"I mean this space is sacred to him. He's very… particular about who he allows into his creative process." Roy paused at a door marked with Julian's name. "You must be pretty special, Diesel isn’t even allowed back here, and they’ve been friends for years."
Before I could process that information fully, the door opened and Julian appeared, his face lighting up when he saw me.
"Vivienne." The way he said my name, warm and pleased, made my stomach flutter. "You're right on time."
He looked different here, more relaxed somehow, wearing dark jeans and a fitted black sweater that emphasized the lean lines of his body. And his hands, I did a double-take, thinking for a moment that he'd finally removed his gloves. But no, these were a different color, a soft tan that almost exactly matched his skin tone. If I hadn't been looking carefully, I might have missed them entirely.
Why skin-colored gloves?The question rose to my lips, but something in his expression, excited, almost boyish, made me hold back. I didn't want to break whatever spell had made him look at me like that.
"Thank you, Roy," Julian said, dismissing his assistant with a nod before turning his full attention to me. "Come in, please. I want to show you what I'm working on."
His office was larger than I'd expected, part workspace and part sanctuary. A massive desk dominated one corner, covered with sketches and fabric samples. But it was the dress forms arranged throughout the room that caught my attention—each one draped with a work in progress, some barely more than draped fabric, others nearly complete.
"These are incredible," I breathed, moving toward a gown that seemed to capture light and hold it, the midnight blue fabric shifting between black and navy as I walked around it.
"That's for the Milan show next month," Julian said, coming to stand beside me. "But it's nothing compared to what I've got in mind for you."
Something in his voice made me look up at him. There was an intensity in his expression that I hadn't seen before, a creative fire that made my pulse quicken.
"Would you like to know what I'm planning," he asked, his eyes searching my face, "Or would you prefer it to be a surprise?"
I considered the question, weighing my curiosity against the thrill of the unknown. There was something to be said for surrendering control, for trusting him completely.
"Surprise," I said finally.
Julian's smile was brilliant. "Perfect. Then let's get started."
7
Julian
I watched Vivienne's face as she took in my workspace, noting the way her eyes widened at the dress forms, the careful way she moved around the midnight blue gown as if afraid to disturb even the air around it. The expression of genuine awe on her features did something to my chest, a tightening that had nothing to do with professional pride and everything to do with the woman standing in my most private sanctuary.
She gets it.
The thought came with a rush of relief I hadn't expected. This space was more than my office—it was where I bled creativity onto fabric, where ideas became reality through my hands. Very few people had ever been allowed past Roy's desk into my inner sanctum, and none of them had been women I was… whatever I was with Vivienne.
"Perfect. Then let's get started," I said, moving toward a cabinet that held my measuring tools.
The truth was, I had been thinking about this moment all day. Hell, I'd been thinking about it since Sunday morning when I'd left her house still carrying the scent of her skin. The idea of designing something specifically for Vivienne had consumed me in a way that was entirely new—not just professionally, but personally. I'd sketched and re-sketched, considered and reconsidered, driven by a need to create something that would be uniquely hers.
I'd never designed for a specific person before. My collections were built around concepts, movements, historical periods, not around the curve of one particular waist or the exact shade of one particular pair of eyes. But Vivienne had changed that, had made me want to create something that existed solely because she existed.
"I should warn you," I said, retrieving my measuring tape and notebook, "I'm very thorough when it comes to measurements. Details matter."
Vivienne nodded, but I caught the slight flush that colored her cheeks. "Of course. Professional."
Professional.The word felt inadequate for what was about to happen. There was nothing professional about the way my pulse had quickened the moment she'd walked into my studio, nothing detached about the anticipation that had been building in my chest all day.
"I'll need you to remove your dress," I said, proud of how steady my voice sounded. "You can keep your undergarments on, of course. There's a changing area behind that screen."
I gestured toward a corner of the office where a decorative screen provided privacy. While she changed, I tried to center myself, to find the professional distance that had served me well throughout my career. But this was Vivienne, and everything about her seemed designed to unravel my carefully maintained control.
When she emerged from behind the screen in a simple black bra and matching panties, my breath caught despite my best efforts. She was beautiful—curves in all the right places, soft where I was hard, everything my hands remembered from Saturday night but somehow more intimate in the bright lights of my workspace.
"Where would you like me?" she asked, and I had to swallow hard before I could answer.
"Here is perfect," I managed, indicating a small platform in the center of the room. "Just stand naturally."
