It's Never Easy: A Boudreaux Universe Novel

by Dani Rene

  She’s practically drowning in my clothes, and her wet hair makes her look like she’s been caught in the rain. Her skin is a soft pink from what I’m guessing was hot water from the shower, her cheeks rosy, and her plump lips full and inviting. I want to feel them once more, but I’d love to also see them wrapped around my dick.

  “Would you like a drink?” I ask after clearing my throat.

  She smiles, and my chest tightens. She’s utterly breathtaking. “Yes, please,” she tells me as she settles on the bench, folding her legs underneath her ass.

  I hand her my glass. “Hold this. I’ll grab something for you. Any preference?”

  She lifts the tumbler to her nose and scrunches it. “Anything but this,” she tells me, making me laugh out loud. I nod and head back into the house with my mind racing a million miles a minute.

  Chapter 15

  Nea

  When Julian returns, he’s carrying a large glass of white wine. Thankfully. I’m not a massive fan of hard liquor, so the thought of drinking what he’s had makes me tense. He hands me the glass, but there’s something flitting in his gaze as he takes me in once more.

  “You look good in those,” he tells me as he settles beside me on the bench.

  “Yeah, thankfully, I don’t look like a drowning whale,” I tell him without thinking, but my head snaps up when he laughs out loud. The sound vibrating through me. It’s a genuine smile on his face, which warms my chest. “Sorry, that’s what Phee and I used to say.”

  “Phee?”

  “Phoebe, my best friend. She’s still in Italy for another two weeks or so,” I tell him. “She followed me out there and then ended up with a longer internship than I had.”

  “What made you come back? I mean, Rome is gorgeous.”

  I sip my drink, pondering that because if I had to be honest, I could’ve stayed another few months. But instead, here I am, sitting on a porch with my new boss drinking wine while wearing his clothes.

  “I needed to be here,” I tell him finally. “My mother was raised in New Orleans; she grew up on these streets, and I needed to connect with her. Being in Rome was magical, but deep down, I knew I had to find myself here.”

  “I understand that. I think that’s why I never sold the house and gallery.” Julian’s words hold a certain sadness, one I’ve felt far too many times over the years since losing my mother. “Dad always told me one day I’d realize why he left the place to me.”

  “Have you? Realized why?” I look at Julian over the rim of my glass, focusing on his expression as it changes from sadness to contemplation. And I notice that he really is breathtaking.

  “I have.” His voice is rough, emotion lacing his words. “I needed to be here for you to arrive.” My heart skitters against my ribs at his confession, then he turns to me. “I have to be honest with you, Nea. When you first walked into my house last week, I didn’t think this would work.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, the only thing I can think about day and night is kissing you, but that’s unprofessional, and I always try to be a good person.”

  “Even when you’re a grumpy asshole?” I counter, the question causing him to chuckle. I decide I like that sound, and I want to hear more of it.

  “Even then.” He nods in agreement. Somehow, I think he’s come to terms with who he is, and I respect that. Pain makes us who we are, and if we can’t accept it, then we’ll never be fulfilled.

  “So, I’m not fired?”

  He snaps his gaze to mine, searching my face, possibly for an answer as to why I would ask him that. “What on earth would make you think I would fire you?”

  “For my insolence, and for answering back, but I can’t not speak up when I feel I need to.”

  “You speak your mind, Nea.” He smiles that stupid smile again, and my heart pitter-patters in my chest. “I can respect that because I wouldn’t want a doormat to run my gallery. And to be honest, you did an incredible job setting the event up. If I fired you, I’d be shooting myself in the foot.”

  “So, you’re keeping me around then?” I arch a brow at Julian, and I can’t help but grin at the smirk he’s offering me. My stomach flutters from the hunger in his eyes.

  “It seems so,” he responds. “Listen, I wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn’t mean to come on to you. And I shouldn’t have kissed you without your permission. It wasn’t right, and if you ever feel like—”

  “Julian.” His name on my tongue, tumbling from my lips, stalls his rant. “I wanted you to kiss me,” I tell him earnestly, hoping he’ll see I’m not lying. I really have been stupidly fantasizing about my boss for the better part of my days, and after that kiss, I know it’s not going to lessen the desire I have for him.

  “But it can’t happen again.” His words send ice water through my veins. “We need to be professional. Mixing business with pleasure . . .” His words fall away into the night, and I know he’s right. If this doesn’t work out, our professional lives would be threatened.

  I guess office romances truly don’t work out. I nod, trying to swallow back the emotion clogging my throat as I sip my wine.

  “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to jeopardize our work relationship.” He looks away, his gaze focused on the garden instead of me, and suddenly, I feel the need to be alone.

  “I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed,” I tell him as I push off the bench and make my way to the door. I can’t allow him to see how disappointed I am, so I don’t look his way when I say, “Goodnight, Julian.” I don’t wait for him to respond. Inside, I set my glass in the sink and make my way to the bedroom, shutting myself inside and leaning against the door. Looking up at the ceiling, I focus my teary gaze on the patterns in the white paint and wonder just how I got to this place.

  Yes, I enjoyed tonight’s event, but what I loved more was the feel of his warm lips on mine. I shiver when I recall how his hands felt on my skin— his touch scorching me from the inside out. And I know I’ll never be able to be near him again.

  I’m woken by the clattering of crockery in the kitchen. Groaning, I reach for my cell phone and check the time. It’s not even seven in the morning. What the hell is Julian doing? There is no way he’s awake and making breakfast. I decide to cover myself with the blanket, trying to ignore the noise coming from down the hall, but when I hear something shatter and a curse word floating toward me, I’m up and on my feet in seconds.

  When I reach the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight. Julian’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants splattered with color. They hang so low on his hips I can see the V pointing into the waistband as well as a dark line of hair disappearing from view.

  He’s shirtless, and the sight of his sculpted torso has my body clenching involuntarily. He’s cursing up a storm as he runs his fingers through his hair. Tanned skin, dips and peaks, and a delicious set of shoulders have me moving in a daze toward him, and that’s when I spit out my own, “Fuck.”

  Blood drips from my foot the moment I lift it, and I realize I’ve stepped on a piece of broken glass.

  “Shit,” Julian curses once more, moving toward me with a tea towel. He scoops me into his strong arms, and I can’t deny, besides the pain, desire swirls low in my stomach. “I’m so fucking sorry.” He’s talking, but he’s not looking at me.

  He sets me on a kitchen stool and drops to his knees before me. Lifting my foot, he positions it on his thigh as he works the shard free and presses the tea towel to the cut.

  The way he works on my foot—tenderly and gently—has my mind forgetting the pain shooting through my foot as he cleans the wound. Once Julian has bandaged it, he sets my leg down and rises. We’re so close I can feel the heat of his skin on mine. I’m not even touching him, yet I’m burning up.

  Tipping my head back, I glance up to meet his hungry gaze. I want to say something, to tell him I want this, that I don’t care about anything else right now, but I can’t form the words.

  He reaches for my chin, holding it bet
ween his thumb and forefinger, which forces me to look directly at him. I can’t turn away. I’m fucking mesmerized by him.

  “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. That fucking glass slipped out of my hand.”

  “I am. I mean, you did a good job cleaning it up,” I tell him. A smile graces my lips, and in turn, he grins as well. There’s that stupid smile. The one that makes me want to kiss him.

  “Good. This is why I don’t cook. I was trying to make you some breakfast.” The air in the room is stifling. Tension hangs heavily between us. The need coursing through me steals my breath when Julian leans in, but he doesn’t kiss me.

  “Thank you.” My mumbled words form more heat between us, and I feel dizzy from the scent of his cologne, along with the smell of his skin so close to mine. I want to reach out and touch him, to feel his mouth on mine. But I wait for him to make the first move.

  His lips inches from mine . . . brushing gently over my mouth to the corner where he finally presses a quick kiss before he steps back, releasing me.

  Chapter 16

  Julian

  I pulled back, and the expression on her face shows it may not be the best idea I’ve had. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. I’ve never been so unsure around a woman before. I don’t have many one-night stands, but I’ve always been confident. Nea does something to me, something I can’t explain. She makes me feel like a teenager again; young, free of responsibilities.

  “Why do you always pull away?” she questions, but she doesn’t move. I’ve perched her on a high stool and, with her foot all bandaged, if she were to move, she’d have to jump off onto her other foot.

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a woman this close to me,” I tell her honestly. There’s no need to lie, to make up stories about who or what I am.

  “The infamous recluse, Julian Elliot.” Her voice has me looking up. “I searched online for you before I even landed in New Orleans. I couldn’t find much, so I figured you preferred your privacy.”

  “I do.” Nodding, I run my fingers through my hair and tug the strands. “I used to. Being someone well-known for their critical reviews and harsh comments, I decided a long time ago to steer clear of the public eye.”

  “Did that make writing those reviews easier?” Her question makes me ponder my answer. I’ve never considered it like that. I never liked being photographed, and I always hated it when my father would force me to go to events alongside him when I was a child. I’ve always been a lover of indoors, spending my time alone with my painting.

  “When I was growing up, my father was shoved into the spotlight. His art was his signature. Everyone knew him, saw him, put him on a pedestal.” I’ve never told anyone this before, and I don’t know why I feel the need to confess this to Nea. “I watched him rise. The fame and fortune took him to places most could only dream of on a good day.”

  “There’s a but coming,” she says, and I nod.

  “But he fell. Anyone that high will fall. It’s inevitable.” I move around the kitchen, making sure all the broken shards are swept up. Grabbing the Hoover, I swallow up any smaller pieces before I stop, setting down a mug of coffee for Nea as I continue. “He had fallen into a depression before he died. He was broken, torn up inside, and nothing helped. No amount of drugs, alcohol, or even therapy.”

  “I’m sorry, Julian, I didn’t know that.”

  “Nobody does,” I respond. “Because he ensured that people saw the polished, pristine image they had of him.” This time, I meet her gaze, finding it filled with empathy - no pity - which calms me. I never want people to pity me because even though he did break after years, he was a good father.

  “But you’re not him,” Nea insists. Gently, she pushes off the chair and hobbles over to where I’m standing. Her arms wrap around my middle, shocking me at the action. She’s warm, gentle, her touch burning through me. Feeling her skin on mine sends my mind into overdrive.

  “Sometimes I feel like him, Nea,” I tell her. The rawness in my throat is an indication of just how painful it is to remember my father’s epic fall from grace. At the time, I was nothing more than a young man with big dreams. But watching my hero take that tumble, it did things to me.

  She glances up at me, her hands coming up to my face, and she cups my cheeks in her delicate hands. “You’re not him. You’re you. Different, special, handsome.” The last word is a whisper, and every drop of blood makes its way directly to my dick, hardening for her. I’ve craved this woman since the day she walked in here. And all the time I’ve ignored my need, it’s only grown. It’s only turned me crazy with lust for her.

  “This is only going to end in heartbreak,” I tell her. The belief that I’ll hurt her is at the forefront of my mind. And I know I’ll never be able to hide it. Fear has held me back from wanting another woman the way I wanted my ex-wife because I knew I wasn’t the perfect husband.

  “Yours or mine?” Nea challenges. She watches me, longing burning in her gaze, and I allow my hands to trail over her shoulders, down to her hips, and I tug her against me. I know she can feel my hardness against her stomach, but she doesn’t shy away from it. She just smiles. It’s a knowing grin because she realizes that as much as I try to fight this, it’s inevitable.

  “Both.” The word is a rasped confession on my tongue, and it falls free between us. It’s a promise that I can’t escape because, somehow, I know I’ll break her heart.

  “Then, I suppose we better make sure we enjoy this while it lasts.” Nea looks at me with an expression that holds all seriousness. I want nothing more than to believe her, and I’m about to refuse her when she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls herself up to plant a kiss on my lips.

  Her softness heats me right through, all the way to my bones, right to the very soul of me. She molds herself against me, and my hands find her ass, lifting her and walking us down the hallway toward my bedroom. She’ll be the first woman to ever walk into my bedroom after Shay.

  My tongue licks at Nea’s mouth, her lips opening for me, allowing me entrance to her, to taste her. Most times I’ve been with women, it’s been at night, in the dark, so I didn’t have to see them really. But now, with Nea, I want nothing more than to watch her come apart for me.

  Sitting her down on the bed, I step back, feeling a cold shiver being away from her. The heat of her is too much to bear at times, but I don’t want to be away from her. I want nothing more than to be near her all the time, which is what’s going to make this difficult when it all comes to an end.

  “Look,” Nea says, noticing my reluctance, “if you’re not interested—”

  “Oh, I’m interested all right, gorgeous,” I tell her with a grin. “Can you tell?” I gesture to my sweatpants that are tenting at the moment, and her eyes widen as she takes me in.

  “Oh, wow.”

  “I take that as a good wow?” I challenge, dropping to my knees before her. She looks directly at me and blushes. When she nods, I lay my hands on her thighs and slowly push them apart. With her open like this, on my bed, I’m close to coming right this fucking second.

  The fact that she’s wearing a pair of sweatpants makes me eager to tear them off and find out what she’s wearing underneath. That thought has me solid steel in my sweats. Running my thumbs up her thighs, I reach the apex and tease her pussy over the material, feeling the wetness seep through.

  “Shit,” she mumbles as her hands fist my bedsheets.

  Looking up at her from between her creamy thighs makes me smile, and I love the expression of desire that’s etched on her pretty face. I brush my thumb along her covered body once more, reveling in the heat coming off her.

  “I’m going to tease you,” I tell her. “I want to watch you come apart for me.” My voice turns husky with desire as I taunt her pussy, circling her clit as she trembles on my bed. She looks good on the sheets as she shivers and smiles down at me. I tug the sweatpants down her lithe legs to find the silky material of her wet panties at my eye line.

  “Oh god,�
�� she mewls when I push the wet material to the side and see the smooth lips with a patch of dark hair just above her slit. She’s perfect, wet and needy. With both thumbs, I open her to my gaze and lean in. My tongue darts out, getting my first taste of a perfect woman.

  She nearly flies off the bed when I lick her again. I hold her steady and continue my ministrations. Her arousal coats my tongue, making me hungrier than I’ve ever been for a woman, even the one I swore my vows to.

  Chapter 17

  Nea

  Julian’s face is the picture of mischief as he teases me. My legs are already trembling, and I know I can’t hold off for too much longer. I want more, so much fucking more. And he gives it by dipping two fingers inside me, which sends me spiraling. My back arches and my whole body is shaking from the need coursing through me.

  He pumps two digits into me, over and over again, and all I can think about is the impending orgasm about to rip through me. His mouth sucks on me, teasing and taunting.

  When I feel his teeth graze along my clit, I nearly shoot off the bed, and I cry out his name. My release shudders through me like a thunderstorm ripping through the forest.

  I see stars. I feel fireworks going off inside my veins, as if I’m sparking to life for the first time in a long while. And it has been far too long since I’ve felt this damn good.

  As I’m coming down from my high, I open my eyes to find Julian standing over me, his lips still shimmering with my arousal, and his grin is pure seduction. He slowly shoves his sweatpants down, and I realize he wasn’t wearing any boxers when his cock juts out. Thick and angry, the tip seeping with arousal, and I involuntarily squeeze my thighs together.