Chapter Five
~ Connor ~
I stepped into the penthouse like I was walking onto a movie set, still not quite believing that this place was now technically my home.
The weight of the shopping bags in my hand felt like evidence of a life I hadn't earned, but here I was anyway—Connor Matthews, no, Connor Montgomery now—wearing clothes that cost more than my rent and a wedding ring that probably had its own insurance policy.
Julian wheeled in behind me, the soft whir of his chair on the marble floor already becoming a familiar sound.
"The staff won't be back until dinner," Julian said, his voice carrying that authoritative tone that seemed as natural to him as breathing. "Make yourself comfortable."
Comfortable. Right. Like I could ever feel comfortable in a place where the couch probably cost more than my entire college education.
Still, I had to start somewhere.
I headed toward the master suite—our suite now—my new dress shoes clicking against the marble floor. The closet was bigger than my entire apartment, with Julian's clothes taking up only half the space. The empty half waited for me like a blank canvas, intimidating in its vastness.
"You can put your things anywhere," Julian said from the doorway, watching as I hesitated.
I nodded, setting down the shopping bags and reaching for my pathetic duffel bag. My entire life fit into this one worn bag—a few changes of clothes, a dog-eared paperback, my ancient laptop, and a framed photo of my grandparents, the only members of my family I actually liked.
Next to Julian's tailored suits and designer shoes, my belongings looked like they'd wandered into the wrong zip code.
"Not much to unpack," I said, trying to keep my voice light as I placed my clothes in a drawer that could have held ten times as much.
When I turned, I caught Julian watching me, his dark eyes tracking my movements with an intensity that sent heat crawling up my neck. It wasn't a clinical assessment, like he was checking if I was settling in properly.
No, this was something far more primal—the look of a man remembering exactly what lay beneath the expensive clothes he'd just bought.
I cleared my throat, suddenly very aware of how the tailored slacks hugged my thighs. "I think I'll make some coffee. Want some?"
"Please," he replied, his voice slightly deeper than it had been a moment before.
The kitchen was a chef's dream—all gleaming surfaces and professional-grade appliances. I opened three wrong cabinets before finding the coffee mugs, all of them matching, all of them probably costing more than my textbooks.
As I waited for the coffee to brew, I became aware of Julian's presence behind me. He hadn't made a sound coming in, but I could feel him watching me, the weight of his gaze like a physical touch on the back of my neck.
I turned, coffee mug in hand, and nearly fumbled it when I saw the naked hunger in his eyes. My fingers tightened reflexively around the ceramic, saving it from a shattering demise on the marble floor.
"Sugar?" I asked, my voice embarrassingly husky.
"No," Julian replied, his eyes never leaving mine. "Black is fine."
I poured the coffee with hands that weren't quite steady, all too conscious of how Julian's gaze followed the movement of my arms, my hands, lingering on the ring that marked me as his.
When I handed him the mug, our fingers brushed—the touch brief but electric, sending a jolt of awareness through me that made my breath catch.
"Thank you," he said, and I knew he wasn't talking about the coffee.
I spent the rest of the afternoon moving around the penthouse, trying to familiarize myself with my new home while acutely aware of Julian's presence.
He worked on his tablet, made phone calls, reviewed documents—all the normal activities of a CEO working from home.
Except there was nothing normal about the way his eyes found me every time I entered a room, the way his gaze lingered when I reached for something on a high shelf, stretching the fabric of my new shirt across my back.
At one point, I passed him in the hallway leading to the study, the space narrow enough that I had to press my back against the wall to let his wheelchair by.
As he passed, his arm brushed against my thigh, and I could have sworn the contact was deliberate.
The heat of that touch lingered long after he'd moved on.
I caught my reflection in one of the many mirrors that adorned the penthouse walls.
The blue shirt brought out the color in my eyes, just as the saleswoman had promised.
The charcoal slacks fit perfectly, accentuating my lean frame in a way my usual jeans never did.
For once, I looked like I belonged in this world of wealth and privilege.
No wonder Julian couldn't keep his eyes off me.
Keep staring like that and we'll never leave the bedroom, I thought to myself, a little thrill running through me at the idea.
As evening fell, the staff arrived to prepare dinner. Mrs. Chen moved efficiently through the penthouse, straightening things that already looked perfect to me.
The chef worked quietly in the kitchen, the delicious smells making my stomach growl. Julian's assistant Natalie dropped off some documents, her professional demeanor never slipping, though I caught the curious glance she threw my way before leaving.
And then, as quickly as they'd arrived, they were gone.
The penthouse fell silent, the only sound the soft hum of the climate control system and the distant city noises far below. The lighting automatically dimmed to a warm glow that transformed the modern space into something more intimate.
I found Julian in his study, still working on his tablet despite the late hour. The blue light from the screen illuminated his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw, the intensity of his concentration.
He looked up as I entered, and the hunger I'd been seeing all day flared hotter in his eyes.
"Staff's gone," I said, leaning against the doorframe.
Julian set his tablet aside, his full attention now on me. "So they are."
The air between us thickened with possibility. All day, we'd been circling each other, building tension with looks and almost-touches. Now, with the penthouse empty and the night stretching before us, there was nothing to stop that tension from igniting.
"Just us now," I said, my voice dropping lower as I held his gaze.
Julian's lips curved into a smile that was equal parts promise and challenge. "Just us."
I pushed off from the doorframe with deliberate slowness, watching Julian's eyes track my movement like a predator—except I wasn't prey. No, I was the hunter now, and he was exactly where I wanted him.
The soft carpet muffled my footsteps as I crossed the study, maintaining eye contact with every step. Julian's fingers tightened slightly on the armrests of his wheelchair, the only sign that my approach affected him as much as his stares had been affecting me all day.
"You've been watching me," I said, stopping directly in front of him.
Julian didn't bother denying it. "You're worth watching."
His honesty sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. I placed my hands on the armrests of his wheelchair, leaning down until our faces were inches apart, my body caging his without touching.
"All day," I continued, my voice dropping lower, "you've been looking at me like you want to devour me."
"And if I do?" he challenged, his breath warm against my lips.
I smiled, then lowered myself onto his lap, straddling him as I had in the hotel room. His sharp intake of breath was deeply satisfying.
"I believe I made you a promise about taking responsibility," I whispered, close enough that my lips brushed his ear.
Julian's hands moved to my hips, gripping firmly. "I recall something to that effect."
I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, finding them dark with desire. The composed CEO who had commanded respect with his mere presence was giving way to something more primal, more vulnerable.
I closed the final distance between us, pressing my lips to his. The kiss started gentle, almost tentative, but quickly ignited into something hungrier. Julian's mouth was demanding against mine, his tongue seeking entrance that I eagerly granted.
His hands slid from my hips to my back, pulling me closer until our chests pressed together. I could feel his heart racing beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt, matching the rapid tempo of my own.
My fingers threaded through his thick hair, slightly mussed now from my attention. The soft strands felt like silk against my skin. Julian groaned into my mouth as I gave them a gentle tug, and the sound sent a bolt of heat straight through me.
"God, you're responsive," I murmured against his lips.
"Only with you," he replied, his voice rough with want. "Only ever with you."
The admission made my chest tighten with something that went beyond physical desire. I kissed him again, deeper this time, trying to communicate without words what his confession meant to me.
Julian's hands moved to the buttons of my shirt, deftly unfastening them one by one. His fingertips brushed against my skin with each newly exposed inch, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
When the shirt hung open, he pushed it off my shoulders, his eyes devouring the sight of my bare chest. "You're beautiful," he said, and the raw sincerity in his voice made me flush.
His palms slid up my torso, mapping the contours of my body with the same intensity he probably used to study financial reports. Each touch was deliberate, thorough, like he was committing me to memory.
I shifted in his lap, creating friction that drew a sharp gasp from both of us. Even through the layers of our pants, I could feel him hardening beneath me—a miracle, he'd called it, this physical response that medical science had declared impossible.
"Bedroom," I suggested, my voice so husky I barely recognized it.