Chapter 12
LYRA
Iwake up, reaching for him, but my hand lands on cold sheets.
I open my eyes and sit up, looking around. The fairy lights are still on, and my clothes are still crumpled at the entrance to my bedroom, where he stripped me. The space smells like sex and him, and it makes my chest ache.
Had to leave. Security situation required immediate attention. Ethan has someone posted outside of your building. Last night stays between us. No one at work can know. I need you to trust me on this. No arguments.
Then a second text, sent a minute later.
I didn’t want to wake you. You looked like something I didn’t deserve to touch.
I read both messages a few times. The first is all Julian—clipped, commanding, and all business. The second is an echo of the side he showed me last night, when he kissed my belly, my thighs, my everything.
The problem is that both messages are from the same man, and I don’t know which is the real him.
I sigh and set down the phone.
Last night I felt… worshipped. Not wanted or desired but worshipped. The way he looked at me and touched me made me feel like I was something he’d been wanting to find for years, precious and delicate.
But now I’m waking up alone, being told to keep it quiet, reading the words no one can know while his scent still lingers in the air.
Alexander kept me quiet, too. He’s a different man, and his reasoning was different, but the vibe is the same—the secrecy, the control, the implication that I’ll be causing problems if I don’t shut up and do as I’m told.
One time, Alexander told me not to make a big deal out of it when he cancelled dinner plans with me to grab a drink with Sophia so they could “catch up.”
Julian tells me to trust him but vanishes during the night.
I know they’re not the same. Julian left for business reasons. But knowing and feeling are two different things.
I get out of bed and shower, letting the hot water soothe my skin and my nerves.
I can still feel him when I close my eyes, the pressure of his touch, the roughness of his hands, the heat of his breath.
I think about the sensation of him filling me, the way his body shuddered as he came deep inside me.
My hand moves down my belly, drifting down between my thighs.
No way. No time for that.
I quickly rinse the soap off my body, then turn off the shower. I get out and dry myself with a plush towel, then dress for work—black skirt, ivory silk blouse, black heels.
I catch my reflection in the mirror in the hallway on the way out. I pause, noticing my posture, my poise, how I’m carrying myself with a confidence that wasn’t there yesterday.
I pull my gaze away from the mirror and grab the rest of my things, snagging an apple and a steel mug full of coffee. Before I leave, I step over to the window and look out at the hardware store where the man had been standing, the one who’d set last night into motion.
No one’s there, of course, but I don’t feel any safer.
I head out, locking the door and then double-checking it, and walk to the station. There’s a man in a dark coat leaning against the wall of the bakery downstairs. He nods at me as I pass. He must be Julian’s guy. He waits until I’m down the block a bit before pushing off the wall and following me.
This is my life now.
I make it to the E train and find a seat.
I don’t text him back.
My intercom buzzes at a little after nine.
“Lyra. My office. Bring the donor list for the upcoming event.”
Julian’s voice turns me on and pisses me off at the same time. No good morning, no mention of last night—just that commanding tone stripped of every trace of the man who practically wanted to build a shrine in honor of my body last night.
Fine. Two can play this game.
I grab the folder, then start down the corridor, giving Anya a prim smile as I pass by her desk. She smiles back and waves, then appears a little confused, sensing that something’s off.
When I reach Julian’s office, I knock once, then enter. He’s behind his desk, jacket off, and sleeves rolled. My eyes go right to the tattoos, the forearms, those gunmetal-gray eyes.
Goddammit.
He sits back, and I watch him take in the sight of me, registering the stiffness in my posture, the folder held against my chest, like a shield.
He extends his hand.
“The donor list.”
I stride over and give it to him.
“Updated as of yesterday,” I say. “I’ve flagged three prospects that lagged under previous management.
If you’d like, I can draft outreach letters this afternoon.
Hasn’t been too long since they fell off the radar, so it shouldn’t take too much to coax them back.
People usually feel pretty guilty about leaving charities, and only do so if they ha—”
“Sit down.”
I bristle at the words.
“I’d rather stand. Is there anything else you need?”
He studies me, and I hold his gaze. Looking away would feel like losing, and I’m not about to lose.
He stands and walks over to the door, then locks it.
“Julian—”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m being professional. I’m keeping things between us.”
He moves toward me. Not quickly or aggressively, just a slow closing of distance that makes it clear we’re on his turf. My pulse ticks up and my pussy clenches. I’m so goddamn mad at my traitorous body for reacting to him like that.
He stops close enough that his scent invades my senses, that same scent that I relished last night. I feel a pull toward him beyond my control.
“You didn’t text me back.”
“Didn’t feel the need to.”
“Common courtesy.”
I say nothing for a long moment. “You didn’t stay.”
“That’s what the text was for, telling you why I left.”
“You told me via text at nearly five in the morning, after disappearing from my bed without a single word. Then you told me to keep quiet about it.”
My voice is steady, but my hands are shaking a little. I reach forward and grip the back of the chair in front of me. “I’ve been through this before, Julian—the secrecy, the control, being told what to do without an explanation of why. I’m not doing it again. Not for anyone.”
“I left because Ethan identified the watcher. And he might have a connection to Dobrov’s syndicate. Might. I didn’t tell you because my policy is to never share information that I’m not certain about.”
“So my role is just to accept that you’re going to be secretive with me.”
“I’m keeping you safe. Alive.” His voice drops and he shakes his head.
“This can’t work. You have to understand that.
I’m a dangerous man, Lyra. The things I’ve done, the things I’m doing…
you can’t be near any of it. You’re a good woman with respectable goals.
There’s important work here to be done. I have to keep you away from it before it destroys you. ”
The words land like bombs. And I can tell by the hard look on his face that he means every last one of them.
“Do I have any say in the matter?”
“No. Not when it comes to your safety.”
My heart is pounding. I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
“Fine. Then it stops here.”
“Agreed.”
“Good.”
“Good.” He steps back and gestures toward the door. “You can unlock it and go back to your office now. Thank you for the donor list.”
With that, I turn and stride toward the door. My fingers find the lock, but I don’t unlock it. Instead, I stand there.
Three seconds pass. Then five. Then ten.
It feels like an eternity compressed into heartbeats.
Every rational thought is telling me to turn the lock and walk away, not just from his office but from this job, from this man and his family, from the world he’s a part of, a world that threatens my very existence.
But I don’t. Instead, I turn around.
He’s watching me. He hasn’t moved. But his gaze is different. There’s no more cold professionalism.
There’s heat.
The same heat I saw last night, the same lustful need in those gunmetal grays.
Screw it.
I step away from the door and cross the room, making my way over to him, and grabbing the front of his shirt. He grins, and I kiss him like I’m angry, because I am.
He responds instantly, putting his hands on my waist and pulling me flush against him, his mouth open and hot against mine. His tongue finds mine, and I moan as I taste him again.
The professional composure is gone, nothing but the raw need I feel for him remains.
He lifts me onto the edge of his desk and steps between my thighs.
His hand slides up my leg underneath my skirt and his fingers drag along the inside of my thigh until I’m digging my nails into his shoulder in anticipation.
“Tell me to stop,” he says against my lips.
“Don’t you ever say that to me again.”
His hand reaches the lace of my underwear. His fingers slip beneath the fabric, and when he touches me, and he finds me already wet for him, he makes a low, possessive growl that makes my heart rate spike.
Julian’s forehead presses against mine, staring right into my eyes, as his fingers move to exactly where I need them. I’m biting my lip and clutching the edge of the desk and—
Knock-knock.
We freeze.
Shit.
“Julian?” Anya’s voice sounds muffled through the heavy door.
“Yes? I’m in the middle of a conference call.”
“Sorry to interrupt, but Kostin Dobrov is here. Says it’s urgent. And he’s not really taking no for an answer.”
Julian’s hand is still between my thighs; his breath ragged against my cheek. I can feel his heart hammering beneath my hand on his chest.
He withdraws slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
The second he’s gone, I want him right back.
“Two minutes,” he calls out. His voice is calm and steady, which is an almost comical contrast to the other parts of him that aren’t so calm and composed.
He steps back and straightens his shirt, runs a hand through his hair. Within ten seconds, he’s gone from a man who was about to have sex to a professional, composed CEO.
I slide off the desk and smooth my skirt, trying to calm my breaths, but my heart’s still pounding and my panties are soaked.
“Go,” he says quietly.
I steal a quick kiss, then hurry over to the door and unlock it, walking past Anya with the most neutral expression I can manage.
I go back to my office and sit at my desk. I open my copy of the donor file, staring at it without reading a single word.
God, I’m in so much trouble.