Chapter 7 - The Heat In The Shadows
The kiss was fierce, desperate, and intoxicating.
It tasted of rain, adrenaline, and blood. All the unspoken tension of the last twenty-four hours—the forbidden stares across conference tables, the overheard secrets, the terrifying brush with death—exploded into an uncontrollable fire.
I tangled my fingers in his thick, damp hair, pulling him closer. Julian groaned deep in his throat, his good arm wrapping tightly around my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto his lap despite the rocking of the helicopter. His lips moved over mine with possessive hunger, devouring my fear and replacing it with an overwhelming, consuming heat.
When he finally broke the kiss, we were both gasping for air. His forehead rested against mine, his gray eyes glowing with feral intensity.
“Julian...” I whispered, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird.
“You’re mine, Harper,” he growled softly, his thumb tracing the swollen contour of my lower lip. “After tonight, there’s no going back to spreadsheets and safe boundaries. You belong in my world now.”
Forty minutes later, the helicopter touched down on a private helipad hidden atop a fortified estate in the remote hills of Westchester. High iron gates, razor wire, and armed guards patrolled the perimeter. This was the Rourke family ancestral stronghold.
A private physician patched Julian’s leg wound with eight stitches, while two high-end stylists sent by Julian’s personal network bustled into the master suite with racks of designer evening gowns, diamond jewelry, and cosmetic kits.
“The gala begins in three hours,” Julian announced, stepping into the suite dressed in an impeccably tailored black tuxedo, looking every bit the lethal, aristocratic billionaire kingpin. The limp from his leg wound was barely perceptible; his iron willpower refused to show weakness.
He stopped in the center of the room as I stepped out of the dressing suite.
The stylists had outdone themselves. I was wearing an emerald green silk slip dress that hugged every curve of my body, with a daring slit rising up my left thigh and a low-cut back that exposed the smooth skin of my spine. The massive engagement ring sparkled brilliantly under the chandelier.
Julian’s breath caught. His gaze traveled down my body slowly, deliberately, making my skin tingle as if he were physically touching me.
“Take it off,” he muttered, his voice raw.
“What?!” I stammered. “Is something wrong with it?”
“If you wear that into a room full of men,” Julian said, his eyes darkening dangerously, “I’m going to end up shooting half the guest list just for looking at you.”
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I felt a bold, wicked smile spread across my face. Stepping toward him, I smoothed the lapels of his tuxedo jacket, looking up into his eyes. “I thought the plan was to convince Nikolai Ivanov that you were hopelessly obsessed with me, Mr. Rourke.”
Julian caught my wrist, pulling me flush against his chest. His gaze dropped to my lips. “It’s not an act anymore, Harper. And heaven help anyone who tries to take you from me tonight.”
