Julian moves closer, one hand cupping my face, thumb brushing away a tear. "Then let me help. Let me take care of you."
His eyes hold mine, intense and earnest. There's no pity there, no calculation, just genuine concern and something warmer, something that makes my heart beat faster.
"Why?" I whisper. "Why would you do that?"
"Because from the moment you walked into that first meeting—even before you were spectacularly sick in my trash can—" his lips quirk into a small smile, "—I haven't been able to stop thinking about you."
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine—gentle at first, questioning, giving me every opportunity to pull away. But I don't want to pull away. I want to fall into this feeling, this warmth that Julian offers so freely.
I lean into the kiss, one hand rising to curl around the back of his neck. His stubble scratches softly against my skin. He tastes like tea and something sweeter, and he kisses like he has all the time in the world to learn what I like.
My mind flickers briefly to Alexander, to the baby, to all the complications this adds to an already impossible situation. But Julian's hands are sliding around my waist, pulling me closer, and thinking becomes secondary to feeling.
"We should stop," I murmur against his mouth, even as my body arches toward his. "This is complicated."
"Life is complicated," he says, trailing kisses along my jaw. "Doesn't mean we can't find moments of simplicity."
His words cut through my defenses. Moments of simplicity. That's exactly what I need—a respite from the tangle of fears and uncertainties that have consumed me since those pregnancy tests lined up on my bathroom counter.
When Julian pulls back to look at me, his eyes asking a silent question, I answer by taking his hand and pressing it to my heart. "I want this," I whisper. "I want you."
We move to his bedroom in a slow dance of kisses and gentle touches. Unlike Alexander's calculated seduction, Julian's passion has an unhurried tenderness that makes me feel cherished rather than conquered.
He undresses me slowly, his hands reverent on my skin. When I stand naked before him, I fight the urge to cover my stomach, still flat but now carrying so much meaning.
"You're beautiful," Julian says, eyes roaming my body without a hint of reservation about my condition. He pulls me down onto his bed, his body covering mine, solid and warm.
This isn't like Antigua. There's no power play, no carefully orchestrated game of control and surrender. With Julian, it's simpler—two people finding connection in honest desire.
His mouth explores my body with patient attention, lingering at the places that make me gasp. By the time he finally pushes inside me, I'm beyond thinking about comparisons or complications. There's only Julian—his eyes holding mine, his hands steadying my hips, his voice murmuring encouragement as we move together.
"Stay with me," he whispers when I close my eyes, overwhelmed by sensation. "I want to see you."
I open my eyes, letting him witness everything—my pleasure, my vulnerability, the moment when I finally let go, crying out as the tension breaks into the most exquisite release. Julian follows moments later, his face buried against my neck.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, his hand drawing lazy patterns on my back. I should feel guilt or confusion, but all I feel is a profound sense of peace.
"You okay?" Julian asks, pressing a kiss to my temple.
"Better than okay," I answer truthfully. In this moment, the future with its complications seems distant, manageable.
Julian's hand drifts to my stomach, resting there lightly. The gesture should feel presumptuous—he's not the father, has no claim to this baby—but somehow it just feels right.
"I meant what I said," he murmurs into my hair. "About helping. About taking care of you. Both of you."
I turn to face him, searching his eyes for any hint of hesitation or regret. There is none. "This isn't your responsibility, Julian."
"I'm not offering out of responsibility." His fingers trace my cheekbone. "I'm offering because I want to. Because there's something here—" he gestures between us, "—that I haven't felt in a long time. Maybe ever."
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest ache. "I'm carrying another man's child. Your friend's child. That doesn't bother you?"
Julian considers this, his expression thoughtful rather than troubled. "The situation is complicated. My feelings for you aren't." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "The rest, we figure out as we go."
I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Soon enough, reality will intrude again. But for now, in the warmth of Julian's arms, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I won't have to do this alone.
Chapter 20
Tristan
