He pauses, his breath hot against my thigh, and lets me go, concern flickering in his eyes as he stands, helping me straighten my gown with oddly gentle hands. I pull away on shaky legs, my knees are wobbling like jelly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and stumble unsteadily. Each step up the grand staircase is like a struggle. I cling to the railing for support.
I shut my bedroom door behind me, the click echoing in the quiet space. The four-poster bed looms in the shadows. For some strange reason, I run to the vanity mirror. It reflects my disheveled state. I look so… unrecognizable.
I collapse to the ground against it in shock, my back sliding along the wood until I'm sitting, knees drawn up, tears spillinghot down my cheeks. I'd come so hard, I nearly cried from the release, and now I'm still on fire, my body still humming with need, every inch of me alive with the memory of his touch and wanting more.
I won't survive this.
I’m sure of it now.
I thought the biggest danger would be from getting caught, from the deception unraveling, but apparently not.
It's desire.
It’s an all-consuming pull that's already breaking me.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
JULIET
Sunlight is streaming through the cracks in the heavy curtains of my bedroom, casting golden stripes across the rumpled silk sheets. I hardly slept all night. I've tossed and turned all night. Even now, my mind is a whirlwind of forbidden touches and guilt. I am exhausted yet restless.
It's become my routine to get up early and have breakfast with Freya before she heads off to school. Those quiet moments with her were like a bright spot in this tangled web, but today I simply can’t get up. My body feels heavy and languorous, and between my legs, my clit is swollen and throbbing.
The clock on the nightstand glares 8:15 when I finally drag myself out of bed. I don’t want to miss Freya, so I decide to go down in my nightie. It’s a delicate, lacy slip in ivory silk with thin spaghetti straps, but I paired it with a matching robe that flows loosely around me. I’m adequately covered up and it's comfortable, but as I pad down the grand staircase with my hair tousled and feet bare on the cool hardwood, I feel exposed and vulnerable, like I've forgotten my armor.
I head into the cozy nook by the bay window overlooking the manicured lawns in the kitchen, where we usually have a quiet breakfast. The air is scented with fresh coffee and warm croissants, and the granite island is scattered with fresh fruits and cereals, but Freya’s not in the kitchen. I hear laughter spilling out, bright and carefree from the conservatory. It's Freya's giggle, high and infectious, but then it mixes with a deeper rumble that sends a shiver down my spine—Blake. It stops me in my tracks. Memories of his mouth on me last night flash hot and unbidden, making my cheeks flush as I pause in the doorway.
I start to back out, but Freya has noticed me through the glass doors. She runs towards me, her curls bouncing, her face lighting up.
"Carolyn! Come join us!" she calls, grabbing my hand with her fingers, sticky from whatever jam she's smeared on her toast.
I want to bolt back to my room, hide under the covers and pretend last night didn't happen, that his touch didn't set me on fire, but I don't want to cower. I don’t want to show how rattled I am, so I straighten my robe, tie the sash a little tighter, and go in. I go to meet Blake with what I hope is a composed smile.
He's dressed casually since it's a Saturday. No suit today. Instead, he’s in a fitted navy polo that hugs his broad shoulders and chest, paired with dark jeans that sit low on his hips. His dark hair is damp as if he's just got out of the shower. He smiles at me as I enter, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that makes my stomach flip. Dear heaven, my heart nearly stops. Heat rushes through me as our eyes lock, and memories of his face between my thighs come flooding back, making my fists clench involuntarily.
Freya bounces back into her seat, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. "Sit with us, Carolyn! We're having breakfast here 'cause the sun's so pretty!"
The sight of them together—father and daughter in this sun-dappled space—twists something in my chest.
I tell myself I’ve nothing to be afraid of. This is just breakfast, just a little family gathering, not a confrontation. Quietly, I slide into the chair across from Blake. The robe slips open slightly at the thigh before I tug it closed, my skin prickling under his intense scrutiny.
I eat slowly, picking at a croissant, tearing at its flaky layers, and absently dipping the pieces into a dollop of strawberry jam while I listen to Freya chatter excitedly about plans to build a pond where she intends to grow a whole family of tadpoles into frogs. She's got it all mapped out—planting reeds and lilies that she plans to get from the nursery in town, stringing fairy lights along the paths. Her words tumble out between bites of muffin.
“What do you think, Carolyn?” she asks.
I lean in and suggest we add some plants that will bring in insects, and they will be the food for the frogs. She nods vigorously in agreement, and I am impressed by how steady my voice is even as I feel Blake's eyes on me, tracing my face, my exposed collarbone where the lace dips low. It makes my pulse race, and heat bloom under my skin. I shift in my seat, crossing my legs under the table.
Freya claps her hands, thrilled. "We can start today! Let’s start today. Can we go today after I come back from school?"
She laughs suddenly, covering her mouth. "Wait, it's Saturday! No school today. We can get started now!" She turns to Blake, her eyes wide and pleading. "Dad, do you have work?"
He looks at me first, his gaze lingering, that smile tugging at his lips again, and says, "I have a meeting, but I'll be back soon. I'll join you then."
Freya squeals happily, bouncing in her chair as she plans aloud. “Who will dig the pond? Shall we ask Josh?”
“Whose Josh?”
“The gardener.”
