Chapter 15 #2
“You. I’m still here because, before you walked back into my life, I had every intention of finding you.
It didn’t matter that you lied. After I knew what Hideaway was, I understood why you did.
And that you were there for a reason. And that none of it mattered because I still wanted you.
” He lets out a frustrated breath. “I didn’t suddenly grow a conscience, Wyn.
I’m not a good guy. But I sure as fuck met someone who knocked me sideways.
Someone worth finding again and seeing if she felt, even a little of what I felt. ”
My pulse races, words instantly failing me. Maybe I’ve wildly misjudged Julian Colton.
“Say something,” he says softly, vulnerability dripping from his tone and inflection.
“I’ve thought about you too,” I rush out before I lose my nerve.
And instantly, my body starts relaxing when I hear his quiet hum.
It’s enough encouragement to keep going.
“I thought about how you looked at me.” I smile, closing my eyes when I add, “You smelled so good. I felt so good being touched by someone after so long.”
I want to tell him about what came before, why I’ll always feel slightly broken, and why this pull between us could never work.
I cover my eyes, shake my head. To be interesting to a stranger who doesn’t know anything about who I was before, what I became, or who I’m trying to be now feels too good and has me buzzing from more than just whiskey.
Intimacy and sex should go together. If this had the makings of a healthy relationship, it probably would.
But if intimacy is about sharing secrets that might make me crumble, then sex is the only part I can entertain.
And oh, how I want to entertain. I uncover my eyes, a smirk still playing across my lips as I make a choice.
And it’s as if making this decision flips some kind of switch inside of me.
There’s no reason why I shouldn’t enjoy every moment with him while I can.
“I thought about your lips,” I tell him, the pad of my finger lightly swiping across my bottom lip.
“The way they tasted and how they felt all along my throat.” I run my fingers down the center of my throat, ending at my breastbone, brushing over the satin center of my bra.
“When I’m alone, I think about all the ways your mouth could be put to use, Julian. ”
A breath of air whooshes through the line, as if he’s been holding it and waiting. “And what would my lips be doing to you, if I were where you are right now?”
“Nothing. They don’t get to taste.” My hand glides across my chest, brushing my warm skin, the fullness of my breasts that so eagerly want attention. “But I would let you watch.”
“Tease,” he drags out in a deep, husky tone.
“And I’d want to see what watching me would do to you.” I ghost my fingers down my bare stomach and across my lower belly. “If you’re man enough to follow my direction or too turned on and already touching yourself.”
I wait for a response. I get lost in the low lights and mood I’ve set before I realize he’s not responding at all this time. Lifting the phone from my ear, I look to see if he’s still there. “Did I render you speechless?”
Three rapid knocks come from my front door.
I sit up quickly. My stomach swoops at the possibility of him being on the other side of that door.
Maybe a part of me wanted to see if he would read between the lines when I basically suggested it.
I move toward the door, waiting to see if they’ll knock again, pulling a caftan from the rack that’s only ever been there as decoration.
The thin material drapes around my shoulders, the jewel tones of the floral pattern reaching the floor as I hold it closed at the center of my chest.
“Who is it?” I call out.
Knock. Silence. Knock. Silence. Knock. “I thought you wanted to see what watching would do to me,” Julian says, his voice muffled from the other side of the door.
I try to work through how I might survive this—if I open this door, I need to be sure I can trust myself and him. My mouth waters, renewed nerves creeping along my body and mingling with pent-up sexual attraction.
Flipping the lock, I lift the latch and let the door swing open. The warm summer air dances just beyond the threshold as Julian stands there like some kind of offering from the universe. Maybe this is my reward. The karma I’m due. Or simply what I need.
He doesn’t say anything, standing there in his dark jeans and boots. A worn black T-shirt with the sleeves torn off and armholes stretched, wrists and fingers naked from any jewelry as he opens his hands and squeezes them into fists at his sides.
“Deciding how brave you want to be?” he asks.
A loaded question, and the same one he asked that night in Montana all those months ago.
I look down his body, appreciating the sheer size of the man in my doorway—tall and thick, strong and unapologetic in every single way.
Bravery doesn’t have a place here with the way he’s looking at me, and with the way I’m feeling, there’s only one possible answer.
“How about I show you?”