Chapter Twelve
Twelve
Leila gives me the code to Julian’s apartment and calls his concierge to request I be placed on a guest list. It feels a bit wrong, getting permission from a second party, but when I try to call Julian again and it goes to voicemail, I reason with myself that I’m only breaking and entering in his best interests.
I go home, take Onix out, then putter around my house grabbing supplies.
I find my stethoscope, a blood pressure cuff, a pulse oximeter, Tylenol, and ibuprofen, and throw them all into a tote bag.
I bring a bottle of water too, pop a couple ibuprofen for good measure, and wash them down.
Then, because I can’t be bothered to hunt down parking around Julian’s downtown apartment, I call for a ride, jittery with nerves.
The last time I visited Julian’s place, we entered through the parking garage, which, while neat, had been concrete and unremarkable.
The lobby itself is opulent, gilded, with a doorman dressed in a crisp navy uniform under a smart black coat who steps out into the cold to open my passenger-side door.
“Are you here for Mr. Conrad?” he asks. When I confirm, he directs me to the elevator. “Hope he’s doing okay.”
I nod, though behind my mask, my mouth has set into a line.
I’m not sure whether it relieves or concerns me that someone else picked up that something is amiss with Julian.
The anxiety doesn’t abate as I step onto the elevator, go up to the twenty-fourth floor—only heightens when I find his apartment, 2401, and knock.
“Julian?” I call out after a moment.
There’s no answer. I stand there, feeling uncertain and a bit foolish.
There’s a nonzero chance that Julian has just been intentionally ignoring me and hoping that I’ll get the point.
That I’ll burst into his apartment and find him not in it, somewhere across the city at another board of trustees meeting, or worse, tangled up in another woman’s embrace.
And then there are further questions: What if he’s too out of it to answer the door?
Should I have just asked his doorman to accompany me for a wellness check?
Should I have called emergency services instead of imposing myself—no, he would be pissed if I did that, honestly he might be pissed that I’m here at all—
Just when I’m about to turn tail and head back down twenty-four floors to ask for help, I hear him.
“Hello?” Julian says, in a voice that sounds like he’s using all his energy to project.
“Julian,” I call back. “It’s Sean. I’m coming in.”
He doesn’t respond, and I figure that’s as close to permission as I will get.
Hesitantly, I tap in the code, wait for the lock to click open, and turn the doorknob.
Julian’s place is different in the daytime.
Even with the blinds drawn, it’s flooded in light, and the colors that seemed so rich at night are muted and warm now.
It’s not as spotless as it had been previously; errant mugs are on every surface, and I nearly step onto what I realize is likely one half of a fleece pajama set as I walk inside.
From the entryway, I can make out dishes in the sink and a knocked over box of Wheat Thins on the kitchen island.
And in the center of the living room, sprawled out on a couch under a mound of blankets, is the owner.
“Who?” he calls out weakly.
I hang my jacket on the coat rack, unwind my scarf, slip off my boots.
“Sean,” I repeat awkwardly. Even from the door, I can tell that Julian is in a bad way.
His face is slick with sweat, and his gaze when he looks at me is distant and unfocused.
Dark circles hang under his eyes; I wonder when he last had a good night’s rest. “Sorry for breaking and entering. Leila gave me the code, and—”
Julian groans, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Why would she do that?” he grumbles, and even though I know it is an appropriate reaction, I grimace.
“You’re clearly very sick, and I am a doctor,” I say, approaching him slowly. “She wanted to check up on you herself but had…some obligations. So she asked me to come instead.”
But Julian is already shaking his head.
“No. No,” he mutters. “No, you don’t understand. I don’t…” He searches for the words. “You can’t see me like this.”
The awareness that it is vanity that keeps Julian from wanting me here and not lack of interest eases my nerves somewhat. I close the distance between us.
“I assure you that you’re still devastatingly handsome, even like this,” I say. “I assume this is why you haven’t texted me? Called me back?” I don’t wait for him to answer. “Say ah.”
Julian’s hand reaches from behind the blanket, so quick that I’m caught off guard, grasps my wrist, and grips tight. I look up, stunned, as he sits up. The blankets fall off his shoulders and pool at his waist, and I swallow against a throat that is suddenly parched.
I am going to hell. Because I should not be objectifying him right now.
But it’s hard not to. I’ve never seen his naked body in broad daylight, and it is exquisite, all rolling shoulders and glistening pectorals and abs that shift in and out of view as he breathes in big, heaving gusts.
It’s a body crafted by a female gaze, both functional and aesthetically arresting.
He’s not well, I remind myself. And neither are you.
“Julian,” I say slowly, rolling the syllables on my tongue as I drag my gaze reluctantly back to his eyes. “Please let go.”
In response, he tugs me closer. I stumble into the space between his knees, catching myself on the back of his couch, and his knees tighten, trapping my hips between them. Heat comes off his body in oppressive waves, and I’m reminded of the creature from this afternoon’s dream, his fire iron glow.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs, as if he’s speaking to himself. “I can’t…I can’t be around you right now. It’s dangerous.”
“Well, good thing I’m sick too,” I say. “Not really sure which of us is patient zero, but I think it’s too late to worry about spreading it to each other.”
Julian’s laugh is hoarse with disuse, and when he presses his forehead to mine, he’s hot to the point of discomfort.
“You’re so difficult,” he says. Then, “Is that really what you think I mean?”
The gravel in his voice is enticing, but I feel an edge of fear too, a rush of adrenaline that makes my body tense to flee.
“Let go of me, Jules,” I repeat. It’s a command this time, the growl before the bite. I trust Julian not to hurt me, but he’s still a man with several inches of height and many more pounds of bulk on me who is too sick to know his strength.
This time, he listens. Julian drops my wrist, and I bend back down to dig through my bag.
I can feel him watching me, and I duck away from his stare, which has suddenly gone from dazed to hyperfocused.
When I find his face again, his smile is gone.
It’s as if a breeze has blown through the room and taken part of him with it, and I still, intrigued and unsettled by the abruptness of his shift.
“You’re actually afraid of me,” he croons, so softly that I have to read his lips to make out the words. “Fascinating.”
The breath I’ve been holding comes out in a huff.
“Yeah, well, you kind of freaked me out just then,” I say, finding the thermometer. I hold it to his mouth. “Say ah, you big weirdo.”
Julian obeys, opens his mouth wide, and takes the thermometer like I’ve just fed him something sumptuous.
His eyes don’t leave mine until I tear them away to wrap the blood pressure cuff around his upper arm and run it.
They result at the same time: 110/74 (normal), 103. 6 degrees Fahrenheit (decidedly not).
“You’re burning up,” I mutter. I’m a bit relieved to find that his odd behavior can be attributed to a fever-induced delirium. “Hold up, where’s my stethoscope—”
Before I can bend back down for my bag, Julian reaches for me again, but this time his touch is gentle. I hold still as fingertips skim past my cheek, soft as butterfly wings.
“Can you look at me?” he whispers. “Please?”
I still, then oblige. Julian’s focus can be intense on most days, but today it’s different.
He stares at me like a man who has lived in darkness might at his first glimpse of the moon.
Like I am wondrous and luminous and terrifying all at once.
Moving slowly, he tugs my mask off my ears, then cradles my face in his hand.
“I just don’t understand. You’re here because you want to help me. You came of your own free will.”
I’m even more confused than before.
“Um, yeah,” I confirm. “Lean forward, Julian. Let me listen to your lungs. It’s no chest X-ray, but if I hear something, we’re definitely going to the hospital.”
It’s like he can’t hear me. His thumb drags along my bottom lip, and he watches the flesh fold with great interest, his tongue trailing absent-mindedly along the points of his upper teeth.
The gesture is absolutely mind breaking.
Suddenly I’m flooded with heat, the space between my legs clenching with arousal that comes so quick that I have to hold back a gasp.
I can feel my pupils dilate, watch the world go out of focus and then recalibrate.
It’s true that Julian is ill—I haven’t seen a temperature that high in an adult in a minute—but he also oozes sensuality so dense I can taste it.
It’s copper sharp, like the air after a lightning strike.
“That’s more like it,” Julian says, still fixated on my mouth. “I was beginning to think I’d lost my touch.”
“Still arrogant as ever,” I mutter, even as my heart races.
Julian’s gaze drops to the throbbing pulse in my neck and stays there, transfixed. Even pressed so close, he seems so far away.
“You don’t make sense, you know,” he whispers. “You refuse to bend to me even one inch. And yet here you are, coming to my aid because you want to.”
I swallow.
“I don’t really know what you mean by bend,” I say, hesitantly. “But…yes? I do want to?”