Page 59 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

“I can manage that,” he says.

***

The restaurant has nearly emptied by the time the check is cleared away. Outside the windows, the city has settled into a warm summer night, the sidewalks washed in amber light and the occasional sweep of passing headlights. Julian glances toward the street, then back at me.

“Your driver should still be nearby,” he says.

“I was actually just going to walk back,” I tell him.

“The hotel’s only about six blocks from here.”

Julian’s expression shifts slightly.

“Then I’ll walk with you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

I hold his gaze for a moment.

“Julian, it’s six blocks.”

“I’m aware.”

There is no arrogance in the answer, only quiet insistence.

“You’re going to insist, aren’t you?” I ask.

“Yes.”

A smile pulls at my mouth despite myself.

“Fine.”

A few minutes later, we step onto the sidewalk together. The night air is cooler than I expected, and I draw a slow breath as we turn toward the hotel. Julian walks beside me without hurrying, close enough that the sleeve of his jacket brushes my bare arm once when we move around another couple coming toward us. Neither of us comments on it.

The conversation is lighter now, stripped of the questions that filled dinner. We talk briefly about Boston, about the restaurant, about nothing that requires much thought. Every few steps, though, I become aware of the space between us and how little of it there is.

At the next corner, Julian places his hand lightly against my lower back as we cross the street.

The touch is practical. Barely there, but my entire body notices it.

When we reach the other side, his hand falls away, but the warmth of it remains beneath the thin fabric of my dress. I look at him, and he catches me doing it.

“What?” Julian asks.

“Nothing.”

“That wasn’t nothing.”

I smile.

“You’re very confident for a man who spent half of dinner avoiding questions.”

“I answered your questions.”

“Eventually.”