CHAPTER 27 #2
“Never.” The word is absolute. “I’ve had 257 years to learn control. Every touch, every movement—I’m always aware of exactly how much pressure I’m applying.”
“Even when you’re...” I trail off, suddenly shy.
“Even then.” His voice drops. “Especially then.”
The air between us shifts. Thickens. I’m suddenly very aware of how close we’re standing. Of the way his eyes have gone darker. Of the slow, patient rhythm of his breathing—breathing he doesn’t need but does anyway, because it makes him feel more human.
“I have more questions,” I say.
“I’m sure you do.”
“But right now, I don’t want to ask them.”
“What do you want?”
I reach up. Trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips. Feel the muscle jump beneath my touch.
“You,” I say simply.
Julian goes very still. For a moment, I see something behind his eyes—centuries of restraint, of careful distance, of protecting himself by never getting too close.
Then his hand cups my face, and he kisses me.
This isn’t like the beach. It’s not meant for an audience. It’s only for us. This is everything we’ve been holding back crashing together at once—his cool lips against my warm ones, his fingers running through my hair.
He backs me against the window frame, one hand braced beside my head, the other sliding to my waist. I can feel the restrained strength in his grip—the knowledge that he could crush me without thinking and chooses not to. Chooses gentleness. Chooses care.
It’s intoxicating.
“Poppy.” My name comes out rough, torn from somewhere deep in his chest. “We should stop.”
“Should we?” I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Why?”
“Because tomorrow is your sister’s wedding. Because Damien is out there somewhere. Because—” He takes another breath he doesn’t need. “Because I want to do this right. With you.”
“What does ‘right’ look like to a 257-year-old vampire?”
“Courtship. Time. Not rushing something this important because we’re both running on adrenaline and fear of what tomorrow might bring.”
Part of me wants to argue. But there’s something in his voice—something vulnerable beneath the composure—that makes me pause.
“You’ve waited 257 years,” I say softly. “What’s one more night?”
“Exactly.” He presses his forehead to mine. “I’ve waited centuries to feel this way about someone. I refuse to rush it now.”
“That’s very gentlemanly of you.”
“I was raised in the 1700s. Some habits are difficult to break.”
I laugh, and he swallows the sound with another kiss—softer this time, sweeter. The kind of kiss that promises more without demanding it.
When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless.
“Besides,” I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile, “what kind of girl do you think I am? I don’t sleep with immortal creatures of the night on the third vacation day together.”
“Is that the rule?”
“It is now. I just made it up.”
“How many vacations does proper protocol require?”
“At least four. Possibly five or six if one of them involves a vampire stalker trying to kill me.”
“That seems fair.” He kisses my forehead. My temple. The corner of my mouth. “I should let you get some rest.”
“Are you going to stand by the window all night being broody and protective?”
“That was the plan.”
“New plan.” I take his hand. Pull him toward the bedroom. “You’re going to lie next to me and pretend to sleep while I actually sleep. It’ll be romantic.”
“You know I don’t sleep.”
“I know. That’s why I said pretend.” I stop in the doorway. “Please? I sleep better when you’re close.”
Something shifts in his expression and gives way to something softer. Something almost human.
“Alright,” he says. “But I reserve the right to be broody and protective from a horizontal position.”
“Deal.”
We change—him with supernatural speed that still makes me blink, me with significantly more struggle because this dress has over twenty hidden buttons.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom in sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt, he’s already in bed, propped against the headboard, watching the door like a guardian waiting for his charge.
I climb in beside him. He lifts his arm, and I tuck myself against his side, my head on his shoulder, my hand over his chest where his heart beats its slow, ancient rhythm.
“Your heart,” I murmur. “It’s so slow.”
“About twenty beats per minute. One every three seconds.”
“Does it ever speed up?”
“Rarely.” His hand traces patterns on my back. “Strong emotions can cause a slight increase. Fear. Rage.” A pause. “Love.”
“Is it faster now?”
He hesitates. Then: “Yes.”
I smile as I snuggle with him. “Good.”
The silence settles around us, comfortable and warm despite the coolness of his skin. Outside, the waves continue their endless rhythm. Somewhere in this resort, Damien is planning something terrible for tomorrow.
But tonight, I’m in the arms of a man who has loved and lost for centuries and somehow chose to love again. Chose me.
“Julian?” I whisper.
“Yes?”
“Whatever happens tomorrow—I’m glad it was you. The mysterious billionaire I hired to fake being my boyfriend. I’m glad it was you.”
His arms tighten around me. “So am I.” A kiss to the top of my head. “So am I.”
I fall asleep to the sound of his slow heartbeat, counting each precious beat like a lullaby.