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Even in the darkness, I can see her flush. Most would miss it, but I’m good at reading micro-reactions.
“Go to another room if you want,” I finally insist. “Hell, I’ve got four bedrooms for you to choose from. But keep in mind, wherever you go, I’m following you.”
Her face grows serious. I’m following you. Some internal battle takes place, and I don’t know which side wins, but whatever side it is chooses to stay in bed with me.
“Fine,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “If you’re that lonely, I’ll sleep in your bed.”
For once, I’ll give her the last word without a fight if it means she’s staying. When she came over tonight, I had no plans to let her sleep over—let alone share my bed. But I wasn’t lying: I don’t think I can sleep with a wall between me and Julia. Not until I’ve had her—all of her.
She drifts back to sleep easily, her hair draped across the pillow in every direction. Carefully, I reach over and arrange it close to her neck, the way she would if she were awake.
Her eyelids tighten, but she doesn’t awaken a second time. I wonder what she’s dreaming about. Maybe me. Maybe how much she hates me. Or maybe how much she wishes I were a worse man, the kind of man who would have taken her while she was drunk and docile.
I can’t pretend to be a good man. After all, she’s in my bed because I played hardball on a whim and used her body as a bargaining counter. But when we finally fuck, we’re both going to be fully present for it.
In the morning? Maybe. I hope so.
The last thing my conscious brain considers before I drift off to sleep is how I can’t wait for Julia to wake up in the morning.
But when the sun rises, I don’t awaken to her gorgeous profile staring out of my bedroom window, or her trying to use the overcomplicated espresso maker in my kitchen. All I find is an empty bed with rustled sheets. A vacant corner of the living room where her dress was. The deadbolt undone on my front door.
And me, drinking my coffee alone, like I do most mornings.
Chapter 7: Julia
Gus Winter currently occupies a tidy corner in my brain. Annoyingly, I must have outfitted that corner with free Wi-Fi, a weighted blanket, and table-side guacamole because he has no intention of leaving. I should issue him an eviction notice, I know, but I don’t. I can’t.
He’ll summon me eventually. With the contract unfulfilled and the clock ticking closer to the New Year’s Eve deadline, he has to collect his bounty soon.
I know I shouldn’t have run. At minimum, I should have held up my end of the deal. But when I awoke in Gus’s bed with the wine no longer dizzying up my bloodstream, my complicated thoughts kept me up.
Gus was supposed to be disgusting. Entitled. Selfish. I was supposed to ride his lazy, boring cock and I was supposed to be glad it was finished. When the night started, I figured we were headed in that direction. The flowers and the candles and the jazz—it all screamed vanilla bullshit.
He proved me so wrong.
He touched me roughly. Hard. Like he wanted to debase me. Like he wanted to control me, but still respected the hell out of me for refusing to let him. It was filthy and frantic. I replay the night for the hundredth time, and resentment boils inside me. He just had to prop me up on his cock and wrap his hand around my neck. He just had to rip my panties off. He just had to taunt me and drive me wild with need. He was…
Well, he was perfect.
So fuck him.
Fuck him for making me want to stay until morning with the promise of a quick and dirty tumble. Fuck him for making my dumb, horny heart pound with excitement. Fuck him for being so snuggly.
Call me selfish, but I always put myself first. I know when to protect myself, and I’ll never have a future with any man who can’t connect with me on a deeper level. No matter how deliciously competent he is in bed, Gus will never give me a real connection. He’s untouchable. He’s made his penchant for misanthropy abundantly clear over his twenty-year career in the spotlight. And my dumb, horny heart needs to stay the hell away from things she can’t have.
So I ran. I taxied straight to the airport and bought a ticket to Milan after telling Jay to drop whatever he was doing to join me. Then I spent the next day throwing an absurd amount of money, even for me, at various Italian fashion houses because the only thing I brought to London was a fuck-me dress that reminded me of Gus every time I looked at it.
Plus, he tore and stole my only pair of underwear.
“You look so good with my hand on your throat.”
“I’ll return it after we fuck for real. And we will fuck, Julia, like we agreed we would. Based on the way you moved just now, I can only imagine how much fun we’ll have.”
Such an asshole. Such a dominating, controlling asshole.
I breathe out, forcing myself to be rational.
There’s no connection here. You were just horny.
