Chapter Two
I heard the familiar sounds: the solid click, the soft thud of his flight bag on the floor, and the quiet zip of his jacket before he stepped into the living room.
He still wore his uniform—dark trousers, white shirt, tie loosened, top button undone.
Cold air lingered on him from the ride in from the airport.
He carried a slim, dark bottle in one hand.
“Made it,” he said. His voice was low and even, the same tone he used when the worst of a situation had already been handled. “The wine survived the deadhead. Thought we might need it.”
He set the bottle on the kitchen counter. The label was heavy cream paper, French, the kind that signaled serious money. I recognized the producer from a client gift I had once received and never opened.
“You didn’t have to,” I said.
“I know.” He looked at me for a longer beat than usual, dark eyes steady. “But we’re both stuck here for a few days. Seemed like the right occasion.”
The apartment felt smaller with him there.
I watched him go through his usual routine: hanging up his uniform jacket, rolling his sleeves to his elbows, and washing his hands at the kitchen sink with his usual careful attention.
The muscles in his forearms flexed under the white fabric.
I made myself look back at the glass of water I had been holding for the last twenty minutes.
“Theo texted,” I said. “He’s about thirty minutes out.”
Julian nodded once. “Good.” He opened a drawer, found the corkscrew, and worked the cork free with a clean, practiced pull. The sound was soft and final. He poured two modest glasses and handed one to me. Our fingers brushed. Neither of us pulled away immediately.
“To grounded aircraft,” he said.
We drank. The wine was dense, dark, expensive in the way that announced itself without effort. It tasted like something that belonged to a different life than the one we usually lived in this apartment.
We stood on opposite sides of the kitchen island. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t empty. Julian leaned his hip against the counter, glass resting loosely in his hand, and studied me with the same calm, thorough attention he used when looking at weather radar. He missed nothing.
“You look like you’ve been waiting,” he said.
The observation landed low in my stomach. I could have deflected. Instead I answered honestly.
“I have.”
He set his glass down and closed the distance between us by two steps, close enough that I caught the faint scent of cold air and the soap he used after long flights. Close enough that the heat of his body reached me.
His eyes dropped briefly to my mouth, then lower, taking in the way my tank top sat against my chest, before returning to my face.
“You’ve been watching me the same way I’ve been watching you,” he said. His voice stayed quiet, almost conversational, but there was nothing casual in it. “For months.”
I didn’t deny it. The wine had loosened something in my chest, or maybe it was just the fact that he was finally standing this close with nowhere else he needed to be.
“I know what I look like when I want something,” he continued. “And I know what you look like when you’re trying not to show it.”
My pulse jumped at the base of my throat. He noticed, of course. One corner of his mouth curved, almost but not quite a smile.
“That night in the kitchen,” he said. “When I put my hand on your waist.”
“I remember.”
“I thought about finishing what I started.” His gaze held mine, steady and unblinking. “I thought about turning you around, lifting you onto that counter, and finding out exactly what you sound like when you squirm.”
The words landed low and hot. I felt them between my legs as clearly as a touch.
Julian’s voice dropped even further. “You’re still thinking about it. I can see it on your face.”
I exhaled slowly. “You’re not exactly subtle right now either.”
“I don’t feel like being subtle.” He reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear, fingertips grazing the side of my neck.
The contact was light, controlled, and deliberate enough to make my breath catch.
“I’ve spent the last year pretending I don’t want to know what you sound like when you stop holding back. ”
My skin felt too tight. I could have stepped away. Instead I stayed exactly where I was, close enough that the front of his shirt almost touched mine.
“Then stop pretending,” I said.
Something dark and satisfied moved through his expression. His hand settled at the side of my neck, thumb resting just under my jaw. He leaned in and kissed me.
He didn’t hesitate. Julian kissed the way he did everything else: decisive, thorough, completely in control.
His mouth opened over mine, slow and deep, tasting of expensive wine and heat.
One hand stayed at my neck while the other found my waist and pulled me close.
I felt the solid length of his body, the restrained strength in the way he held me, and a low sound escaped my throat before I could stop it.
He answered with a quiet, approving hum and kissed me harder.
The front door opened.
We broke apart just as Theo’s voice carried down the hall, bright with residual adrenaline. “Jesus, the roads are a mess. I—”
He stepped into the living room, still peeling off his jacket, and dropped his flight bag to the floor with a soft thud.
Julian had already put a few feet between us and was reaching for the wine bottle as if nothing had happened.
I quickly smoothed my hair and turned toward the kitchen island, hoping my expression looked normal.
Theo’s eyes moved from me to Julian and back again, but there was no sign of recognition—just his usual easy warmth and the tiredness from a long day of weather delays.
“You made it,” I said, already pulling a third glass from the cabinet. “Julian brought back something expensive. You want some?”
“Hell yes.” Theo crossed the room, ran a hand through his damp hair, and accepted the glass I poured for him. His fingers brushed mine around the stem, lingering a second longer than necessary. “What are we celebrating? Surviving the freeze?”
“Something like that,” Julian said, his voice steady. He lifted his glass in a small toast. The only sign that anything had happened was the faint flush on his cheekbones and the way his gaze kept returning to my mouth.
Theo drank, eyes closing briefly in appreciation.
“Damn. That’s the good stuff.” He set the glass down and leaned a hip against the counter, close enough that I caught the familiar mix of cold air, airport, and the clean scent of his skin.
“You two look settled in already. How long have you been home?”
“Not long,” I said.
Julian’s eyes met mine over Theo’s shoulder for a fraction of a second—dark, still heated, full of unfinished business- before he looked away.
Theo didn’t notice. He was already telling the story of the fog, the grounded planes, and the van ride back that took twice as long as it should have.
The three of us stayed in the kitchen with wine glasses in hand, the expensive red disappearing quickly.
Conversation stretched and loosened. Theo’s knee bumped mine when he shifted.
Julian’s attention stayed focused on both of us, quiet and watchful.
The earlier kiss still burned on my mouth.
Every time Julian’s gaze dropped to it, the heat between my legs grew stronger.
Theo, unaware of what he had almost walked in on, kept finding reasons to touch me: his fingers grazed my arm when he reached for the bottle, and his hand rested casually at the small of my back when he moved past. The apartment felt smaller by the minute, the air thicker, and the night was only beginning.
We eventually moved to the living room. Julian took the armchair.
Theo and I ended up on the sectional, close enough that our thighs touched every time one of us shifted.
The wine kept flowing. Our talk moved from the weather to the strange exhaustion of being grounded, then to nothing in particular.
The conversations were long and looping, feeling more intimate than the words themselves.
Theo’s hand rested on my knee and stayed there.
Julian watched but didn’t say anything, his expression unreadable except for a slight tightness at the corner of his mouth.
I felt caught between them: Julian’s kiss still fresh in my mind, and Theo’s familiar warmth seeping into me with every small touch.
At some point, Julian stood up, picked up the empty bottle, and said he was going to shower. His eyes met mine one last time before he walked down the hall. The look he gave me was all unfinished business.
The bathroom door closed. Water started.
Theo turned to me the second we were alone, eyes darker than they had been all night.
“You’ve been different since I walked in,” he said quietly. “Edgy. Distracted.” His thumb stroked along the inside of my knee.
I could have told him the truth. Instead I reached for the easier answer.
“Just stressed about work. I’ve got three new client launches this week, and the content calendar is a mess. My brain won’t shut off.”
Theo’s eyes softened, but the heat underneath didn’t leave. His hand slid a little higher on my thigh.
“I can help with that,” he said. “If you want.”
The offer landed low and warm. I knew exactly what he meant. The shower was still running down the hall. Julian would be occupied for at least another ten minutes.
“Yes,” I said.
Theo stood, pulled me up with him, and led me into the dark hallway just beyond the living room.
The second we were out of the direct line of the bathroom door, he pressed me against the wall and kissed me like he had been waiting all night to do it.
His mouth was open, hungry, tasting of wine and heat.
One hand slid under the back of my shirt and spanned my bare skin; the other gripped my hip and pulled me flush against him so I could feel how hard he already was.