I reach up. Trace the line of his jaw with my fingertips. Feel the muscle jump beneath my touch.
“You,” I say simply.
Julian goes very still. For a moment, I see something behind his eyes—centuries of restraint, of careful distance, of protecting himself by never getting too close.
Then his hand cups my face, and he kisses me.
This isn’t like the beach. It’s not meant for an audience. It’s only for us. This is everything we’ve been holding back crashingtogether at once—his cool lips against my warm ones, his fingers running through my hair.
He backs me against the window frame, one hand braced beside my head, the other sliding to my waist. I can feel the restrained strength in his grip—the knowledge that he could crush me without thinking and chooses not to. Chooses gentleness. Chooses care.
It’s intoxicating.
“Poppy.” My name comes out rough, torn from somewhere deep in his chest. “We should stop.”
“Should we?” I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “Why?”
“Because tomorrow is your sister’s wedding. Because Damien is out there somewhere. Because—” He takes another breath he doesn’t need. “Because I want to do this right. With you.”
“What does ‘right’ look like to a 257-year-old vampire?”
“Courtship. Time. Not rushing something this important because we’re both running on adrenaline and fear of what tomorrow might bring.”
Part of me wants to argue. But there’s something in his voice—something vulnerable beneath the composure—that makes me pause.
“You’ve waited 257 years,” I say softly. “What’s one more night?”
“Exactly.” He presses his forehead to mine. “I’ve waited centuries to feel this way about someone. I refuse to rush it now.”
“That’s very gentlemanly of you.”
“I was raised in the 1700s. Some habits are difficult to break.”
I laugh, and he swallows the sound with another kiss—softer this time, sweeter. The kind of kiss that promises more without demanding it.
When we finally pull apart, I’m breathless.
“Besides,” I say, aiming for casual and missing by a mile, “what kind of girl do you think I am? I don’t sleep with immortal creatures of the night on the third vacation day together.”
“Is that the rule?”
“It is now. I just made it up.”
“How many vacations does proper protocol require?”
“At least four. Possibly five or six if one of them involves a vampire stalker trying to kill me.”
“That seems fair.” He kisses my forehead. My temple. The corner of my mouth. “I should let you get some rest.”
“Are you going to stand by the window all night being broody and protective?”
“That was the plan.”
“New plan.” I take his hand. Pull him toward the bedroom. “You’re going to lie next to me and pretend to sleep while I actually sleep. It’ll be romantic.”
“You know I don’t sleep.”
“I know. That’s why I said pretend.” I stop in the doorway. “Please? I sleep better when you’re close.”
