Page 58 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“That would be my mother.”

“And you?”

His eyes meet mine over the rim of his glass.

“What do you think?”

The question feels less innocent than it should.

I let myself study him. His dark jacket is open now, one forearm resting along the edge of the table, his posture relaxed in a way I rarely see. The low restaurant light catches silver at his temples and sharpens the pale blue of his eyes.

“I think you learned how to watch everyone else before deciding how much of yourself to give them.”

His expression stills.

“That sounded suspiciously like analysis,” Julian says.

“You asked.”

“I did.”

“Was I wrong?”

“No.”

The answer comes quietly. Our eyes stay locked longer than the conversation requires. Heat curls low in my stomach, made worse by the wine and the slow certainty that whatever line existed between the assignment and this dinner disappeared sometime before I arrived.

Julian’s gaze drops briefly to my mouth before returning to my eyes.

I feel it like contact.

“You’re staring,” I say.

“So are you.”

“I’m a journalist. Observation is part of the job.”

“This isn’t an interview.”

“No,” I say softly. “It really isn’t.”

The server appears beside the table to refill our glasses, and we both shift back slightly. The interruption gives the room its proportions again, but it does nothing to change the current running beneath the conversation.

Julian lifts his glass once we are alone.

“You can still leave,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“No.” His eyes remain on mine.

“Quite the opposite.”

There is nothing exaggerated in his tone, which makes the words more effective. I take another drink, watching him over the rim of the glass.

“Then I suppose you’ll have to keep being interesting.”

Julian’s slow smile changes his entire face.