The Private Balcony
He didn't take her to the hotel room. He couldn't wait that long.
Julian grabbed her hand and pulled her through the crowded ballroom, bypassing the main doors and slipping through a heavy velvet curtain that led to the VIP overflow balconies.
They stepped out into the cool, humid Los Angeles night air. The balcony was massive, deserted, and shrouded in deep shadows, overlooking the glittering expanse of the city.
The moment the heavy glass door clicked shut, severing the noise of the gala, Julian spun her around.
He backed her against the heavy stone balustrade, his mouth crashing down onto hers with a desperate, blistering heat. There was no hesitation, no gentle buildup. It was a complete, unapologetic collision.
Elara gasped into his mouth, her hands flying up to tangle in his dark hair, pulling him closer. Julian’s hands were everywhere, frantic and possessive. He gripped her waist, lifting her entirely off the ground until she was sitting on the wide stone ledge of the balcony.
"You make me absolutely crazy," Julian groaned against her lips, his tongue sweeping past her teeth, tasting the champagne on her breath.
"Then show me," Elara demanded fiercely, her hands pulling at the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, desperate to feel the heavy, solid muscle of his chest.
Julian didn't need to be told twice. His large hands slid up the long, exposed length of her thigh through the slit in her red silk dress. His rough, calloused palms burned against her bare skin, sending violent shockwaves of pure electricity straight to her core.
He broke the kiss just long enough to look at her. The ambient light of the city illuminated her flushed face, her swollen lips, and the absolute, unfiltered devotion in her whiskey eyes.
"I love you," Julian swore, his voice a rough, ragged prayer in the quiet night. He kissed a burning path down her jaw, his lips pressing into the sensitive pulse point of her neck. "I love you so damn much it terrifies me, Elara."
"Don't be terrified," she whimpered, arching her back, completely offering herself to him. Her hands slid beneath his crisp white dress shirt, her fingernails scraping lightly against the corded muscles of his abdomen. "I am completely yours, Julian. Entirely."
Julian let out a guttural, desperate sound. He pushed the heavy silk of her dress aside, his large hand finding exactly what he was looking for.
Elara cried out softly, her back arching off the stone balustrade as he found her center. His touch was incredibly precise, demanding, and utterly consuming. He watched her face, his stormy gray eyes completely dark with lust and devotion, mapping the exact cadence that made her breath hitch.
"Julian," she sobbed his name, the pleasure building into a sharp, blinding crescendo in the shadows of the balcony.
"Let go, sweetheart," Julian murmured, his voice dark and rough in her ear. He stepped perfectly between her thighs, his massive frame shielding her entirely from the world. "I've got you."
The dual friction shattered her. Elara buried her face in the crook of his neck to muffle her cry, her body trembling violently as wave after wave of intense, blinding ecstasy ripped through her.
She clung to his broad shoulders, completely untethered, anchored only by the heavy, steady force of the man holding her.
Julian held her tightly, his chest heaving, pressing desperate kisses to her temple until the trembling finally subsided.
He didn't pull away. He carefully adjusted her dress, ensuring she was completely covered, before wrapping his arms around her and resting his forehead against hers.
"We need to get you back to the hotel," Julian rasped, his voice still shaking with the monumental effort of his own restraint. He was burning alive for her, but the stone balcony was no place to finish what they had started.
"Take me home, Thorne," Elara whispered, a soft, beautiful smile touching her lips.
Julian lifted her off the ledge, his arm wrapping securely around her waist. He didn't care that her lipstick was smudged or that his tuxedo was a mess. They were untouchable.
But as they stepped back through the velvet curtain and into the blinding light of the ballroom hallway, the illusion of safety violently shattered.
Waiting for them, flanked by two security guards and a terrifyingly smug reporter holding a microphone, was Sarah. The PR director looked completely pale, holding her tablet out with shaking hands.
"Julian," Sarah said, her voice trembling. "You need to see this. Now."
Julian’s arm tightened instinctively around Elara. "What is it?"
"It’s Declan," Sarah whispered, terrified. "He didn't leave. He went to the press line outside."
She turned the tablet around.
Playing on the screen was a live feed of Declan Hayes, standing in front of a dozen cameras, looking devastated and completely heartbroken.
"I tried to stay quiet to protect her," Declan was saying on the screen, his voice cracking with a perfectly rehearsed tear.
"But Julian Thorne is dangerous. He just threatened my life inside that gala. Elara is trapped in a PR contract her brother forced her into, and Thorne is using physical intimidation to keep her there. I have the original contract they signed. I am releasing it to the press right now to save her."
The blood completely drained from Elara’s face.
She looked up at Julian. His stormy gray eyes were locked on the screen, a terrifying, absolute silence falling over him. The world around them had just exploded, and the flashing lights were already turning their way.