“Then be good.” He flattened his palm to rub my clit, making my eyes roll back into my head. I grabbed at his jacket, biting my lip until I tasted copper. My thighs trembled.
“Julian, please—”
“Shhh. “Be good,” he said. “Obedient. Cum for me while they eat lemon fucking tarts.”
I came fast—hard and silent. He held me up with one arm until my legs went soft. Then he pulled out, fixed my dress, and wiped his fingers on his handkerchief like the gentleman he pretended to be. He kissed my temple.
“Go sit back down when you get yourself together,” he said. “You can make it up to me later.”
He walked out first. It took everything in me to follow an hour later, after imagining that everyone in that ballroom knew exactly what had happened in the dark.
Making it through the rest of the night was agonizing. The second the car door shut, I exhaled hard, tugging my dress down. My pulse was still unsteady, my lipstick smudged.
“Julian,” I said, staring straight ahead. “You need to get it together.”
He didn’t start the car. He didn’t even look at me. “Oh? We’re doing this?”
“Yes, we’re doing this. You cannot do what you did tonight every time a man looks at me. Not in public. And especially not around your mother.”
He angled his body toward me, eyes shadowed. “Elara, my mother is aware I’m a man. Not a monk.”
“That’s not the point. The point is your jealousy is irrational.”
“You think I care who looks at you?” he asked, leaning in until our foreheads brushed. “Let them look. I get jealous because you haven’t given me a title. Those men think they have a chance because you walk into a room like you don’t belong to anyone. Like you’reavailable.”
My jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“You won’t marry me, you don’t wear a ring, you correct people when they call me your partner—what exactly do you think that signals?”
“People know I’m still married to Alastair! What am I supposed to say?”
“That you’re mine!” he shouted. “That you’re not up for discussion or fantasies from men who couldn’t survive five minutes of being loved by you.”
I sighed, defeated. “Julian—that’s not rational. It’ll make things messier.”
“I’m not rational,” he growled. “I’m in love.”
“Okay, Julian. Next time we’re out, I’ll tell everyone you’re my man. Happy?”
He reached over and cupped my neck, his thumb brushing my jaw. The annoyance melted into something suddenly, achingly gentle.
“No,” he murmured. “But I’m… satisfied.”
“I’m not trying to ignore you,” I said quietly. “I just… don’t want to lose myself again.”
Julian kissed the corner of my mouth. “I know. That’s why I lose my mind. I’m terrified you’ll find yourself and realize you don’t want me.”
“I won’t. I choose you,” I whispered. “Just… let me keep choosing you. One moment at a time.”
He kissed me again—slow, his hand sliding to my waist as if he needed to feel the reality of me under his palm. I let myself relax. I could live with his jealousy, but he was going to have to meet me somewhere between devotion and fear—or his love would swallow me whole.
Chapter 36
Elara
Julian’s parents lived in what he modestly called a mini-mansion—if a 9,000-square-foot waterfront property with a rose garden, two kitchens, and a chandelier that had once hung in a Viennese palace could be considered mini.
He used the touchpad to enter. The moment we stepped inside, warm light and the faint, expensive scent of saffron wrapped around us. The air was practically thick with it.
