Understanding Nora

By Ruby Molloy

Nora and Carred's story isn’t sugar sweet and plastic. It’s fierce, needy and real. It couldn’t be anything else since Nora’s feisty, a little weird, and buries her secrets deep. And Carred is ... Well, he’s an international rock star who’s had his feet kicked out from under him by a student.

When secrets, absence, and Nora’s reticence threaten to break them apart, can Carred hold them together by understanding Nora?

**Due to strong language and sexual content, this book is not intended for readers under the age of 18

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ruby Molloy
• Release date: Aug 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370042968

Ruby Molloy

Ruby is the author of the Imperfect Love Series. She loves to write about strong male characters and quirky females. Her novels are fun, feisty and suitable for over eighteens only. Ruby lives in England and is currently writing full time.

Book preview

Understanding Nora

by

Ruby Molloy

Six months ago

CARRED

Before we ever met, when she was simply a name on my sister’s lips, I envisioned a plain, heavy-set girl with pale red hair and copious freckles. Big, fucking mistake! Except for the hair, I got that right, though I was way off on the shade. It’s a deep, dark red and I think if I ever get the chance to touch it, it’ll scorch my fingers.

Three months back, I came face to face with my mistake. I was jet lagged, two bottles into a six-pack of beer, and seeing her was like a kick to the ribs. I remember the swift flare of lust and the acidic burn that chased through my veins. I also remember the icy hatred that shone from her opaque green eyes. And within the passing of a few sluggish seconds, I knew that I’d both found and lost her.

I’d be fine if I didn’t see her almost as often as I see my sister, Tess. I’d be way over her. I wouldn’t be marking off the days until the next time I see her. She’d be a memory. Not even that. She’d be the yellow stain of a once purple bruise, cause unknown, never to be recollected.

Carred!

A husky voice claws me back to the present. The timbre of this girl’s voice isn’t smooth and rounded like Nora’s. It’s dry and unnatural, brought on by smoking and drinking and it irritates the fuck out of me. It belongs to the blonde currently straddling my thighs. I realise my fingers are digging into her hips, indenting the flesh beneath her flimsy black dress. She smiles when I ease up, shifts closer, and grinds against a hard-on that has not one thing to do with her and everything to do with Nora Appleby.

She’s the one who’s been at the forefront of my dreams and fantasies for the past few months. She’s also the girl who’s currently standing on the other side of the room, acting like I don’t exist. It’s a fucking shame I can’t do the same, but everything about her demands my attention.

Right now, from this distance, it’s her long red hair, but up close it’s her cold, green eyes. She’s beautiful, more than a little goofy, and she possesses a toughness that stirs something inside me. I want to find out if there’s a pool of softness concealed beneath her tough exterior and I’m curious about what exactly triggered her protective armour. But mostly I just want to fuck her.

Shit, that’s a lie. I want her, full stop.

She’s a student for Christ’s sake. How the hell was I supposed to know a student would turn my world on its side? She doesn’t flirt, doesn’t play with her hair or give me smouldering, pouty looks, so why the hell can’t I get her out of my mind?

Yeah, she’s stunning, but beautiful girls are the norm not the exception in my life. They’re never far away, always waiting for their opportunity, just like the ever-present paparazzi. And it’s not her ‘not interested’ attitude that gets me going, because girls play that game all the time, though Nora gives it a whole new spin the way she blows hot and cold.

One thing I know for sure, she’s got something. And when I say she’s got something I mean she’s got it, because I don’t do this shit―ever. Christ, I’d rather go head to head with Nora, with nothing but a cold shower at the end of the night, than screw any of the girls at this party. For the first time in twenty-four years I’ve met someone who has my brain and dick interested, a girl who has me contemplating more than just a quick fuck, and she doesn’t give a shit about me.

Shoving my near-empty beer bottle into the blonde’s hand, I lift her from my thighs and drop her to the sofa, ignoring her overblown pout. Tess says I’m a dick when it comes to girls; I disagree. If I admit upfront that I don’t do relationships it’s not my problem when they forget every word I’ve said, every damn time.

Clearing a path through the room I fix my gaze on Nora, watching as a cold, hard veneer settles over her features.

Not interested, Carred!

I grin, unperturbed. Babe, I haven’t said a word.

Babe? Her lush mouth twists into a mini-sneer and the flat hardness of her green eyes has me thinking of cold, winter seas.

Do I look like I respond to ‘babe’? Jeez, do you even remember my name?

I remember you, Nora. Been trying to forget you, but it’s not happening.

Try harder, McGuire.

My eyes drop to her mouth, and I know I’m staring, but seriously she has a sexy mouth.

"I’ve been trying, real fucking hard," I tell her, elongating the word ‘hard’ like a total dickhead.

Really? You’re sinking that low already? I thought you might at least warm up before letting slip one of your dirty, little innuendos.

I can’t help the full-on grin that perfectly demonstrates to anyone who sees it that I’m in deep with this girl. Didn’t come over here to fight with you, Nora.

No? Why then? You have a predilection for being knocked back? She arches an eyebrow, her expression caught between haughty and wicked, and I’m torn between wanting to kiss and ... shit, I just want to kiss her!

I search her eyes, needing to know there’s something more; that beneath her hard shell there’s a spectre of something other than hatred or loathing or whatever the fuck it is she feels for me. She stares right back and when I’m ready to give up, I see it; it’s in the flicker of her eyes, the quirk of her mouth, and the ripple of her throat. I nod and relax, as though she’s given me the answer I’m looking for, the one I’ve been waiting on for months.

Dance with me. Not giving her a chance to refuse, I pull her towards the dance floor, ignoring the sting of her nails and the tug of her hand.

I’m not dancing with you, Carred!

I turn and she presses a hand to my stomach to prevent her chest from bumping into mine. I want to push into it, to have it leave an impression on my skin. Instead I choose to incite her anger. It’s a safety mechanism, one I only ever use with Nora. You want to act like a wallflower all night?

I get what I want. Her eyes don’t look so cold anymore. They’re hot and furious and her green irises are shining bright.

I am not a wallflower! she says, carefully enunciating each word between tightly clenched teeth.

I said ‘act’ like one, Nora. You think I haven’t noticed how most of these pricks have had their eyes on your tits and arse all night?

Oh my god! You have a disgusting mouth!

Everyone has their weakness, guys especially. Coop collects cars like they’re pin badges, and Travis enjoys chilling with a spliff. Riley gambles, but he has a handle on it―the handle being his girlfriend, Fliss. My weakness is cursing. Since I don’t smoke, and I’ve kicked the weed and coke, I figure my cursing can be excused. Besides, I’m not a complete dickhead―I know not to swear in front of kids and old ladies.

I register her scathing expression and I can’t resist the need to shock her further. You’re not wrong, Appleby. And you know what? You’d fucking love it if you gave me a chance to use it on you.

Her gaze burns brittle and hard. You’re a dick.

I position my mouth against the perfect swirl of her ear, almost losing focus when I catch the scent of her perfume. Can we just fucking dance? I get that you don’t like me. Jesus, anyone watching us can see that you can’t stand me, but would it kill you to dance with me for ten minutes?

She doesn’t answer, but she also doesn’t move away. I take that as a yes and lift her hands to my shoulders. It doesn’t take long before I’m half-crazy with wanting her. The way she moves, the way she slowly relaxes against me. Jesus, who knew she’d feel like this? I pull her in closer, the light pressure of her hands on my shoulders a torturous tease. Her warmth seeps through my t-shirt, bringing about a stream of dirty thoughts that has my blood flowing straight to my dick. If she had the vaguest idea where my mind’s at, her knee would be embedded in my balls right about now.

Two songs in, she relaxes enough to rest her head against my chest. Her fingers curl around my nape, and my private, x-rated fantasies step up a notch. It’s fucking amazing. Right up until the wanting drains a little too much blood from my brain and I screw up. Let’s go upstairs, I need to see her, to touch her. To find out if the reality of being with Nora is as fierce as my dreams. She tenses beneath my hands and I almost groan, prepping for the inevitable knock-back.

Not gonna happen, McGuire, she says.

There it is; the fucking phrase that I want to douse in petrol and burn to nothing. I glare down at her and she returns it in full―bold and bolshy as hell.

It’s gonna happen, Nora. You think I don’t know that you’re feeling it too? My gaze lowers to where her nipples are stiff and swollen beneath the fabric of her t-shirt. You think I don’t know you want me? That I can’t see your nipples poking through your t-shirt? Shit, I bet your panties are damp right now.

Up close as I am, I don’t see the slap coming. It stings like a bitch and I feed off the pain, pushing against her, following when she retreats. Breathing hard, we lock eyes, both angry enough to do something stupid.

Her hands smack into my chest. Back off, McGuire!

Quit playing games, Appleby!

Bloody hell, could your ego get any bigger? I am not playing games! Do me a favour―leave me the hell alone and go screw blondie over there! She looked like she was begging for it before you struck out with me.

Fucking hell, she drives me crazy! I want to kiss her. I want to back her up against the wall and spread her legs with my knee. I want to have her wanting me the way I fucking want her.

I dig deep and find the self-control I need before I push too far. Are you done? My tone is menacing as hell, but she doesn’t bat an eyelid. She glares up at me, her small hands curled into fists, her green eyes flashing angry fire.

Are you hearing me?

I smirk. Yeah, Appleby. Doesn’t mean I’m listening though.

Two months ago

NORA

Day four of my flu virus and I’ve finally escaped my bedroom. Feeling weak and woozy, I descend the stairs on my backside one miserable step at a time. When I eventually flop face down on the sofa, my heart is racing and my skin is coated with perspiration. Ella – my friend, fellow student and house-mate – shoves a pillow beneath my face and arranges a duvet across my prone body, ensuring that everything I could possibly need is within arm’s reach.

I have a flu survival kit that includes tissues, cough medicine, two kinds of painkillers, a glass of water and a bin that is already half-filled with crumpled tissues.

The downside of being sick (like there’s an upside) is daytime TV, but it beats staring at the walls. My arms are too weak to hold a book for more than two minutes and, truthfully, the family from hell that’s currently arguing and screaming kind of takes my mind off how rotten I’m feeling.

I’ve had a seriously crap week. The kind that lurches from one shitty day to the next, with no let up. Saturday, Tess and I had an argument about her brother, Carred, which for several, tense minutes had me believing our friendship might be over. She berated me for knocking him back whenever he asks me out, which honestly isn’t all that often since he seems to be constantly on tour with DMGD. I got defensive and angry, and started listing all the reasons why I’d never go out with her stupid, jerk of a brother. I said some pretty nasty things, partly because I needed her to stop trying to get us together, but mostly because I needed to convince myself that’s how I really felt.

Tess, having been my closest friend for the past year, should have known when to call a halt. Thankfully, we got through it and made a pact to never again discuss the possibility of there being anything between me and Carred.

Sunday, I had my laptop stolen while me and my housemates, Frankie and Ella, were having brunch in Joe’s Place, a cheap diner that’s a student hang-out. I had my laptop in a bag on the floor and some creep stole it without me or anyone else noticing, until after the event. Stupidly, it wasn’t insured, which means Sunday was my second shitty day.

Monday was a B-A-A-A-D day.

I’d felt rotten, but hadn’t yet realised I was coming down with flu. I overslept and rushed to get ready for my first tutorial, dressing in a rocking outfit of white t-shirt with black logo, and a men’s grey blazer that had heaps of style, but zero warmth. It also wasn’t waterproof. And yes it was October, but it hadn’t gotten cold yet. Walking to uni, the weather had taken a turn for the worse and the dark grey clouds burst, releasing big fat drops of rain that had me drenched in seconds.

By lunchtime I started to burn up and by mid-afternoon I was getting woozy. I decided to call it a day and was walking past the Tech and Design block when my head became extra fuzzy. I leant against the wall for support and ended up sliding into a faint, grazing my cheek and temple on way down. So, yeah, Monday was definitely a bad day!

And now, today, I’m crashed out on the sofa, snuggled beneath my duvet and dressed in my shabbiest PJs. My hair hasn’t seen a brush in days, and the upper right side of my face is covered in hideous scabs, so not only do I feel like shit, I look like it too.

I’m heading into town. You want me to get you anything? Ella shouts from the hallway.

Uh-uh. I’m good thanks. My nose is blocked, my throat is sore, and my voice sounds as though it’s being funnelled through my nose.

Was that a no?

Uh-ha.

She must have gotten that because I hear the front door open and the mumbled sound of conversation.

Visitor coming through!

I twist my head, expecting Tess. My headache ratchets up a notch when I see Carred McGuire is standing in the doorway, looking hot and sexy, and far too happy for my current mood.

If you’re looking for Tess, she’s not here, I say, swinging my gaze back to the TV. I don’t want to be round him right now. Actually, scrap that! I never want to be round him, but most especially today, when I look like something the cat has swallowed and regurgitated.

He ignores my snarky comment and moves into the living room, not stopping until he’s standing directly in front of me, his blue eyes scanning me from head to toe.

The most beautiful guy I have ever laid eyes on is looking down at me and all I can do is lay there – a horrible, snotty, scabby mess – knowing he isn’t going to let that slide.

You look like shit, babe.

Yeah, there it is! Like I don’t already know this and I need him to point it out for me. Thanks for your observation, McGuire. Now that you’ve succeeded in pissing me off, feel free to leave.

Nah, think I’ll stay a while.

He grins, sparking my temper because that grin is sexy and he’s gorgeous as hell with his dark blond hair tucked behind his ears, and darker stubble shading his jaw. His black t-shirt hugs his body, making me restless for something I don’t want to be wanting.

There’s no-one here besides me, I tell him, hoping that piece of information will have him changing his mind, but he shrugs as if it’s irrelevant.

Didn’t come to see anyone ’cept you, but thanks for the info.

Shit! Why does my heart have to pump harder at that piece of news?

Got you something, he says, holding out a box and tilting it so that I can see the front. I stare, and then I stare some more, until my throat tightens and I forget to breathe.

It’s a top of the range laptop and for a tech-geek like me, who had their bottom-of-the-range laptop stolen only a few days ago, it’s nirvana. It’s like all my birthdays and Christmases rolled into one, and being as low and vulnerable as I am right now, I get a little choked. Tess told you, I say, my voice real quiet.

That you got your laptop stolen? Yeah.

She asked you to replace it? I don’t need him treating me like a charity case.

He frowns at my snarky tone and, damn it, it makes him look sexier. No, she didn’t ask me to replace it.

Oh. I can’t figure out why he’d go out of his way to buy me a top of the range laptop, but then I get to thinking there could only be one possible reason. If this is some kind of bribe to get me to sleep with you, forget it.

His face grows tight and his jaw flexes. Jesus, Nora, why do you have to assume the worst? You need a fucking laptop, so I bought you one. I have more money than I know what to do with, so me buying you a laptop means next to nothing. And before you make some piss-smart comment about me boasting about how rich I am, that’s not what I meant.

Gee, McGuire. Thanks for going all out and buying me a laptop. Knowing it means next to nothing makes it all the more special.

Fuck me, even when you’re sick you’re still a pain in the arse. You want the sodding thing or not?

I shoot him a sickly sweet smile. If you think I’d turn this down you’re even more stupid than you look.

Jesus, you’re such a fucking charmer. It’s a good thing you’re covered in scabs and snot or I’d be jumping your bones right now.

One track mind, McGuire, I taunt, pushing my hand through my hair and wincing when it catches in a chunky knot.

His gaze lingers for a few seconds, eyes intense, looking like he’s on the verge of saying something. Maybe he thinks better of it because he lays the laptop on the quilt above my stomach and turns to the TV just as a chorus of cheers erupts from its speakers. Two men are being restrained by security guys, the host taunting the struggling men from a safe distance: pure TV trash.

You like this shit? he asks, his expression incredulous.

Hey, don’t judge. I’ve been stuck in bed for days. This is major entertainment compared to staring at the walls.

You really are sick if you think this shit is entertainment. There’s got to be something better to watch than this crap.

You are not changing channels, McGuire!

His eyebrows rise in disbelief. You can’t seriously want to watch this shit?

"It just so happens I’m in the mood to watch shit!"

Where’s the remote? His gaze travels along the duvet, as though he’s seconds away from giving me a strip search.

Don’t you have somewhere to be? I snap, holding it out to him.

Got a couple of free hours, which means today is your lucky day, Appleby. He shoots me a cocky grin. I roll my eyes, watching him flick through channel after channel, surprised when he stops on an old detective series. Really? I ask, injecting the word with scorn.

His brows arch. What? It’s good.

I’m all set to belittle his choice when he continues. We used to watch this when I was a kid.

I catch the tinge of nostalgia that weaves through his words. I know it was just him and Tess. I know their parents were killed in an avalanche some years back and Carred took on the responsibility of looking after Tess when she was still in school. I secretly admire him for that, and for once I do the right thing―I keep my mouth shut. That is, right up until he lifts my feet, sinks down onto the sofa, and lowers my calves across his thighs.

Startled by the intimacy, I forget all about going easy on him. Make yourself comfortable, McGuire!

He raises an eyebrow, the one with the twin bar bells, and gives me a sideways glance. Really? Coz I’m thinking I’d be more comfortable stretched out beside you.

Yeah, not gonna happen.

Nora?

What?

Shut up and watch the fucking TV.

Carred?

What? His eyes flash with a mixture of temper and frustration.

Thank you for my MacBook.

He grunts and swings his gaze back to the TV, his mouth curving into a ghost of a smile.

Chapter One

Tess

CARRED

It hurts to breathe.

Pain lacerates my chest, has me doubling over. My breathing is sharp and jagged. I release a groan and a wave of nausea follows on its heels, my mind a black hole that threatens to swallow my sanity.

Head bent, I watch my tears hit the fake-marble floor. This is the second time my life has come to a shattering standstill. First it was my parents; this time it’s Tess.

I should have been there for her. She shouldn’t have died alone. Guilt burns like acid in my stomach.

I’m so very sorry, Carred. I hope it will be of some comfort to know that Tess didn’t suffer. She wasn’t aware of what was happening.

She continues to talk but her voice is muffled by the guilt that swaddles me. This is my fault. If I’d been there for her ... Christ, what did Tess ever do to deserve this?

It should have been me. I’m the fuck-up, the one who used to pop drugs like they were the only thing keeping me alive. I’m the one who got kicked out of school at sixteen. I was my parents’ disappointment. Tess ... Tess was perfect.

The end was peaceful ... she continues in hushed tones, intending her well chosen words to be soothing, but they’re wasted on me because I know I’m to blame. I should have been in the UK instead of in fucking New York.

Is there anyone you’d like to be here with you? Someone you’d like to call?

I shake my head. This is my own personal hell and I’m not about to inflict this on anyone else; at least not yet. I feel myself withdrawing, sheltering from the reality of Tess’s death and the black misery that lies in wait. I’ve been here before. I know what to expect.

The doctor pauses, crossing her plump legs before hesitantly explaining the procedure for registering a death. She speaks slowly, her smooth voice allowing my numb brain to absorb her words, and when she finishes we rise from our chairs. For a moment I think she’s going to shake my hand.

I give her a nod and I’m out of there, treading through the maze of corridors, slowly at first, gradually picking up speed until I’m full on running. When I hit the exit, the automatic doors roll back with a judder and I escape into the stale darkness, breathing heavily, the icy-cold air stinging my skin, making everything sharper, more real.

I make it to the edge of the car park before I vomit, heaving repeatedly as my legs shake, threatening to give out on me. I almost fall into the mess I’ve just spewed onto the tarmac.

I think about the hours that have lapsed since I heard about Tess, hours spent praying and hoping, focused solely on reaching her. Fucking wasted hours that mean nothing because Tess is gone.

Slumping behind the wheel of my car, I wait for the trembling to subside. It’s more than twenty-four hours since I’ve slept; I’m wired, mentally and physically exhausted, and I’m barely holding it together.

Jesus Christ, my sweet, beautiful sister is dead.

We were always polar opposites; Tess calm and stable as the sea at low tide, me wild and driven as a flood, always surging to reach the next goal. But we were close and I loved her―more than anything or anyone. She had more faith in me than I ever had in myself; it was Tess who urged me to keep going when our parents suggested I quit the band. She was my world―my haven from the madness of the music business.

My stomach roils with guilt and self-hatred. I can’t get my head round the fact that she’s gone. I smack the back of my head against the headrest and a new, sharper thought bursts forth. I miss her. I miss her so fucking much, I’m not sure I can bear it. A low, keening sound rises from my throat. It’s unrelenting, and when it finally passes, I’m empty.

I sit there for hours, until my hands are white, and my fingers are stiff and numb from the cold. A band of silver frost has splintered its way across the edges of the windscreen, creating an icy frame for the vast amber moon. Its colour stirs a memory of Tess’s house, of windows glowing tawny through thin curtains. It jolts me from my daze.

I need to feel a connection with Tess. I need to be amongst her things. I start the engine and drive into town, through streets that become increasingly narrow, stop signs never more than a few feet ahead. I find a space outside her small terraced house. There’s no flowered garden or white picket fence; only a strip of pavement divides her house from the street. The windows are black voids; no amber lights filter through the curtains, no sounds penetrate the timber-framed, sash-windows. Its soul has gone.

I fumble my key into the lock and step into the living room, reeling as the sweet, floral smell that was pure Tess hits me. Though it’s pitch black, I know exactly how the room looks, and when I flick the light switch I’m engulfed by girly chintz and chaotic colouring. An open book lies on the sofa, its spine bent back on itself. Nearby, discarded on the floor, her knitted boot-slippers lie bent out of shape, their pale soles worn and scuffed. On the oak mantelpiece, above the cast iron fireplace, there’s a photo of Tess, smiling at the camera, encircled by friends. I think of her zest for life, of the countless adventures she’ll never get to experience, and I lose it.

Forehead to the wall, I power my fist against the brick, pounding out the pain, landing punch after punch until my blood stains the yellow paint a sickly orange. I don’t stop, at least not until the physical pain outweighs the agony within. Lurching on numb legs, I pass her small oak table and its matching spindly chairs, moving into the long, narrow kitchen at the very back of the house. It’s pink, and there’s girly shit on shelves that were intended for something else, but I like it. I just never told Tess I liked it. I played the macho card and told her it was like being inside a candyfloss machine.

Searching the cupboards, I locate the bottle of Jack Daniels I left here at Christmas. Spinning the

Reviews for Understanding Nora

[Julia Moss · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Beautifully written, fabulous story telling. Well worth a read! Thank you