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?