Page 123 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“I don't know what you're expecting from me,” I say.

“Or whether you want anything from me once the work is finished. I just know I want more than an article and a goodbye.”

Sophie looks down briefly, and that small movement creates more uncertainty in me than any boardroom ever has. When she raises her eyes again, there is nothing guarded in them.

“I don't want that either,” she says.

I hold her gaze. “You're sure?”

“Yes.”

Something inside me releases.

Sophie smiles faintly.

“You look surprised.”

“I wasn't sure what you were going to say.”

“That's because you're used to knowing the answer before you ask the question.”

“Usually.”

“Well, you don't get to know everything in advance.”

“I've noticed that about you.”

Her smile deepens. I reach across the table and turn my hand palm up between us. Sophie looks down at it, then places her hand in mine without hesitation.

My fingers close around hers. I stand, still holding her hand, and pull her gently to her feet. She comes around the edge of the table, and the moment she reaches me, I slide an arm around her waist and lift her.

Sophie laughs softly and loops her arms around my neck.

“Julian.”

“I've got you.”

Her eyes meet mine, warm from the wine and everything we've finally said. I carry her out of the dining room.

Two members of the staff are still clearing the adjoining room when we pass. One becomes suddenly fascinated by a tray of wine glasses. The other looks away with enough professionalism that Sophie buries her face against my shoulder to hide her laughter.

I tighten my arm around her and keep walking toward the stairs. Whatever is waiting for me in New York can have me tomorrow.

Tonight, I'm all hers.

Chapter Seventeen

Sophie

Iwake slowly, warm beneath the weight of Julian’s arm. For several minutes, I stay exactly where I am.

His bedroom is quiet except for the faint sound of water somewhere beyond the windows and the steady rhythm of his breathing behind me. Morning light slips through the tall curtains in pale bands, catching along the edge of the enormous bed and the dark wood furniture beyond it. His room is larger than mine, more restrained in its design, but I barely notice any of it.

Julian is still asleep. I turn carefully beneath his arm until I am facing him. There is something strangely intimate about seeing him this way, without the alertness that usually sharpens every part of his expression. His face is softer in sleep, though there is nothing soft about the hard curve of his jaw or the rough shadow beginning to darken it. His hair is slightly disordered against the pillow, silver catching at his temples in the morning light.

I let my eyes move over him slowly. The bridge of his nose. The faint lines at the corners of his eyes. His mouth.

Last night still lives in my body as a warm, lingering ache, enough to make my pulse shift when I remember the hours we spent tangled together in this bed. There had been nothing cautious about us by the end. Whatever restraint I once believed I had around Julian disappeared somewhere along the way.