Chapter 24
twenty-four
Glorious .
It’s the only word to describe finally having Juliet all to myself.
It’s the only word for how delectable she looks in her soft white blouse.
It’s certainly the only way to describe the swells of her breasts, on full display. All for me.
God . Until she’s back in my arms, I didn’t realize how much I missed her.
I’d probably be disgusted if I had the capacity to feel anything aside from exhilaration.
Through my shirt, with my vest hanging open, her body warms me in a whole new way. Before I know what I’m doing, I have her pinned against the wall, thrusting my leg between hers and locking my arm around her torso.
It only takes a second for her to respond, tilting her head to get to me the way she wants. Her hands curl into my hair, grasping at the strands, brushing my open collar. Tugging until I growl into her mouth.
I’ve been hard since I woke up. Now, my erection resurges, pressing into her belly while she claws at the back of my neck and rubs herself over my thigh.
Her heat brands me through my pant leg, snapping me back to reality. I break our kiss. “Not so fast, Miss Rivera,” I scold quietly. “If I only get one night, you better damn well believe I’ll make the most of it.”
With kiss-swollen lips and heavy-lidded gold eyes, Juliet still manages to glower at me. “You’re the one who’s already half undressed.”
Right, as always. I returned from a late lunch at Tavern on the Green with one of my Columbia contacts and only got partway through changing out of my suit before phone calls started rolling in.
Her fingers trace the row of buttons arrowing down my abdomen, pausing when she reaches my waistband. Her eyes shimmer.
“And, besides,” she hums, reaching lower. “You’re not the boss of me.”
This woman might kill me .
She challenges, on every level, my innate masculine instinct to dominate. And I’ve never been harder.
Yet my cock swells even more when I catch another glimpse of her red heels. “I cannot believe you wore those,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Bitch.”
I expect her to slap me again. Instead, she tips her beautiful face back and gives an equally exquisite laugh.
God, I love that sound.
My arms tighten around her. And she does the same to me. I set my jaw on the crown of her head and let her turn her face into my throat.
“Are we… hugging?” she whispers, catching her breath.
I don’t want to think about it. Or anything else that might happen between us.
Juliet does things to me that I don’t fully understand. I like it too much to try to figure it out. At least, while I still have her.
Once she leaves, I’ll dissect it. Then, I can move on.
“As a wise woman once said,” I reply, not loosening my hold. “Shut up.”
Her surprised breath tickles the side of my neck as she presses herself closer. The soft peaks and valleys of her body fit into the harder planes of mine. She relaxes bit by bit, and I close my eyes.
I want to hold her longer, but she sighs and leans back. Her gaze seems cautious. I already miss her laughter.
“All right,” I mumble, dropping my hold on her. “I believe I promised you dinner. What will it be?”
She takes my measure, wary as ever. “I get to choose?”
Why do I want her to pick?
“I chose lunch on Tuesday.”
There. That sounds… diplomatic. Equitable, at least.
Juliet pouts while she considers her options, casting her eyes up to the ceiling. I try not to smile down at her. For the first time since we met, she just looks adorable. Unguarded and indecisive.
“Thai food,” she announces.
I love Thai food. When I tell her that, she smirks. “Damn. I almost said Indian.”
Then it’s my turn to laugh. “Oh, bijou . Always spoiling for a fight. You should save that energy for later. Come on. I have wine in the kitchen.”
She follows me into the main room, the clack of her heels as much of a torment as the jasmine perfume now clinging to my shirt.
Patience , I remind myself.
“What kind of wine do you like?”
She slides onto one of my barstools, crosses her curvy legs, and regards me coyly across the expanse of the island. “What do you have?”
“Everything.”
It’s true. I try not to dwell on why I added twelve different bottles of wine to my weekly grocery order yesterday. It’s not like I won’t drink it all myself if I have to. So, really, it is for me …
“Pinot Noir,” she counters. “Please.”
Fuck . I like that word on her lips. I want it again—all night. And—damn her—I want Pinot Noir, too.
I clear my throat. “All right.”
Reaching for the rack of wine glasses and unused cookware over my island, I point my chin across the room to the record table under my TV. “Pick an album if you want. They’re all in the table.”
Part of me expects an argument, but she doesn’t seem quite as combative as usual. Maybe because I already have her where I want her. And she knows it.
Juliet wanders over to the music, offering me a mouthwatering view of the way her jeans hug her thick, tight ass. I pause halfway through uncorking the wine to stare before I remember myself.
All night .
That’s my goal.
By the time I pour wine, I hear the strains of a familiar Sylvan Esso song. Another of my favorites.
I hate how much I like it when our tastes align. And the alarming frequency with which they align.
When she returns, she offers me a small smile. “So, you like records instead of Spotify?”
“Not particularly.” I shrug, handing her a glass. “I’m just pretentious.”
That earns me another lusty laugh. “I know that, pinchao .” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Your suits were a dead giveaway. And now, all of this .”
She gestures around. Her expression takes on a teasing gleam while she eyes the pot rack overhead. “ Dios mío , do you even cook ?”
I almost lie. But I want another laugh. “Nope.”
Her giggle doesn’t disappoint. “Oh boy.” She shakes her head. “Shameful. Those pots and pans are works of art.”
“At least you like them,” I say. “You hate my suits.”
Juliet takes a thoughtful sip of her wine, raking her gaze down my body. “I like that one, actually. Purple is my favorite color.”
Purple. Huh . “You never wear it.”
Juliet’s wry smile sends a bolt of unfamiliar emotion into my gullet. “I look horrible in it,” she claims. “Or so Abuelita says. And she makes all my clothes, so.”
Well that explains why they fit her like a second skin. Still, I can’t help but look as impressed as I feel. “She makes clothes?”
“Yep.”
She expects me to sneer. As if I’m really that much of an asshole. But I don’t care what her grandmother does for a living. After meeting her father, I only have the utmost respect for the woman who raised Juliet. Clearly, she passed on her admirable work ethic to her granddaughter.
I offer my most charming smile. “So she’s to blame for me getting slapped in the elevator last week?”
Juliet’s black brows curve. “She would have slapped you herself if she’d heard your filthy mouth.”
I try to stifle a smug smile and fail. “It has its moments.”
A thrill ripples through her, but she tries not to let it show. Stubborn, beautiful woman.
Has it really only been a week?
It feels like I’ve always known her. Like I can’t remember what the fuck I was doing before I saw her standing there, in the black chasm of Grayson’s lobby, wearing her evil red dress.
She lifts her chin in that maddening way of hers. “ Pinchao , put your filthy mouth to good use and order our food.”
Once I place our order, I lean my hip into the island and refill our wine glasses. “Alright,” I say, eyeing her over the rim. “Tell me.”
She takes a long sip, then licks her lips. Torturing me. “Tell you what?”
“About you.” Keeping my eyes fixed on hers turns my request into a challenge. I know she won’t back down if I dare her.
Juliet tosses her shiny curtain of dark hair back and narrows her eyes at me. “I told you. I moved here when I was six.”
I rotate my hands over each other, prompting. “And…?”
Her golden gaze flashes. “And… I came with my dad. We moved to Queens because that’s where his sister and mother—my abuelita —moved before I was born. He took a job at a bodega, and we got an apartment a few blocks from Abuelita’s because she used to watch me at the tailor shop under her place after school. I did homework while she worked. It always took me a few hours because?—”
She suddenly cuts herself off, then makes a small coughing noise before finishing, “Because I had to learn English as I went.”
I feel a stab of self-loathing for the time I made fun of her reading speed. “No one worked with you at school?”
She laughs. “Never been to a public school, huh, pinchao ? The teachers pushed me through kindergarten and first grade, even though I couldn’t speak the language. They thought I was smart enough to catch up.”
My mind automatically pictures a pint-sized child version of Jules. She was probably fierce, even then; but it had to be scary for a kid to get dumped into a new school, in a country where no one understood her.
I ask the first dumb question that comes to mind. “How did you make friends?”
It’s not the right thing to ask. She keeps her head high, but the light in her eyes dims. “I didn’t.”
A painful twinge pinches my guts. I grimace as I drink more wine, deciding to change tacks. “What about your mom? She didn’t want to come?”
Her expression only gets worse.
Hell .
“She wanted to,” Jules mumbles, looking down at the counter as she fingers the granite. “It’s expensive to immigrate legally. They could only afford one adult and me. My father had family here, so it was easier for him to get the Green Card. He brought me here with plans to get a job, work for a year, and then pay my mom’s way over. Once we got here, though, he… changed his mind.”
Something cold grips me. I freeze with my drink halfway to my mouth. “Changed his mind?”
“Yes.” Golden eyes snap back to mine. “He put my mom off when he started meeting new women. At first, I didn’t understand who they were… But one morning, I saw him with one in our apartment, and it was obvious . He started taking me to Abuelita’s after that. Eventually, he just didn’t come back for a week… then a month. Once, he disappeared for almost three months before he turned back up, drunk, demanding I leave with him. Abuelita chased him out of her place with an umbrella and told him if he ever tried to take me from her again, she would shove it up his ass and open it.”
I don’t know if I’m closer to laughing or snapping my wine glass in half.
“I knew I should have punched that fucking swine when I had the chance.” I realize I’ve spoken out loud and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Jesus, sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she replies, shrugging. “He is a pig. What kind of man would abandon his wife like that? All she ever did was love and trust him.”
I hate to ask, but I have to know. “So what happened with them? Did she get a divorce and decide to stay in Colombia?”
Her wide, perfect mouth folds into a tight line. “No. When my father stopped calling or sending her money, she had to find another way to support herself. In Colombia, back then, the drug trade was horrible, and she needed protection, too. She had to do… some things… and got a police record. That makes it harder for her to get a Green Card on her own, even if we had the money. Which we will—as soon as I save it up.”
Holy shit .
I spend my life sulking because my father wouldn’t promote me while this woman put herself through law school to get a good job and pay for her mother’s immigration ?
I look around my apartment. At the cookware I don’t use. The surround sound system I’ve never bothered to read the instructions for. Cashmere pillows.
How much money did I spend on stupid shit? Enough for a hundred Green Cards, surely.
My next thought escapes uncensored. “Can I help?”
Juliet inclines her head, tracing my face with her topaz gaze. “No, Graham,” she murmurs, quieter than ever. “I’m not your problem. And even if I was, the money isn’t an issue anymore. Mr. Stryker pays me well.”
I slug back the rest of my wine, agitated by my own uselessness. “Then what’s the issue?”
Jules sighs. “Her record. I don’t know if you read the papers, pinchao , but this country of yours has some outrageous immigration policies. It’s almost impossible for anyone to get in if they have a criminal history.”
What has always sounded like a sensible rule now seems heinously incomprehensive. How can they not look at these situations on a case-by-case basis? I have a hard time imagining Juliet’s mother as a violent criminal.
“But she didn’t hurt anyone, right?” I push both hands through my hair, thinking. “Maybe if we ask Grayson. He knows some senators. Or I’m sure I could figure out a way to get a meeting with the mayor, maybe even the governor. I was going to tell my father about the business thing tomorrow, but that can wait a few weeks. I can work some of his contacts?—”
The cool brush of fingertips over my forearm stops me. Juliet’s expression splits between surprised and stricken. “Even if you did all that,” she says softly, “No one would help her. Politicians won’t be linked to sex workers.”
A penny rolls around inside my skull, rattling in the sudden silence.
Oh .
When she said her mom had to “do some things,” I didn’t imagine… But it makes sense.
“I’m an idiot,” I announce. “I didn’t realize.”
Juliet gives one of her regal sniffs and straightens back to her usual forbidding posture. “Yes, well. It’s not the sort of thing a man like you would realize, is it?”
No. And I’ve never been more ashamed.
When we were kids, my father always said, “That’s just the way of things.” The tepid phrase was his go-to for videos of refugees on rafts; homeless people huddled for warmth in the dead of winter; and news of mass shootings. And it’s what I told myself when I witnessed women selling themselves to stay alive.
Now, I realize just how much I’ve used apathy in my own defense. If I didn’t care, I didn’t have to feel. I could go about my privileged existence without guilt or discomfort. It seemed like the only way to get by since I always assumed there wasn’t anything I could do to help.
But from the second we met, Juliet has made me want to fight. Standing there, absorbing the fire glowing in her eyes, I believe. As long as there are people like her in the world, things can actually get better.
Maybe even me.
“You’re right,” I finally reply, leveling gazes with her. “And that’s unacceptable. I’m sorry.”
Her beautiful face stills for a beat. I take the opportunity to re-memorize every little feature—the slope of her nose, the point of her chin, her high, wide cheekbones.
A slow smile pulls at her mouth. “That’s a first. You usually fidget when you have to admit you’re wrong.”
Right again. Damn her.
Frustrated with myself and desperate for her forgiveness, I snatch her glass and set it aside, closing the space between us in two strides. “Seriously,” I murmur, framing her face with my hands. “I’m sorry, Jules. About all of it. About your mom. And my clueless ass. The way I am—it’s not necessarily something I’m proud of.”
I think back on my whirlwind week. All the realizations I’ve made since meeting her—things about Chris, my dad, my friends, my future.
“I’m trying to change,” I add honestly.
She assesses my sincerity and seems to find it sufficient. “Hmm,” she hums, bringing her fingers to my jaw. “I accept your apology. But do me a favor, okay? Don’t change too much.” She lifts one brow. “I don’t know many men who could pull off those socks.”
I forgot all about my purple paisley socks. The mention of them makes me chuckle. “When I decide to go for it, I tend to commit.”
Heat bleeds into her eyes. “Oh, I hope so.”
Sexy and smart and strong. Bijou . I stare down at her upturned face, wondering why it suddenly feels like I’m holding the whole world between my palms.
How can I convince her one night will never be enough?
I lean down just far enough to brush her lips with mine and whisper, “Count on it, baby.”
Juliet sifts her fingers through my hair again, sealing her mouth over mine. I have the strangest urge to sweep her up and settle her in my lap so I could wrap my arms around her, but the intercom on my wall buzzes.
“Dinner,” I grumble, disengaging to stalk to the door. “Hold on.”
We eat at my island, which is novel for me, and she quizzes me about my family. I give her basic information only. My dad’s name and the fact that he lives on the Upper East Side. That I have a younger brother enrolled at NYU, who I see often.
I hope she won’t notice the omission of a maternal figure. But of course she does.
“And your mom?” Jules asks, looking at me askance before gracefully sipping curry from her plastic spoon.
What can I tell her? She left me here with my father when he brought his love child to live in our penthouse? She’s had so many facelifts we don’t even vaguely resemble each other anymore? I haven’t spoken to her since Christmas and probably won’t again until Mother’s Day?
“She lives in Connecticut,” I offer mildly.
Juliet’s eyes narrowed in her tenacious way. “You hate her.”
A startled laugh bursts out of me. “Damn. Don’t pull any punches on my account, Miss Rivera.”
She lifts her shoulder and offers a tantalizing glimpse down her blouse. Jesus Christ . Is that… lace ?
“You can tell me,” she insists. “It’s not like I’ll ever meet her.”
She has a point. Even if I somehow convince Juliet to come back after tonight, I would never want her to meet the cold, bitter woman who fancies herself my mother three or four days a year.
“Okay, fine,” I huff. “You’re right. I hate her. She left me when she left my father and only comes back whenever she needs more plastic surgery. Now we only see each other for a couple of holidays. She’ll probably wind up reading about my company somewhere before I ever get a chance to tell her about it.”
Juliet considers my words for a second before her face cracks into a wide grin. “We are quite the pair, aren’t we?”
When she smiles like that, I have to smile right back. Besides, she isn’t wrong. “That we are.”
As we stare at each other, the energy around us shifts.
This is it , I think. My one shot with her .
She keeps looking into me, and I let her. Every scrap of reason deserting me. Every ordinary feeling evaporating. Leaving just one behind: desire.
But I vowed to myself that I would take my time.
An idea comes to me. I hold my hand out to her, palm up. “Dance with me.”