A Shot at Love

What a Man

Noah steps in closer, his presence practically magnetic as he sets the wine glasses on the dresser behind me. His arms close in on both sides of my body, gently pinning me to the vanity. I can feel his breath on my cheek, and the thump of his heartbeat against mine.

That look in his eyes— it's one I recognize too easily. He wants me. And he wants me now.

"I've heard that mixing red wine and pot can be the most extraordinary sex," he growls, his lips grazing my skin with a heat that makes my pulse quicken. "Should we test that theory?"

His presence alone makes my heart race, and my body responds instinctively—tightening the joint in one hand and pressing both palms onto the dresser, where they fall right against his.

A slow, knowing smile plays at his lips, aware of the effect he has on me.

"I...ugh—" I stammer, my gaze locking with those deep, yearning blue eyes. I swallow hard, forcing myself to breathe. "Yes," I whisper, a smile spreading slowly across my face. "But first, we clean. Otherwise, we won't get anything done tonight."

Noah raises a flirtatious brow, his powerful frame towering over me. "Is that so, Miss Hart?" he teases, his body pressing even closer against mine.

I turn, still wrapped beneath his arms, my backside grazing his slacks. Dropping the joint on the counter, I grab the wine glasses, glancing over my shoulder. "You'd better clean quick, Westbrook."

"If you're waiting for me at the finish line, I'll be done in record time, baby," he murmurs, his long finger teasingly tugging at my turtleneck. His warm lips trail along my skin, sending a spark straight to my core. "I'm highly competitive."

Spinning to face him, I feel his breath quicken, our faces inches apart. "No distractions, sir," I say, extending his glass of wine like a peace offering. "Clean, then prize."

A delighted smile lights up that gorgeous face of his. "Deal." He takes the glass from my hand and leans over, bringing his mouth down to mine. "To get me through to the other side," he hums, the words barely leaving his lips before pushing his tongue into my mouth, kissing me hard.

How the hell am I going to clean first?

Every nerve in my body wakes up as I gently pull away, keeping my eyes on his. "No interference," I say, raising my brows with a mischievous grin.

Noah playfully rolls his eyes, clearly amused. "Fine." He releases his arm from the vanity and I instantly wish he hadn't.

He takes a deep gulp of his cabernet, the glass clinking softly against the dresser as he rolls up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, revealing the muscular forearms I've come to adore. He lifts the mattress, effortlessly hoisting it back into place, while I get to work on the smaller chaos—sorting through clothes, purses, and shoes scattered across my bedroom floor.

Time passes, and I head to the kitchen to refill our wine while Noah is still in full cleanup mode. Whatta Man by Salt-N-Pepa starts playing, vibrating through my Bose speaker, and I freeze mid-pour, caught staring at him.

His movements are effortless—graceful, even—pushing the heavy couch into place, sweat beading on his forehead from the work. There's something about him, something that makes my chest tighten with the sudden realization: How did I get so lucky? How did a girl like me end up with a billionaire CEO who somehow manages to have a heart of gold?

I snap back to reality just as the wine reaches the brim of the glass, threatening to spill over the counter. "Oh, shoot!"

Noah's head whips up in concern as he strolls over to the kitchen. "You good, baby?"