25. Jules
CHAPTER 25
Jules
By the end of the evening, we hit that inevitable, awkward moment where the last guest has departed, leaving us with nothing but leftover cake and those “now what” expressions hanging between us.
“Logan can take Taylor home, make sure she’s safe,” Brian says, as if he’s worked out a plan. “But I don’t want you going back there, Jules. The Mach 5 media shitstorm means there’s no way you can slip back there unnoticed, not with the vultures circling.”
I think for a minute. Staying with my parents would completely defeat the purpose of the evening—dodging the inevitable questions leading up to a full-blown inquisition.
Brian runs a hand across the scruff on his jaw. “I have something in mind.”
The elevator dings, and the doors open .
“I have four rooms,” Brian says, his voice casual. “You’re welcome to any of them. All of them have toiletries, and I have some spare clothes from Jess. Pajamas. Robes. Anything you need.”
“Thanks.” I nod as we make our way through the penthouse.
“I’ll make sure you have everything you need, Jules, to make your stay comfortable,” he says, his voice a bit too tight, like the words don’t quite fit. Then, with a hint of something almost like regret, he adds, “It’s only temporary.”
Just like me. I’m temporary.
The place is breathtaking, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of Manhattan, the city lights twinkling like scattered diamonds below.
The upscale finishes are sleek and modern, with marble countertops, polished hardwood floors, and artful touches that speak to a life well-lived. Everything about it screams luxury, but in a way that feels lived-in, not staged, with black-and-white photos of family and friends everywhere.
Each room is a sanctuary of its own, complete with a private bathroom and a walk-in closet that could rival a boutique.
As I wander through one of the rooms, my eye catches on a book resting on a chair. I pick it up, curiosity piqued. “ Pinkalicious ?” I ask, glancing back at Brian.
He leans casually against the doorframe, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, that friend of mine with the three adorable kids you met...”
“The one who did a serious number on Roxana’s purse?” I interject with a smirk.
He chuckles, nodding. “That’s the one. They stayed here for a bit while he was building a new home for them. It’s not far from Donovan’s, actually.” He shrugs. “They’re probably the closest I’ll come to having kids around, so I soak up the time with them whenever I can.”
He must catch the curiosity on my face because he adds, almost as an afterthought, “Eternal bachelor.”
He’s quick to steer the conversation away, leading me to another room that’s more gym than guest suite. It’s impressive: weights, a rowing machine, top-of-the-line equipment. But what really grabs my attention is the set of parallel bars and the other specialized gear.
“What’s this?” I ask, pointing to the setup.
“Physical therapy,” he says, his tone easy, like it’s no big deal. “Three days a week. You’ll probably see Cameron in and out of here.”
My gaze shifts to a table tucked in the corner. “And that?”
He follows my gaze, then looks back at me. “That’s a massage table.”
I bite back the flood of questions suddenly swirling in my mind—like, who is Cameron? Is she attractive? Have you dated? Fucked?
Stop it.
“Massages?” I muse out loud before I can snap my big mouth shut.
He nods, a touch more reserved than usual. “I get the occasional massage when the knots in my leg tighten up to the point of pain.”
“Pain?” In this moment, I hurt for him. God, I’m an insensitive idiot. “You’ve been on your feet all day. Are you in pain now? ”
“I’ll manage,” he says with a reassuring smile, pocketing his hands with quiet resilience. “I’ll get out of my getup once you’re settled.”
“I’ll take whatever room is easiest,” I offer.
“No, Jules. You’ll take what you want. The way it should be.” There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—warmth, maybe a hint of something deeper—and holy hell, it’s combustible .
Then he shakes it off, gesturing with a sweep of his arm. “Come on, I’ll show you the rest.”
We reach his room last, and I hesitate at the threshold, awkwardness cementing my feet to the floor. He notices, turning back with a teasing grin. “What are you, a vampire? Need permission to enter?”
“Try to wake me at the crack of dawn, and my fangs will definitely come out,” I shoot back, trying to keep it light.
In one swift move, he grabs my hand and pulls me into the room, forcing me to get comfortable with the space. It’s as if somehow, his presence alone can keep the tension at bay.
The moment I step inside, I notice the small retrofits—discreet bars along the bed, a bench near the shower. Everything is carefully placed, designed for function rather than form. Brian catches my gaze and speaks up, his voice steady. “If you have any questions, you can ask me, Jules.”
“Is it uncomfortable?” I ask, motioning to his leg. “Being on it this long?”
He blows out a breath, the kind that carries more weight than he lets on. “Honestly, it’s more aggravated than usual. Nothing a little ice and rest won’t cure.”
“I can help,” I offer. “Ice is in the kitchen, right? I definitely remember the kitchen during the tour—two side-by-side built-in refrigerators and an oven big enough for the witch from Hansel and Gretel .”
Before I can make a full-on sprint down the hall, he steps in front of me, blocking my path with an easy confidence. As he loosens his tie, it draws way too much attention to the strong line of his neck. “Relax, Peach Pop. I’ve got it.”
He unbuttons two buttons of his shirt, revealing just enough to make my pulse quicken. And, of course, now I’m staring.
I blink, trying to snap myself out of it, reminding myself that straight-up gawking is rude, even if, on paper, this man is my husband.
“Okay,” I say, glancing at the layout—the guest rooms in relation to his. My feet take me back into the hall, my mind made up before I can second-guess it. “I’ll take this one,” I say, choosing the room closest to his. Because, I don’t know, I just want to be a little closer.
“Nice choice. Gorgeous evening views and minimal morning sun,” he says, then makes a goofy vampire face, hissing playfully. Just when I think he’s done, he leans in and, out of nowhere, pecks me on the lips—a quick, soft brush that catches me completely off guard.
“Goodnight, Peach Pop,” he murmurs with a grin, leaving me standing there, heart racing, high and dry as the Sahara.
For twenty minute, I try—and fail—to unbutton this damned dress past the fifth button. At one point, I probably looked like a cartoon cat chasing its own tail. Argh .
Which means I’m stuck with exactly three options: sleep in it, rip it to absolute shreds, which would be a tragedy because this dress is too stunning to take scissors to, or swallow my pride and ask Brian for help.
I knock softly on the door, and after a brief pause, his voice comes through. “Come in.”
I push open the door to his room and immediately freeze. Brian’s lounging on the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms, his hair still damp from the shower, glistening under the low light.
He’s sprawled out in all his lickable glory, and for a second, I’m stunned silent, my mind going completely blank.
He notices me standing there, probably looking like I’ve forgotten how to function. “Everything all right?” he asks, his voice casual, but there’s a hint of amusement in his eyes.
“So, so fine.”
Quirking an expectant eyebrow, he waits. For me. To speak. Must use voice. “Oh, right. I need help getting out of my dress.”
“Have you tried scissors?” he teases, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Funny,” I shoot back, rolling my eyes.
He pats the bed beside him, and it’s only then that I notice his prosthetic leg resting nearby, detached. My heart gives a little squeeze.
“Does it bother you?” he asks, reading the brief flicker of emotion on my face.
“What? No,” I say quickly. “Grandpa Spenser had one, too, below the knee, just like you. For medical reasons.”
“I forgot about that.” His smile lifts a little as he scoots over, making room on the bed and patting the spot beside him. “Come here. ”
I rush to take a seat beside him, feeling the mattress dip as he shifts his weight. “Hang on,” he says, and I hear the grin in his voice. “My hunting knife is in the top drawer.”
“Use it and the next thing it’s used on is your favorite vintage tee,” I snap back.
“Feisty.” He chuckles, but it fades as he reaches out, trailing a finger along the back of my neck, moving aside the last strands of hair.
His touch sends a shiver down my spine, making my breath catch.
Slowly, he begins unbuttoning the long line of tiny buttons, his fingers skimming my skin with each one. The dress loosens, inch by inch, until it nearly slips off.
“Thanks,” I whisper.
“You’re welcome.” Hot breath flames across my shoulders and down my neck.
This is the point where I should be leaving. Standing up. Walking out the door. But I don’t.
His touch, his caress, lingers on my bare skin, sending warmth spreading through me, settling low in my belly. It feels so, so good.
I turn to face him, ready to make my exit, but the moment our eyes lock, everything changes. Before I can process what’s happening, he pulls me into a kiss. And it’s not just any kiss—it’s an everything kiss.
Deep. Breathy. Erotic.
When his tongue sweeps through my parted lips, it sends a shockwave straight to my core.
The kiss is so slow and desperate, it knocks all the air from my lungs .
One large hand grips my waist, pulling me flush against him, while the other tangles in my hair, his dominance drawing a soft whimper from deep within my throat.
But then his hand skims my thigh, and reality crashes all around. His words from earlier slam into me like a bat to the chest. “It’s only temporary.”
“Wait!”
The second the word slips from my lips, everything freezes. His hands fall away, releasing their hold, and I struggle to catch my breath against the rhythm of his hard, labored breathing. Our eyes lock—his ocean blue, clouded with something I can’t quite decipher. “What is it?” he asks, his voice rough around the edges.
“This is all wrong. You. Me.” I push myself to my feet, my heart beating wildly—a bird trapped in my chest, desperate to escape. He reaches out, but instinctively I back away, putting distance between us. “I hate you, remember?”
He swallows hard, his head dropping against the headboard in defeat. That enormous dick of his is still straining against his pants, ready to bulldoze its way through. “Yeah, I remember,” he grumbles, sounding like a frustrated kid. “Just...don’t go. I won’t do anything. But I don’t want you leaving. Not like this.”
Like what?
Wound up tighter than a drum, ready to explode, because the thought of me riding the rough stubble of your mouth hasn’t crossed my mind even once.
Not at all.
I catch my breath. “Sooner or later, I have to go.” I remind him. “Temporary, remember?” He reaches out for me again, and I break for the door, rushing from the room .
“Torture,” he hollers after me, and damn it, he’s right.
This is torture.
My body’s lit up like a Christmas tree, every nerve buzzing, and all I can think about is him.