Page 66 of Cruelest Contract
I shouldn’t be so nervous. There’s nothing scary about a simple conversation.
My chaotic pulse doesn’t get the message. When I lift my hand to knock on Julian’s bedroom door, I’m surprised that I’m not shaking.
Three raps on the wood seem as loud as fireworks in the hushed corridor. Julian answers within seconds. His wet clothes are gone. He wears only a pair of black nylon gym shorts and there’s a folded towel draped over his shoulder. For the first time I see the tattoo on his muscled left bicep. It’s identical to the ones his brothers have.
Family is everything.
The sight of his bare chest alone is enough to send me into a silent spiral. His body is insane. Every inch is ripped perfection and the wild riot of dark hair splashed across his defined pecs only adds to his devilish appeal. His shorts hang low on his hips, his muscles carving out grooves that I’d love to run my tongue over.
I consider it a small miracle that my knees aren’t buckling. There ought to be a name for this skill. It’s in the same category as the one that keeps my voice calm amid the frantic thrashing of my heart.
“Can we please talk in private?” I ask him.
The flicker in his dark eyes isn’t curiosity or surprise. It’s desire mingled with something else. Victory perhaps, or something close to it.
Julian opens the door wider and tosses his towel on a chair. “Come on in, Cecilia.”
Even as I cross the threshold I’m aware that Julian doesn’t need to be told why I’ve nervously entered his bedroom.
He already knows.
He was expecting me.
12
JULIAN
Cecilia enters my bedroom with caution, almost tiptoeing. Her scent is sweet and summery. Her feet are bare and for a change she wears pants; stretchy black leggings that show off the curve of her hips.
The sweater she wears is the same one she wore in the photograph taken by the detective my father hired to check into her. I’ve stared at that photo often while checking out the shape of her body and thinking how nice it would be to tear those little sweater buttons off and push my face between her tits.
I’m thinking that now, especially after she stood at her window on the verge of treating me to a spontaneous striptease. Just when I’m sure I’ve got this girl figured out, she surprises the hell out of me.
Won’t hear me complaining.
But the last of my willpower is just about gone. A few minutes ago I stopped myself from ripping off her bedroom door, stripping her naked and doing whatever I please to her sexy body. I held back, just barely, refusing to stray from my plan to let her come to me, like I knew she would.
And now she has.
“So this is your room,” she says and then grimaces like she’d rather retrieve those very obvious words. Nervous, she crosses and uncrosses her arms.
“This is my room.” I lean my hip against the desk and watch her.
Cecilia stays by the wall and crosses her arms again. She never did refasten those top buttons. She appears to be collecting her courage while surveying the contents of my bedroom.
There’s not much to see here. The décor has remained the same since I was a teenager. I keep it neat and simple and have no use for clutter. Typically, I retreat to this room to shower and sleep and that’s all.
“Is my brother really safe?” Cecilia blurts.
The flash of anguish that crosses her face makes me forget all about being smug for a moment.
“Gabriel is fine,” I assure her. “The misunderstanding has already been resolved and it will stay that way. No matter what you decide, he’s free to leave his San Diego hideout anytime he wants.”
“Oh.” Her mouth puckers into a cute frown. “I mean, that’s good news. Thank you. I’m truly grateful.”
Clearly, Gabe Grimaldi still hasn’t bothered to update his sister. He’s content to let her solve his problems and then leaves her in limbo. I knew he was an asshole.
But at least the tension in Cecilia’s shoulders disappears now that she knows the hit on her twin has been cancelled.
