Friendship On Fire

Not going there, not thinking about that. Besides, thinking about Jules and Morgan wasn’t helping him with this current problem: Ethan was selling his mom’s house, his childhood home and the land that had been in his family for over a hundred and fifty years. That house had been the home of many generations of Lockwoods, and he’d be damned if he’d see it leave the family’s hands. His grandfather had built the country club and was its founding member. His mom had been CEO of the club and estate, had kept a watchful eye on the housing development, limiting the estate to only seventy houses to retain the wide-open spaces.

Think, Noah, there’s something you’re missing.

Noah tapped his phone against his thigh, recalling the terms of the court settlement. Yeah, that’s what had been bugging him...

He hit Redial on his phone and Eli answered. “In terms of the court settlement, Ethan has to give us the opportunity to buy the trust before he can put it on the open market.”

“I don’t remember that proviso,” Eli said.

“If he wants to sell, he has to give us three months to buy the property. He also has to sell it to us at twenty percent below the market value.”

Noah heard Eli’s surprised whistle. “That’s a hell of a clause.”

“We had an expensive lawyer and I think it’s one Ethan has accidentally on purpose forgotten.”

“Then I’ll contact our lawyer to enforce the terms of the settlement. But, No, even if we do get the opportunity to buy the trust—”

“We will get the opportunity,” Noah corrected.

“—the asking price is enormous, even with the discount. It’s a historic, exceptional house on a massive tract of land. Not to mention the club, the buildings, the facilities. The golf course. We’re talking massive money. More than Ben and I can swing.”

Noah considered this for a moment. “We’d have to mortgage it.”

“The price to us should be around a hundred million,” Eli said, his tone skeptical.

“We’d need to raise twenty percent.” Under normal circumstances he would never be making a financial decision without a hell of a lot more due diligence. At the very least, he’d know whether the trust generated enough funds to cover the mortgage. He didn’t care. This was Lockwood Estate and it was his responsibility to keep it in the family.

“Ben and I recently purchased a fifty-foot catamaran which we are restoring and that’s sucked up our savings. We’ll be finishing it up in a month or two and then we’ll have to wait a few weeks to sell it. Even if it does sell quickly, the profit won’t cover our share of the twenty-million deposit. Do you have twenty mil?”

“Not lying around. I invested in that new marina at the Boston waterfront with Levi. I’ll sell my apartment in London, it’s in a sought-after area and it should move quickly. I’ll also sell my share in a business I own in Italy. My partner will buy me out. That would raise eight million.”

“Okay. Twelve to go. Ben and I have about a million each sitting in investments we can liquefy.”

Thank God his brothers were on board with this plan, that saving Lockwood Estate meant as much to them as it did to him. He couldn’t do it without them. Noah ran through his assets. “I have three mil invested. That leaves seven. Crap.”

Noah was silent for a long minute before speaking. “So, basically we’re screwed.”

Damn, his head was currently being invaded by little men with very loud jackhammers.

Eli cleared his throat. “Not necessarily. I heard that Paris Barrow wants to commission a luxury yacht and is upset because she has to wait six to ten months to get it designed. If you can put aside your distaste for designing those inelegant floating McMansions as you call them, I could set up a meeting.”

“What’s the budget?”

“From what I heard, about sixty million. What are your design fees? Ten percent of the price? That’s six mil and I’m sure we can scrounge up another million between us. Somehow.”

Noah thought for a moment. He had various projects in the works but none that would provide a big enough paycheck to secure the house. Designing a superyacht would. At the very least he had to try. Noah gripped the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb and stepped off the cliff. “Set up a meeting with your client’s friend. Let’s see where it goes.”

“She’s a megawealthy Boston grande dame, and designing for her would mean coming back home,” Eli said softly.

Yeah, he got that. “I know.”

Noah disconnected the call and stared down at his bare feet. He was both excited and terrified to be returning to the city he’d been avoiding for the past ten years. Boston meant facing his past, but it also meant reconnecting and spending time with Levi, Eli and Ben, DJ, and Darby.

And Callie. God, he’d missed her so much.

But Boston was synonymous with Jules, the only person whom he’d ever let under his protective shell. His best friend until he’d mucked it all up by kissing her, ignoring her, remaining engaged to a woman she intensely disliked and then dropping out of her life.

She still hadn’t forgiven him and he doubted that she ever would.

Jules...

Jules frowned at the for-sale sign that had appeared on the lawn of Lockwood House and swung into the driveway of her childhood home—and her new digs—and slammed on the brakes when she noticed a matte black Ducati parked in her usual space next to the detached garage. Swearing, she guided her car into the tiny space next to it and cursed her brother for parking what had to be his latest toy in her space.

Jules looked at the for-sale sign again. She was surprised that the Lockwood boys would let the house go out of their family but, as she well knew, maintaining a residence the size of the houses on this estate cost an arm and a leg and a few internal organs. Jules shoved her fist into the space beneath her rib cage to ease the burn. She’d spent as much time in that house as she had her own, sneaking in and out of Noah’s bedroom. But that was back in the days when they were still friends, before he’d met Morgan and before he’d spoiled everything by kissing her senseless.

It had been a hell of a kiss and that was part of the problem. If it had been a run-of-the-mill, meh kiss, she could brush it aside, but it was still—aargh!—the kiss she measured all other kisses against. Passionate, sweet, tender, hot.

Pity it came courtesy of her onetime best friend and an all-around jerk.

Jules used her key to let herself into the empty house. It was still early, just past eight in the morning, but her siblings would’ve left for work hours ago. Thanks to efficient workmen and an easy client, her Napa Valley project had gone off without a hitch and as a result, she’d finished two weeks early, which was unexpectedly wonderful. Since winning Boston’s Most Exciting Interior Designer award five months ago, she’d been running from one project to another, constantly in demand. For the next few days, maybe a week, she could take it a little easier: sleep later, go home earlier, catch her breath. Chill.

God, she so needed to chill, to de-stress and to rest her overworked mind and body. Despite her business-class seat, she was stiff from her late-night cross-country flight. Jules pulled herself up the wooden stairs, instinctively missing the squeaky floorboards that used to tell a wide-awake parent, or curious sibling, she was taking an unauthorized leave from the house.

Parking her rolling suitcase outside her closed bedroom door, and knowing the house was empty, Jules headed for the family bathroom at the end of the hall, pulling her grubby silk T-shirt from her pants and up and over her head. Opening the door to the bathroom, she tossed the shirt toward the laundry hamper in the corner and stepped into the bathroom.

Hot steam slapped her in the face. A second later she registered the heavy and familiar beat of the powerful shower in the corner of the room. Whipping around and expecting to see Darby or DJ, her mouth fell open at the—God, let’s call it what it was—vision standing in the glass enclosure.

Six feet four inches of tanned skin gliding over defined muscles, hair slicked off an angles-and-planes face, brown eyes flecked with gold. A wide chest, lightly dusted with blond hair and a hard, ridged stomach. Sexy hip muscles that drew the eye down to a thatch of darker hair and a, frankly, impressive package. A package that was growing with every breath he took.

Noah...

God, Noah was back and he was standing in her shower looking like Michelangelo’s David on a very, very good day.

Jules lifted her eyes to his face and the desire in his gaze caused her breath to hitch and all the moisture in her mouth to disappear. Jules swallowed, willed her feet to move but they remained glued to the tiled floor. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. All she wanted to do was touch. Since that was out of the question—God, she hadn’t seen him in ten years, she couldn’t just jump him!—she just looked, allowing her eyes to feast.

Noah. God. In her bathroom. Naked.

Without dropping his eyes from hers, Noah switched off the water and pushed his hair off his face. Opening the door to the shower cubicle, he stepped out onto the mat and placed his hands on his narrow hips. Jules dropped her gaze and, yep, much bigger than before. Strong, hard...

Were either of them ever going to speak, to turn away, to break this crazy, passion-saturated atmosphere? What was wrong with them?

Jules was trying to talk her feet into moving when Noah stepped up to her and placed a wet hand on her cheek, his thumb sliding across her lower lip. He smelled of soap and shampoo and hot, aroused male. Lust, as hot and thick as warm molasses, slid into her veins and pooled between her legs. Keeping her hands at her sides, she looked up at Noah, conscious of his erection brushing the bare skin above the waistband of her pants, her nipples stretching the fabric of her lace bra.

Noah just stared at her, the gold flecks in his eyes bright with desire, and then his mouth, that sexy, sexy mouth, dropped onto hers. His hands slid over her bare waist and down her butt, pulling her into his wet, hard body. Jules gasped as his tongue flicked between the seam of her lips and she opened up with no thought of resistance.

It was an exaggerated version of the kiss they’d shared so long ago. This was a kiss on steroids, bold, hotter and wetter than before. Noah’s arms were stronger, his mouth more demanding, his intent clear. His hand moved across her skin with confidence and control, settling on her right breast. He pulled down the cup of her bra, and then her breast was pressed into his palm, skin on skin. She whimpered and Noah growled, his thumb teasing her nipple with rough, sexy strokes.

Jules lifted her hands to touch him, wanting to feel those ridges of his stomach on her fingertips, wrap her hand around his—