“Can we sit? Talk? No fighting, no performing. Just... us?”
I stared at her, the ache in my chest becoming unbearable. “No. I’m going to bed,” I said, my voice flat. I needed the dark to process the seismic shift of her being back.
She didn’t look hurt. Instead, a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “I'll go with you.”
“No.”
She laughed, a light, melodic sound. “It’s okay. Be mad. I’ll wait.”
She stepped toward me, closing the distance until I could see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “But just so you know,” she murmured, her voice dropping to an intimate, challenging whisper, “I’m taking a page from the Julian Hale playbook.”
Her fingers brushed the tense line of my jaw. The touch was light, but it sent a shockwave through my system.
“I’m back for good. You can sleep alone tonight, that’s fine.” Her smile turned wicked. “But I’m going to chase you now. And I’m very, very good at getting what I want.”
She rose onto her toes, slid her hand up the back of my neck, fingers threading into the hair. Then she kissed me.
Not with urgency. Not with an apology. But with a slow, deliberate softness that felt like a hand pressed to a bruise—gentle, but aware of exactly where it hurts.
Her mouth moved against mine with a confidence that made something in my chest stutter. She kissed me like she already knew I forgave her, and my body relaxed like it had been waiting twelve months just to exhale into her. She kissed me like there was no scenario in which I didn’t kiss her back—and when I kissed her back, she stopped. She was teasing me, making me anticipate the next time.
Her lips ghosted mine as she retreated. Then she stepped away—unhurried—like she hadn’t just reached inside me and rearranged the organs. She walked out the door and left me standing there, pulse staggering, breath tripping over itself, my heart clawing its way up from whatever grave I’d shoved it in.
And it was as if she’d never left. I flopped down on the sofa and picked up the book she’d gifted me and flipped to the signature page.
“To the billionaire who knows his heart, and the woman who finally found hers. Believe her when she says she’ll never disappear again.”
Chapter 47
Julian
The scent of her perfume hit me before I saw her. Neroli. Vanilla.
It was a Tuesday—a gray, meaningless Tuesday. I hated Tuesady's more than Monday's. It was the day after she'd come back. I was in the lobby of my building, waiting for a car that was late, scrolling through emails I wasn’t reading. My head was throbbing. I hadn’t slept. Thinking about everything she had said kept me awake, replaying the way she kissed me and then simply walked out.
And then the air changed. I looked up.
She was leaning against the marble column near security ,waiting for me. A black coat, a silk dress the color of red wine. Her hair was down, catching the lobby’s gold light. She held a small black box.
My heart stopped. Just fucking stopped. For a full three seconds, I couldn’t breathe. She gave me a slow, knowing smile that went straight to my dick and my damaged pride simultaneously.
“What are you doing here?” I sounded petulant.
She didn't let it bother her. She walked over, stopping close enough that I could have leaned in and kissed her. I didn’t—even though every cell in my body was screaming for me to.
“I brought you something.” She held out the box.
I didn’t take it. I shoved my hands in my pockets, trying to maintain the wall I'd built. “I don’t need anything.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know you don’t.” She didn’t pull her hand back. “It’s a Patek Philippe Calatrava.” Her voice was quiet, intimate. “It matches the one you gave me. You wanted 'couple things,' didn't you?”
She remembered. That stupid shit I mentioned. I guess this was her way of pursuing me, just like she’d promised.
A lump formed in my throat, and I hated it. I wanted to smile; I was actually giddy inside. I stared at the box, but keptmy face a mask of fauxindifference. Ilooked at her.
“A year” I said, and my voice was quieter than I meant it to be. “You were gone a year. Should we evenhavecouple things?”
“We should. We will. I’m going to buy us matching outfits next, and you're going to love it” she said, steppingcloser, she took my wrist, and turned my hand over. She placed the box in my palm and closed my fingers around it. Her touch was warm. It lingered. “Open it when you’re ready.”
