What He Explores (What He Wants, Book Twenty-One) Read Free Page A

hadn’t been able to stop Detective Rake from getting right to our front door. And if Noah and I were right that Jason Cartwright had been killed by Professor Worthington, it was definitely going to send Noah’s protective, possessive streak into overdrive.
    I was anxious about what that would mean.
    But right now I was more concerned about my mother.
    “She’s a married woman,” I raged to Noah from the passenger seat of his Bentley. “She was on a date. And she’s a married woman.”
    Noah was stoic, staring straight ahead as he maneuvered the car through midtown Manhattan.
    “Say something!” I demanded.
    “What would you like me to say, Charlotte?”
    “I don’t know. Say you’re outraged. Say you’re surprised, say my mom’s an adulterer!”
    “I am outraged. I am surprised. Your mother is an adulterer.”
    “Whatever,” I grumbled. His hand was on my knee, and I went to push it off, but he tightened his grip.
    “You are getting a little unruly, Charlotte,” he said, his voice laced with a stern warning. “I understand it has been an extremely stressful few hours. But I will touch you wherever and whenever I wish, and that includes right now, in this car.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    “I must say that I find it very interesting that you were accused of murder this morning, and yet you are choosing to focus your energy on your mother having an affair, which, comparably, is a minor event,” Noah said.
    “It’s not minor to me,” I said. We were getting closer to Union Square now, and I could see the tents of the Farmer’s Market down the block – the tables under the tan awnings were filled with fresh vegetables and homemade soaps and art and all kinds of other things.
    The square was blocked off by police barricades, so we had to park a few streets over.
    I was out of the car and heading for the sidewalk before Noah had even turned off the engine.
    “Jesus, Charlotte,” he said, catching up to me in two long strides. He took my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine, his grip strong. He pulled me to him, forcing me to slow down and meet his pace. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel his desire to punish me radiating off of him in waves, so intense it was almost alive and filling the air between us.
    I turned and looked up at him, letting my gaze travel over his strong profile. His broad shoulders were pushed back, and he walked with an easy, confident gait. He didn’t say anything, didn’t admonish me, didn’t promise punishments or consequences.
    But I knew that meant that when the punishment and consequences came – and they would come -- they would be more severe.
    When we reached the end of the block, we crossed the street.
    “Did she say where she was exactly?” I asked Noah. Union Square was filled with people – families shopping for groceries, college kids playing hacky sack, stylish Upper East Side moms clad in Lulu Lemon, sipping paper cups of designer coffee as they checked out the handmade jewelry and paraben-free cosmetics. There was no way we were going to be able to find my mother in this crowd without knowing precisely where she was.
    “Charlotte! Noah!” a voice called.
    My mother was standing by a pretzel cart a little further down the street, waving her hand in the air at us, saving us from the job of having to search the market for her.
    Noah and I began walking toward her.
    As we got closer, I realized she was wearing a very odd outfit for a farmer’s market in the middle of the afternoon. My mother always liked to look her best -- she wasn’t above putting on makeup and a sundress just for a quick run to the gas station, but this was beyond the pale, even for her.
    A black skintight evening dress clung to her body. But while the dress was elegant and would have been perfect for a night out in the city, it was woefully out of place among the workout attire and jeans and plaid button-downs that surrounded us.
    Not only that, but the material of the dress