. I felt him harden underneath me.

  “That’s not why I’m doing it,” I said. It was a lie and he knew it.

  It seemed to anger him. He grabbed my hips and pushe
d me off, flipping me over so that I was on my back. He straddled me, holding my arms down on the bed. “Don’t lie.”

  “Please,” I begged. I tried to push my pelvis against his hard cock, tried to make him see how badly I wanted him, needed to feel him inside of me, to feel our bodies tangled together.

  I saw the struggle on his face. He knew exactly why I was doing this. He knew I was avoiding whatever was in that folder, knew I was using this as a way to connect with him.

  He shook his head and released my hands, moved off the bed. He stood there, staring down at me. “Get up, Charlotte.”

  He moved away from me and walked into the bathroom, where I heard the sound of the tub being turned on.

  He returned to the room a moment later. “Get in the bath.”

  “No.” I crossed my arms over my chest, defiant.

  But he reached down and scooped me off the bed, handling me like it was nothing. He carried me into the bathroom and set me down on the floor. Then he pulled my robe off me and hung it on the shower door. He picked me up again and set me down in the tub.

  Steam rose from the water, enveloping me.

  “You need to calm down,” he said. “Relax. And then we can deal with whatever is in that folder.”

  “I’m not a child,” I said.

  “Then stop acting like one.”

  He left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

  **

  I tried my best to do what I’d been told.

  I tried to relax.

  But my body was wired with energy.

  I made it ten minutes in the bathtub before I climbed out, and I still didn’t feel ready to face whatever was in that folder.

  You have to, Charlotte, I told myself. Denying it exists won’t make it go away.

  It’s what my dad had done when he’d first gotten sick, slipped into the hazy comfort of denial, and it was this thought that propelled me forward.

  I knew if I came back into the room after just a few minutes, there was no way Noah was going to let me see those documents. I’d already been acting crazy – a panic attack followed by an attempt to throw myself at him didn’t exactly inspire confidence that I could handle whatever was in that file.

  So I forced myself to stay in the bathroom, to dry my hair and put on some make up – foundation, a slick of lip gloss, a swipe of mascara. I dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater, then returned to the suite.

  Noah was sitting at the desk, on the phone.

  “Yes,” he said. “That sounds fine. I’ll see you then.”

  He ended the call. He’d put on a pair of tracksuit buttons and a long-sleeved white t-shirt. He must have kept clothes here in the room for himself.

  “Good,” he said. “There you are.” His voice was all business, his tone brusque as if I’d just run to do an errand instead of carried to the bath by him after he’d rejected my advances.

  “Yes,” I said. “Here I am.” My heart was sinking, because I could tell his walls were back up. Last night, and even this morning, how he’d held me, talked to me, comforted me -- that was gone, replaced with this version of him, the version that was in control and showed no emotion.

  “I set up a breakfast meeting with Worthington.”

  “For what?”

  “To prepare for the evidentiary hearing.” He was watching me closely, searching my face for any clue that I might have a reaction to this. He was expecting me now to go with him to this breakfast meeting, this meeting where Professor Worthington was going to be, where we’d have to go over my testimony.

  “Does Professor Worthington know what they’re going to ask me? Has the DA’s office sent over their questions?”

  “No. The DA’s office will want interview you in person before the hearing. I’m sure Colin will be able to anticipate what they’re going to ask you. I’m sure you can, too, Charlotte. It’s Criminal Law 101.”

  I glanced around for the folder of evidence, but I didn’t see it anywhere. Why had Noah taken it away? He’d acted like as soon as I calmed down the two of us would go over it together. He’d acted like he didn’t want there to be any secrets between us anymore, he’d handed the folder to me and told me to look through it.

  And now here he was, acting cold again.

  I was getting fed up with this merry-go-round.

  “I’ll be taken off the case,” I said.

  “What?”

  “I won’t be able to work on your case anymore. It will be a conflict of interest.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that right now, Charlotte.”

  I blinked hard, feeling the sadness and panic inside of me start to be replaced with anger. “Why shouldn’t I worry about it, Noah?”

  “Because right now you need to focus.”

  “I need to focus?”

  “Yes. On your testimony. You need to stay clear so we can figure out the best way for you to handle this.”

  “So you don’t look guilty?”

  “No, so you come out of this with as little damage to your reputation as possible.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. I hated that he was back in business mode, hated that our whole relationship was clouded with issues that would be extremely difficult even for a couple who’d been married for years to handle. I couldn’t be sure if his tendency to shut down was being exacerbated by the situation, or if this was just how he was. Would he have let me in more if this wasn’t happening to him? Or had he already been so damaged that it would be exactly the same?’

  And did it really matter?

  He should have been holding me close, should have been sitting me down on that bed and going through the evidence with me, piece by piece. Instead, he’d hidden the folder away, like it was some kind of secret, and now we were going to go over the things that may have made him a murderer in a meeting.

  A meeting!

  The whole thing was ludicrous.

  And the worst part about it was that I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t push him, couldn’t demand anything from him.

  He would say I didn’t trust him. And in Noah’s world, that was a cardinal sin.

  The other problem was I had no right to that folder, had no right to demand to be told what was in it. I wasn’t Noah’s lawyer. I wasn’t even his girlfriend.

  I’m falling in love with you.

  That’s what he’d said.

  Even just last night, he’d held me, made promises to me.

  And now… now he was just back to being cold and aloof.

  “When is the meeting?” I asked.

  “In half an hour,” he said. “We’re meeting at Norman’s.”

  Norman’s was the restaurant in the Orange Ivy Hotel. I’d never been there, but it was a famous New York staple, the kind of place where business deals went down and people went to be seen. The irony of the situation – that I would be taken to a fancy restaurant to talk about my involvement with a murderer, and also to be shown the evidence that was going to be presented in his murder trial – wasn’t lost on me.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Jared will bring the car around.”

  “I think I’m going to walk.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, Charlotte. You’ll take the car with me.”

  “I think a walk would be good for me. I need the fresh air, I need to clear my head.”

  “It’s not safe. Until we figure out who’s been making those calls to you, I can’t allow that.”

  I balled my fists at my sides until my nails were cutting into my palms.

  I hated this. Why was he acting this way?

  The last thing I wanted was to get into a car with him. But I knew that if I got upset, he would just make me feel like I was being emotional, that I needed to get control of myself. What was it he’d said? That I needed to focus.

  So I pasted a smile on my face.

  “Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  **

  There was no conversation on the ri
de to Midtown -- Noah rolled calls the whole time. His practice was thriving and well from the sound of it. The fact that he’d been arrested for murder hadn’t hit the newspapers yet, and I wondered what would happen when it did.

  For a while, I had my iPad out, scrolling through my emails, responding to one about a Criminal Law class that was being held next semester, checking online message boards for my classes to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. I had a paper due that I was going to need to get working on.

  The whole time, though, I was focused on Noah.

  I couldn’t help it.

  I listened to him bark orders and make deals, his voice strong and commanding. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He’d changed into a beautifully cut black suit and crisp grey shirt that set off his broad shoulders. As he talked, he made a note in his phone, and his sleeve slid up just a tiny bit, revealing a gorgeous black watch with a large face. His forearm was strong, his skin smooth and flawless, and I felt my body fill with longing.

  He caught me looking at him as he ended his call.

  “Is everything okay, Charlotte?” he asked.

  “Yes. Fine.”

  I turned to look out the window, watching Manhattan slide by in a blur. It was raining outside, not the romantic kind of rain that made you want to stay inside curled up under a blanket, but the kind of drizzle that hung heavy in the air and made your hair frizz.

  When we pulled up in front of the Orange Ivy, Jared opened the car door for us.

  Noah pulled out an umbrella, and put his arm around my waist, holding me close under the umbrella as we walked into the restaurant. I felt small next to him, his height and broadness making me feel safe, protected.

  But as soon as we got inside, he pulled his arm from around me.

  The Orange Ivy was a beautiful hotel, all high ceilings and elegant gold fixtures. We walked through a shiny marble foyer that was lined with mirrors, then through an open waiting area that was more like a lobby for the restaurant.

  Noah strode purposely to the hostess stand, and the hostess sat him right away at a table in a private back room, not even asking for his name or whether or not he had a reservation.

  As soon as we sat down, a waiter appeared with two tall narrow glasses filled with smoothies.