by T. K. Leigh
“I thought you wanted people to take you seriously,” I remark.
“I do.”
“I’m not sure this accomplishes that.”
“That’s true, but I couldn’t resist.”
“Resist what?”
“Getting wet with you.”
“Is that right?” I run my hand through his waterlogged hair, scratching at his scalp. He bites his bottom lip, groaning from the contact.
“I have a feeling I’m going to have trouble resisting a lot of things about you over the next few weeks.”
I bring my mouth toward his, remaining just out of reach. “Only time will tell.”
Chapter Twenty
“Let me help you,” Julian says once the valet attendant pulls up with his car. We approach the Ferrari and he reaches for my hand. The instant he touches my skin, he flings his eyes to mine. “Jesus! You’re freezing!”
“That’s what happens when the air cools down and you’re wearing nothing but a wet two-piece.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” His brows pull together in concern.
“It’s not a big deal,” I insist as I climb into the passenger seat. “I can take care of myself.”
“I don’t doubt that, but if you’re uncomfortable, you need to tell me.” He takes the key fob from the valet attendant and pops the trunk. After rummaging around in it for a minute, he closes it, then ducks into the driver’s seat, handing me a sweatshirt.
I look at the big, bold letters printed on the front. “SUNY?”
He shrugs. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Harvard. Yale. Columbia.” As I pull the enormous sweatshirt over my head, I inhale, instantly bathed in a scent that can only be described as Julian. It reminds me of waking up in his bed that first morning, panicked. I don’t even recognize him as that person anymore. I don’t recognize myself as that person, either.
He finds my hand and brings it onto the shifter, our fingers intertwined as he puts the car into first. “Nope. I enjoyed my higher education years out here in Stony Brook.”
“Interesting,” I muse, settling against the cool leather as he pulls around the elaborate driveway, navigating onto the quiet road, my hand glued beneath his as he shifts between the gears.
“Interesting? How so?”
“I had you pegged as more an Ivy League guy.”
“I guess you had me pegged wrong.” When he glances at me with a sparkle in his blue eyes, I can’t reel in my smile.
“I guess I did.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t find out about this when you Googled me.”
“I must have gotten distracted by other information that your college education didn’t seem all that interesting in comparison.”
“Like what?”
“Like Theodore Price.”
When I say the name, he swallows hard, the mood shifting from playful to somber. He passed away over ten years ago now, but by Julian’s unfocused stare, it’s apparent he still grieves the loss of the man who, according to many reports, molded him into the person he is today.
“He sounds like a good man,” I offer when he remains silent.
“He saved my life.”
I want to ask more, my mind immediately going to the scars on his abdomen.
“Did he—”
“I want you to promise me something, Guinevere,” he interrupts, his voice determined. His hardened expression is at complete odds with the way he clutches my hand, his thumb brushing against my skin haphazardly, as if it’s second nature.
“What’s that?”
“That you’ll stay as far away from Ethan Ludlow as you can. That you’ll come find me if he so much as breathes on you the wrong way. No matter what I’m doing, who I’m speaking with. I don’t care if I’m in the middle of some negotiation.”
I shiver as I recall my earlier exchange with Ethan. The excitement of standing next to this Hollywood legend. Then the sickness filling me when I realized what kind of person he truly was.
“I knew I’d need to warn you about him eventually, but thought I could put it off. Obviously not, because he’s already interested. Word’s gotten out you’re a writer.”
“I’m not really—”
“You are. Don’t let anything Trevor said make you believe otherwise. You are a writer. That’s probably why Ethan tracked you down. That, and you were there with me.”
“Why? Is he one of the old money people who likes to constantly knock you down a few pegs?”
“You can say that. He’s one of Theodore Price’s children.”
I can’t hide the utter shock when I hear this. “What? I mean—”
“He uses his mother’s maiden name in the industry. An homage to her legacy, I suppose. So yes, he has a tendency to make it difficult for me to get things done, considering he’s a shareholder of the company, albeit a minority one. Outside of that, he’s still a Hollywood slimeball. He’ll offer you the moon and the stars, success, money, everything you’ve ever dreamt of. But trust me when I say it will come at a high price. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
I nod, swallowing down the bile rising in my throat at what could have happened if I hadn’t taken the opportunity to get away from Ethan when I did. How did I not know he was one of Theodore Price’s kids? I really need to read up on all my celebrity news.
“I don’t want you to worry about me. You’re trying to network at these events. You shouldn’t have to stop what you’re doing to make sure I’m okay.”
“But I will worry about you.” He laughs nervously, and I sense a chink in his armor, revealing a vulnerability I’ve yet to see. “It’s a personality flaw. I worry. I always will. I just want you to be okay.”
He briefly glances at me, his eyes pleading. His grip on my hand tightens, like he’s scared something will happen if he lets go. I wonder if this protectiveness, this fear, is tied to those scars. I want nothing more than to ask about them, how they got there, if they’re connected to Theodore Price and how he supposedly saved Julian. Instead, I simply murmur, “Okay.”
“Okay,” Julian breathes, as if my acquiescence allows a weight to lift from him. He brings my hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on the flesh, repeating, “Okay.”
When he pulls his car into what he refers to as the carriage house a short while later, his property is devoid of all activity.
“Are these like your day-of-the-week underwear?” I ask as he helps me out of the Ferrari. They’re the first words either one of us have spoken since our tension-filled conversation about Ethan.
“Day-of-the-week underwear?” He cocks a brow.
“Yeah.” I gesture to the line of luxury cars. It’s all I can do not to salivate over them. I’ve been living in New York so long I almost forgot what it’s like to drive. It’s one of those things I took for granted before moving to the city. Like grass. Now I yearn for that feeling of independence. “Monday is the Land Rover. Tuesday the Porsche. Wednesday is obviously the Ferrari.”
“Obviously.” He smirks, linking his fingers with mine as he leads me up to the main house.
“So what’s the deal with all the cars? Most people I know only have one. Well, now that I live in New York, most people I know have zero.”
“I like cars.”
“I gathered as much.”
“We all have our guilty pleasures.” He narrows his gaze on me as he grins slyly. It’s sinful to hear the words guilty and pleasure roll from Julian’s tongue. I fight to silence the voice in my head telling me how nice it would be to be one of his guilty pleasures, if just for a day. “What’s yours?”
“Sex,” I answer, not even thinking.
He inhales a sharp breath, his eyes widening. I pull my hand from his, slapping both of them over my mouth, my face reddening to a shade that would probably rival my hair color.
“I mean—”
“Why would you consider sex a guilty pleasure? The term in and of itself infers it’s not essential. If
you ask me, sex is essential for the continuation of the human race.”
“I didn’t mean that,” I flounder. “It just popped out. That happens sometimes. I don’t have a brain-to-mouth filter.”
He regards me in quiet contemplation as he opens the front door to the house, allowing me to enter before him. It’s dark, apart from a few dim lights illuminating our path to the bedrooms.
“So you were thinking about sex?”
“What? No!” I exclaim. “I…” Trailing off, I exhale deeply, trying to calm my frazzled nerves. “I’d like to retract my original response. Books are my guilty pleasure, okay?”
“Books?”
“Yes.” I face forward as we crest the top of the stairs. “Books. Final answer.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to phone a friend?”
Pinching my lips together, I smile coyly. “Did Julian Gage just make another joke?”
“What can I say? I think you’re rubbing off on me.”
As we come to a stop outside the door to my room, I’m about to reply with a flirtatious retort. Before I can do so, he faces me, zeroing in on my mouth. It reminds me of the tension sizzling between us when he dropped me off Friday night. But it’s more pronounced, more intense this time. We’ve only spent a few hours together, but in those few hours, I have a better insight as to who Julian Gage truly is. Friday I was attracted to him. Now I like him. He’s more than just a pretty face with an enormous bank account. And I want to know even more, despite the voice in my head warning me against it.
“So…” I chew on my lower lip as I fidget with the hem of the sweatshirt. Then I realize I’m still wearing his sweatshirt. “Crap. You probably want this back.” I start to pull it off my body when he touches his hand to my arm, stopping me. I drop my hold on it, allowing it to fall back down.
“As fantastic as you looked in that bathing suit, I like you in my sweatshirt more.” He advances toward me, the heat in his eyes forcing me to back up against the wall. He leans his forearm on it, curving toward me. “I had a wonderful time with you tonight, Guinevere.”
“Me, too.” I close my eyes as lust blinds me, the same craving that’s teased me all day flickering through me, my skin, my core, my soul aching for this man’s touch.
I hold my breath, bracing for his lips to meet mine. Instead, the warmth disappears and I flutter my eyes open. Julian steps back, readjusting his composure, clearing his throat.
“You have a spa appointment tomorrow at noon.” It’s like he’s flipped the switch from fun, lighthearted, sensual Julian Gage to the practical and pragmatic businessman.
“A spa appointment? You didn’t have to—”
“Yes, I did. It’s part of the ritual, so to speak. If I want people to take our relationship seriously, you need to spend the afternoon at the spa with all the other wives and girlfriends. Sadie will be there. It’s all part of the act we need to put on.”
“Well then, who am I to complain?” I smile, but it’s forced.
“Reed will be waiting for you out front at 11:30. Before then, make yourself at home.”
“And where will you be?” I ask flirtatiously in an attempt to bring playful Julian back, but he’s gone.
“I need to attend to business-related matters during the day. I’ll be back in time to escort you to the gala.” Without giving me a chance to ask any more questions, he turns, continuing down the hallway before disappearing into his bedroom.
“Good night,” I murmur once I hear the click of his door.
I stare into space, trying to reconcile the two very different versions of Julian Gage. One minute, he tells me how much he worries about me. The next, he runs from me as if he can’t stand the sight of me. What could cause these wide swings in demeanor in such a short time? I can’t shake the feeling it’s all related to the scars marring his perfect skin.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Oh, Miss Guinevere…,” Camille breathes after she finishes zipping up my gown, clasping her hands together as she admires my reflection in the mirror. “You are absolutely exquisite.”
The person staring back at me may as well be a stranger. My red locks are pulled out of my face and curled into loose beach waves. The cosmetologist at the spa gave me a natural look, only emphasizing my eyes with smoky shadowing, which if I were to try and recreate would end up making me look like a raccoon on a bender.
As amazing as my hair and makeup is, the real attention grabber is the sapphire blue dress. It’s something I never would have taken a second look at, with the plunging neckline and slit that goes up to my mid-thigh, but it’s a gorgeous gown. The fitted bodice is encrusted with jewels before ending at the waist and transitioning into a flowing tulle skirt. It’s unlike any dress I’ve ever worn, and I doubt I’ll ever wear anything this elegant again.
“Mr. Gage will be quite pleased.”
I force a smile, pretending to be enthusiastic about the notion. It’s a little bittersweet to know I currently feel more beautiful than I ever have, yet it’s being wasted on someone who will never appreciate it. This is what I signed up for, though. There are worse ways to spend my Fourth of July than being pampered at a spa, then attending the social event of the summer on the arm of a dashingly handsome man. Who cares if he switches from hot to cold in the blink of an eye?
“Thank you, Camille.”
“Of course, dear.” She meets my eyes in the mirror as she smiles at me in adoration, like a mother would a child. Her excitement strikes me as odd. She knows the truth of what’s going on. So why is she acting as if I’m about to leave for a ball to meet Prince Charming?
“Well…” She steps away, grabbing the shoes Dana selected to go with the gown, placing them in front of me. I slide them on, trying not to think about the fact that my entire ensemble probably costs more than my college education. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer. He’s already on the brink of exploding in anticipation.”
“He is?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” She hurries out of my room, striding down the hallway. I practically have to run to catch up. “You’re a beautiful, charming, enigmatic woman he appears to be quite taken with.”
“You and I both know appearances can be deceiving.” I give her a knowing look, silently reminding her this isn’t real. Reminding myself of that fact at the same time.
“They certainly can be. In more ways than you think. Sometimes we act a certain way because it’s all we know, because we believe it’s the only thing that can protect us.” She glances at me, her eyebrows raised.
I slow my steps, my mind racing with questions. It’s obvious she knows something.
“Camille!” I call out, running toward her. When I reach her, I ask, “How long have you known Ju— Mr. Gage?”
She stops walking, turning to face me. “Since he first met Mr. Price, God rest his soul.”
“You worked for him?”
“I did. Started as a housekeeper before he made me his head of household.”
I chew on my lower lip, then quickly release it, not wanting to smudge my lipstick, although I’m confident this stuff could survive the nuclear winter.
“And when did Julian enter the picture?”
She exhales and stares into the distance, searching her memory before looking back at me. “Oh, over twenty years ago now. Mr. Price became like a father to Mr. Gage. And he was the son Mr. Price’s own sons refused to be. At first, I was skeptical about Mr. Gage’s intentions. I guess a part of me thought he was just someone else who wanted to prey on a wealthy, lonely man. I’m normally not one to judge or assume, but when you see a boy of barely sixteen, who looks like he hasn’t had a decent meal in ages, befriend an older man, you assume the worst. But Julian proved me wrong, proved us all wrong.”
She smiles warmly before continuing down the hallway. My brain buzzes with even more questions. Julian Gage is a puzzle I’m eager to solve.
Bunching the fabric of my skirt in my hands, I walk quickly, following her down the sta
irs. Once we enter the living room, she faces me, doing one last check of my dress to make sure everything’s in place.
As she brushes away a thread, I whisper, “Where did he get the scars on his abdomen?”
She stiffens, inhaling a sharp breath. When she meets my pleading eyes, she slowly shakes her head, conflicted. “Do you believe in soul mates, Guinevere?”
“You can just call me Evie. And yes.” I nod. “I did at one point.”
“I do, as well, but not like most people. I like to think soul mates can include more than just a romantic relationship. I truly believe Mr. Price and Mr. Gage were soul mates. They were both in need of a certain kind of companionship, and they found it in each other.” She clutches my hands in hers. “Julian hasn’t had the easiest life. There’s a darkness that continues to hang over him. Just… Be patient with him. He’ll come around.” She passes me a reassuring look before turning to walk out of the room.
“But I don’t want him to come around.” I spin to face her, then lower my voice. “This isn’t real.”
She glances over her shoulder, smiling. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, dear.”
I open my mouth, about to argue my point further, when Julian rounds the corner, coming to a stop the instant he sees me standing in front of the large windows overlooking the ocean. The two-day scruff he’s been sporting is gone, his face clean-shaven. His hair’s wayward in a sexy sort of way, curling slightly over the collar of his jacket. And his tux… It should be a crime for a man to look this exquisite without being naked. The lines accent his chiseled physique in a way that almost makes me never want to see him with his shirt off again.
Almost.
I’m not that much of a sadist.
I didn’t count on missing him as much as I did throughout the day. I shouldn’t have longed for his touch, craved his scent, considering the brush-off he gave me last night. I tried to blame it on the fact that I spent the afternoon at the spa with Sadie where we talked with a few other women about my whirlwind romance with Julian. Some of the women, whom I expected to greet me with cold shoulders and upturned noses, ended up gushing over what they viewed to be a real-life Cinderella story, one I could sense they secretly wished for themselves.
