Julian was silent. “Okay. I’ll drop it after you answer one more question. In six months, are you really moving in with me?”
I held up my hand. “I swear I am. Just give me six months.”
He stared into my eyes, searching for a lie. He didn't find one. He sat back. “Okay.”
Before I could retort, he reached down and picked up a book from my table,Terry McMillan’sI Almost Forgot About You. I raised an eyebrow. “You got the sequel?”
“Yes. AfterWaiting to Exhale, I was hooked.”
He stood up. I braced myself, but he didn't come toward me. Instead, he simply began to undress. He pulled his tee over his head, unbuckled his jeans, and stepped out of them, leaving him in just black boxer briefs. He folded his clothes neatly on the chair, walked to the sofa, and lay down with his head in my lap.
He looked up at me, holding the book out. “Read to me.”
I was paralyzed. The heat of him seeped through my pajamas. He smelled like crisp air and something uniquelyhim.
“I… I will. But you can’t stay all night. Out by midnight.”
“I know,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Now read.”
I took the book and turned to the beginning . I began to read aloud. His breathing deepened, and his hand came up, his fingers tangling in the hem of my shirt, holding on to me as he drifted off.
I knew he wasn’t leaving. I was trapped. By his body, by his audacity.
It felt different than being trapped with the Ashworths. It felt like home.
Chapter 11
Elara
The text came that Sunday afternoon while I was staring at a spreadsheet that had long since blurred into grey lines. It was just three hours after he’d left my place.
JULIAN:Party at the loft. 9pm. Wear something you can dance in. No excuses.
My first instinct was to type a refusal. I was tired, I had a mountain of work to sort before Monday morning, and I had a lingering emotional hangover from our confrontation. I typedyessimply because I didn’t want to wake up with him in my house anymore.
I wore a black bodycon dress and heels that would probably hurt my feet in a few hours but made my legs look incredible. Julian sent a car. We drove an hour to a trendy warehouse district that housed multimillion-dollar conversions. Inside was, predictably, stunning. It was a vast space with concrete floors and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a man-made pond, decorated with modern art and vintage furniture. Music pulsed through the air. It was packed.
I saw Quinn, Julian’s assistant, first—talking with a group of people by a makeshift bar made of a slab of marble resting on two sawhorses. He was laughing, a beer in hand, looking nothing like the subdued man in a suit I'd seen at the office. He spottedme and his smile widened. He nudged the woman next to him and pointed. She turned, and her face lit up in recognition.
“Elara! Oh my god, you came!”
It was Chloe, a graphic designer who’d shown up at our apartment six months ago with a six-pack and a broken heart. She was a childhood friend of Julian’s. I’d spent the night up with them eating pizza and introducing them to thePorky’smovies.
One by one, people came over to greet me. Mateo, the cinematographer; Lena, the lawyer; and Ben, the chef who’d taught me how to properly sear a scallop during a Super Bowl party. A slow realization crept over me, stealing my breath. I knew most of his friends by name. Julian had been quietly integrating me into his life for years, and I hadn’t even noticed.
“Where is he?” I asked Quinn, leaning past the crowd. “Hiding?”
Before he could answer, a hand slid around my waist, splaying across my belly. The people around us looked startled, except for Quinn. Then lips pressed to my neck.
“You look good, princess,” Julian murmured against my throat. “Real good. I’m definitely peeling this off you tonight.”
He smelled too good—clean, expensive, with the faintest hint of woodsy cologne.
“Quinn,” Julian said, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear, “did you offer her a drink?”
“I’m good. I don't want anything,” I interjected. “I have to work. You’ve got three-hundred-forty minutes, at most.”
He pulled me back into him, my head fitting perfectly under his chin. “You’re a manipulative bastard.”
