Page 74 of Julian

Dinner lingers. Harper’s the type of company I want more of. By the time the plates are cleared and the last of the wine sits untouched between us, night has descended.

I rise first, circling the table before offering her my hand. She stands and I pull her into me, placing my mouth on hers. She sighs into the kiss, sinks into my body completely. When I pull back, I look down into semi-dazzled eyes. “I’ve got a separate room for you if you want, but I’d really like you to stay with me.”

She stares at me before sliding her hand into mine and squeezing. It’s electric, like when everything falls into place at the right time, reinforcing this sentiment that’s followed me all evening. “I’d love that,” she murmurs.

We move through the villa without speaking, and I lead her upstairs.

The bedroom is open to the night. Wide glass doors, sheer curtains moving in the breeze, the lamps low and warm. Beyond the primary suite’s terrace, the sea breathes against the cliffs, both dark and endless.

She steps inside, stopping in the middle of the room to look around. The breeze lifts the hem of her dress against her smooth thigh.

She turns, our eyes connecting, and her face does this thing where she tries to look composed and fails. A blush climbs up her body. Her hand moves to her collarbone like she can press it back down.

“Julian…”

I cross the room to her.

I don’t kiss her right away. I want to look at her first. I cup her jaw with one hand and tilt her face up and just—look. She lets me. Her lashes flutter. Her breath quickens. There’s no pretense. She doesn’t know what to do with being looked at like this, and so she does nothing, which is the most undoing thing she could possibly do.

Her eyes go wide. Then dark. Her lips part.

Then I kiss her slowly. I kiss her the way I’d kiss her if we had all night and the rest of my life, because we do, because I’ve decided we do. Her mouth is warm and hesitant for half a second before something inside her gives, and then she’s kissing me back like she’s been wanting to all day, maybe longer, hands flat against my chest, then gripping, then climbing to my shoulders to pull me closer.

And I let her. I let her feel exactly what she’s doing to me.

When my hips meet hers and she realizes how hard I am through the linen of my trousers, she makes a startled inhale and her fingers tighten on my shoulders.

I break the kiss to watch her.

“You okay?” I ask.

She nods, fast.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes.” Her voice is barely a whisper. “Yes, I’m—yes.”

I find the zipper at the back of her little dress.

I draw it down one slow inch at a time, watching her face. The dress loosens at her shoulders, and I ease the straps down with my thumbs. She shivers, and when the fabric pools at her feet she doesn’t move to cover herself, but I can see her wanting to. Her hands flutter at her sides. Her chin lifts a fraction.

Lace panties are my kryptonite and now I’m in real trouble. The good kind.

“Come here.” I take her hand and walk her backward slowly, until the breeze from the open doors moves over both of us. Until she’s standing in moonlight. I want to see her in it. I want her to know she’s worth seeing.

“You’re beautiful,” I tell her.

She laughs, a small, embarrassed laugh, ducking her head. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m not being polite.” I tip her chin back up. “Look at me. I’m not being polite.”

Whatever she sees in my face stops her breath for a second.

I unbutton my own shirt because if I let her do it, I won’t last. Even so, when it falls and her eyes track over my chest and her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip without her seeming to know she’s doing it, I have to take a slow breath through my nose.

“Your turn,” I say. “If you want.”

She steps in.