The snow filtered down from the clouded sky outside the penthouse apartment’s windows, but I was more concerned with ignoring the tension between Noah and me than the snow.

Ever since we’d gotten back from our Christmas decoration shopping spree, he’d been quiet. It has to be because we saw Marc. Maybe he feels guilty. But why? It wasn’t as if we’d done anything since the first time, and while I hadn’t exactly told Marc about it, nor did I plan to, I didn’t see the problem.

Marc wouldn’t freak out. He was my brother. He was mature about this type of thing.

I hummed as I strung lights on the Christmas tree Noah had had delivered and set up in the living room. Christmas music tinkled from the stereo—one of my favorite Michael Bublé CDs—and the smells from the kitchen were intense.

I’d prepared a roast chicken and shoved it in the oven before setting to work on the decorations. Noah strode off to make some calls just as I’d started on the tree.

And that was totally fine. The less time we spend around each other, the better. Mmm, if that was the case, then why was I so set on making his apartment feel homey? I shoved that aside. I didn’t particularly care to dissect my motives on that one.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, and we both had work. No time for silly thoughts.

“Looking good,” Noah spoke from behind me, and I jumped slightly, the stepladder I’d positioned myself on swaying slightly.

Noah’s hands steadied me at the hips. “Careful,” he said. “Wouldn’t want to break anything over Christmas.”

I gulped and tried controlling my reaction to his touch. Didn’t help—the shivers still spread across my skin. “Excuse me,” I said and descended the two steps, planted my feet back on solid ground. “I should check on the chicken.” I turned and stopped, facing his chest. I raised my chin slowly and looked up into those dark, espresso eyes. “Don’t want it to burn.”

Noah stared at me and didn’t step aside. “You don’t have to do any of this, Erika.”

“Do what?”

“Repay me like this. The cooking, the house décor shit. I don’t need any of it.”

Had I been doing that, subconsciously? No. “This is just who I am,” I replied. “I like to cook. I like Christmas. It’s more driven by what I want than what you deserve.” I cleared my throat. “The chicken.”

Finally, Noah shifted aside, and I hurried past him and into the kitchen, biting the inside of my cheek. I didn’t actually have to check the damn chicken—I’d set a timer for it—but anything to be away from the heat of his presence.

I couldn’t take the heat, all right, but I had to get into the kitchen to get away from it. Fantastic joke, Erika. Thank god you didn’t say that one out loud.

I fiddled around with the gravy instead. Checked on my roasting potatoes and the honey-glazed carrots, then sighed. Everything was just about done.

“It smells fucking amazing in here,” Noah said from the doorway. “Can’t wait to dig in.”

“OK if we eat in the kitchen?” I asked, and gestured to the plates and cutlery I’d already set out. “Just a bit of a mess in the living room.”

“Of course, Erika.” The deep growl in Noah’s voice was so suggestive, I swallowed hard and spun back toward the oven, praying for that timer to go off.

This is not what you want. Sleeping with him is a bad idea. You’re not going to do it. I repeated the sentences over and over again in my mind to keep my cool.

Noah’s chair scraped back at the kitchen island just as the timer went off. I had the chicken out and resting in no time, and ten minutes later, everything was dished up, steaming, and ready to be devoured. Noah tucked in with gusto and groaned at the first bite. “Christ, you’re an amazing cook. This is perfect.”

I blushed but shrugged my shoulders. “It’s a family thing,” I said and blew it off. The pleasure I garnered from that slight compliment should’ve been illegal. “Anyway, this is just the pre-Christmas dinner. Tomorrow night, we can do a turkey, or no, wait, on Christmas night, rather, that’s when I’m off.”

“Me too,” Noah nodded.

“Great, then I’ll make a turkey. With some cranberry sauce. Oh, and more roasted potatoes,” I said, as I took a bite of one.

Noah put down his knife and fork and watched me eat, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. “Erika,” he said, then cut off and shook his head.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, picking up his cutlery again. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

I didn’t push the issue. I’d have bet my left boob that whatever he had to say had to do with the intense heat between us. Talking about it would only make it worse. We finished our meal in silence, the only break in the clatter of cutlery and crockery was when Noah poured us each a glass of Chardonnay.

Afterward, Noah rose from his seat and cleared his throat. “This was great,” he said. “I’m beat. Erika, I’d love to join you in decorating the place, but—”

“You don’t give a shit about Christmas?”

“That, and we both have work tomorrow. Probably better to get some rest.” He cast that sexy half-smile in my direction, then collected his empty plate and mine and brought them to the sink. “I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early. We’ll catch a ride to St. Katherine’s, unless someone goes into labor before then.”

“Sure,” I said, trying for a chuckle. It came out strangled, and I mentally cursed myself for it. Why couldn’t I act normal around him? “Good night.”

“Good night, Erika.” Noah made his way out of the kitchen, finally disappearing from sight.

I sighed, sagging a little.

Three, two, one. I counted it out, then walked into the living room and found it entirely empty—exactly what I’d hoped for. I mounted the stepladder again and continued stringing the lights, thoughts wandering to this afternoon and how strangely Noah had acted in front of Marc.

There was something going on there. Something either Marc or Noah wasn’t telling me, and I turned it over in my mind, searching for the answer.

My phone buzzed in the pocket of my jeans and I wobbled on the ladder, steadied myself, then brought it out. A smile zipped across my face, and I answered. “Luna,” I said, “thank god for you. Just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“Uh-huh? Then why haven’t you called?” she said, and thankfully, it was quiet in the background so I could make out what she’d said. “I’ve been dying for the deets on Dr. Damn Gorgeous, and you’ve been holding out on me.”

“Not technically,” I replied, and tramped down from the top of the stepladder. “I’ve just been busy, I guess.” Quickly, I relayed everything to her, from the no-sex agreement, to the run-in with Marc and Jess in the park today. “I don’t know why I care, it’s not like it makes a difference now. Noah and I are avoiding each other like we’re school kids on the playground and we’re convinced the other has the cooties.”

“Love cooties,” Luna said.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” Luna clicked something on the other end of the line. “You two could easily pull off friends with benefits, if you weren’t so pigheaded. What’s the harm?”

“The harm? Dude, you were there after Jason. You know what the harm is.” I walked around the tree, admiring my handiwork so far, then picked up the plug from the string of lights and made for the wall socket. “I’m not going through that again.”

“Mmm, that just tells me that you’re into Noah in ways that don’t equate to sex only. You want him as more than just a naughty fuck buddy for the week. You like him. Like, like him, like him.”

“Like no, I, like, don’t,” I said, putting on a Valley girl accent.

“Oh please,” Luna sighed. “He’s all you’ve talked about ever since you ran into him at St. Katherine’s. You’re totally crushing on hunky McDoctorson, and I don’t blame you. He’s a catch.”

“He’s dangerous. Even if I was crushing on him, it wouldn’t matter,” I replied, as quietly as I could manage, and glanced back at the open living room arch, in case Noah had decided to sneak up on me. “He’s emotionally unavailable. And so am I, for that matter. Oh shoot.” I bent, frowning at the socket.

“What?”

“I need an adaptor. My Christmas lights don’t fit the wall socket,” I said.

“Your brain doesn’t fit your head.”

“How rude,” I replied, but chuckled. “Hmm, maybe he has something that will fit in the study.” I traipsed out of the living room and down the hall, away from Noah’s cracked bedroom door, past the guest room and toward the first room on the right, nearest the elevator.

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

“He went to bed early,” I whispered, and stepped into his study, clicked the switch on the wall, “and I don’t want to wake him.”

“Scared you’ll jump his bones?”

“Yes,” I replied, honestly.

The study was dominated by a walnut desk along one side of the room, and bookshelves behind it, stacked with books I recognized. They were mostly fiction, actually, and my eyebrows crept up—I’d had no idea that Noah had any interest in reading, least of all, Game of Thrones.

I walked over and traced the spines with my fingertips, then shook my head. “Anyway,” I said. “How are you doing? How’s Christmas with the ’rents?”

“Oh, you know, annoying,” Luna said. “In fact, I’m thinking of forcing my father to drive into Manhattan for Christmas, just so we can get out of the house for a while. Mom is driving us crazy. She’s on the eggnog.”

I mentally crossed myself for Luna. Her mother was a force to be reckoned with—add in alcohol, and it was a recipe for a family disaster. I turned from the bookshelf toward the desk and opened a few of the drawers, idly searching for an adaptor that would fit the lights.

“If you do come into town, you have to visit. I’ll be working Christmas Eve, but I’m free Christmas Day. It would be great to have your company.” It would make it easier to focus on anything but Noah’s heated looks.

I opened the bottom drawer and a selection of Polaroid photos skidded forward. I froze, inhaled sharply. “What the hell?’

“What?” Luna asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I—Luna, I’m going to have to call you back.” I hung up and stowed my phone, shock creeping through me. I reached into the drawer and drew out the photos, rifled through them, faster and faster.

Every single one of them was of me. Pictures from my brother’s wedding first, me in that shimmery silver dress that’d ripped open, some of which had been taken as I’d walked down the hall outside the venue’s hall. Pictures of me sipping champagne, and then more, more from back in high school—ones I’d never known he’d taken.

My blood iced over, then grew hot as hell. Anger pulsed through me. What the hell was this?

“What are you doing in here?” Noah’s voice sliced through my core.

I spun toward him, holding the pictures up, my eyes wide now, a deer caught in the headlights.

He was shirtless, and in those easy pj pants again. His gaze flicked from my face to the pictures then back again, and his expression darkened. “Erika, what the hell are you doing in here?”

“No,” I said. “No you don’t. You’re not going to make me feel like the freak when you’re harboring pictures of me in your desk.” I waggled them at him. “What the hell, Noah? What the fuck are these?”