Terms & Conditions | Chapter Two

Well.

So much for hating the guy across the hall. 😂

Yesterday, garlic knots turned a year-long neighbor feud into one very bad idea.

Or maybe a very, very good one.

Terms & Conditions Apply continues with Chapter Two.

Chapter Two

Clara

Time loses all meaning the moment Noah backs me against the kitchen island and rewrites every rule of our neighborhood feud.

My laptop screen sits dark and forgotten in the corner, my Monday morning deadline temporarily a casualty of war. Right now, the only thing that matters is the suffocating heat of Noah’s body pressing me back against the granite counter, his hands gripping my waist with a possessive urgency that leaves no room to breathe.

"You are completely out of your mind," I whisper against his lips, though my fingers are tangled tightly in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

"I've been out of my mind for a year, Miller," he murmurs back, his mouth trailing hot, deliberate kisses down the line of my jaw to the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

A sharp shudder ripples through me, and he feels it, a dark, victorious chuckle vibrating in his chest.

"Every time you slammed your front door. Every time you left a passive-aggressive note about my bass on the lobby board. Completely unhinged."

"I was defending my right to basic sanity," I gasp, arching into his touch as his lips find my pulse point.

"You were begging for this," he corrects smoothly, his hands sliding down to grip the backs of my thighs, lifting me effortlessly so I am sitting flush against the edge of the counter, eye to eye with him.

Instinct takes over, and my legs wrap around his waist, locking him in place.

The casual, arrogant executive who runs a tech firm by day has completely vanished. In his place is a man whose focus is entirely narrow, dangerous, and overwhelmingly consuming.

"What about your Friday night?" I tease softly, though my voice is thick and breathless, resting my hands on his broad shoulders as I look down into his dark eyes. "Did I ruin it?"

"You completely obliterated it," he replies, his thumb tracing a slow, agonizing circle against my hip bone through the thin cotton of my shorts. "Which means you're going to pay reparations."

"And what does that entail, exactly?"

Noah tilts his head, a slow, predatory smirk touching the corners of his mouth.

"For starters, you're going to stop thinking about that manuscript for the rest of the night."

"Are you insane? Sarah will literally murder me."

"Sarah will love me," he lies with total, unbothered confidence. "Or she will once I track her down and bring her enough garlic knots. Either way, you're not writing another word tonight. Your brain is fried, your deadline isn't until Monday, and you're coming to my place with me."

"Your place?" I echo, my heart doing a traitorous little flip.

"My bed is bigger than yours," he states simply, pressing one last lingering kiss to my lips before stepping back just enough to let me slide off the counter.

He doesn't let go of my hand, though, lacing his fingers securely through mine.

"And unlike this kitchen, it doesn't have a constant reminder of your terrible manuscript hanging over it."

"Hey! My manuscript is a masterpiece in progress," I protest, letting him tug me toward the front door.

"Right. That's why you were ready to commit a felony over a blinking cursor."

Noah opens the door, pulling me out into the quiet, dimly lit hallway of the fourth floor and across the six feet separating my apartment from his.

He looks back at me, his eyes dark and heavy with a promise that makes my stomach swoop.

"Come on, partner. Terms and conditions are officially agreed upon."

Walking out of my apartment and across the threshold of Unit 4B feels less like crossing enemy lines and more like stepping across a Rubicon.

The air inside his place smells different. Less like burnt espresso and stale anxiety and more like expensive sandalwood, clean linen, and the faint, lingering trace of whatever luxury body wash he uses.

It's infuriatingly tidy, too.

No stray papers. No half-empty coffee mugs. Just minimalist dark wood furniture and floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the glittering, sleepless grid of the city skyline.

"Sit," he commands softly, though his tone is less of an order and more of a gentle anchor as he guides me toward the edge of his massive, impeccably made king-size bed.

"I'm not a dog, Noah," I murmur, kicking off my worn-out slippers and pulling my knees up to my chest.

"No, you're a stubborn writer who refuses to sleep unless someone physically carries you away from your keyboard," he retorts, turning away to flick off the harsh overhead lights, leaving only the amber glow of the city filtering through the glass.

He sheds his T-shirt right there in the middle of the room, tossing it carelessly toward the hamper.

I try very hard not to stare at the broad sweep of his shoulders, the clean lines of muscle carved across his back, or the faint scar just above his left hip.

I fail miserably.

And judging by the low, self-satisfied chuckle he lets out before climbing onto the mattress beside me, he knows I failed.

"Staring is rude, Miller," he whispers, crowding into my space until his chest is flush against my side.

"So is breaking down a writer's door at almost midnight with psychological warfare," I fire back, leaning my head against his shoulder because the sheer weight of exhaustion is finally catching up to me now that I'm out of my workspace.

"Call it an aggressive hostile takeover," he says, his arm sliding around my shoulders to pull me completely against his frame.

His fingers begin to trace slow, lazy patterns up and down my bare arm, a soothing friction that melts the last remnants of my stress right out of my bones.

"Your manuscript will still be there tomorrow morning. The world won't end if you sleep for more than three hours."

"You don't understand my agent. Sarah views missed deadlines as a personal betrayal."

"Your deadline is Monday," he reminds me. "Which means Sarah doesn't get to murder you tonight."

"She'd find a reason."

"Then I'll buy her a bakery," he murmurs against my hair, pressing a soft kiss to my crown. "Close your eyes, Clara."

The irony of a man who spent twelve months keeping me awake with bass-heavy playlists now commanding me to sleep isn't lost on me.

But as I breathe in the steady, grounding scent of him and let the heavy warmth of his body swallow me whole, the frantic panic of the last few days finally fades into the background.

"If my laptop battery dies, I'm billing you for a new one," I mutter sleepily, my eyelids feeling heavier by the second.

"Approved," Noah whispers into the dark, his arms tightening around me as the quiet of the night finally takes over.

One night down.

And Clara still has an entire weekend before that manuscript is due.

What could possibly go wrong? 😏

Chapter Three drops tomorrow.One night down.

And Clara still has an entire weekend before that manuscript is due.

What could possibly go wrong? 😏

Chapter Three drops tomorrow.