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That maybe Skylar was the one for him.
The one that, if his life had been different, could inspire him to shout to her in front of the whole world: my heart, it beats for you.
* * *
Skylar was surroundedby the most divine scent and the most luxurious silk. As she came to awareness, she sensed the sun warming her and the tickle of a breeze brushing her skin. But that wasn’t right . . .
It was January in New York.
Her eyes opened, and she blinked.
That really was sunlight filtering into the room through gauzy curtains; the window cracked open just slightly to let in the fresh air.
Apparently, New York was experiencing an unseasonably warm day.
Slowly, she propped herself up on her elbow, taking in her surroundings.
She knew instantly she was in Julian’s room. Sleeping in his bed.
His bedroom was as unique and eclectic as his living space, she noted, taking in the ornately carved four-poster bed that reminded her of the one at the mansion where the Masquerade Party had been held. The sleek, modern wooden dresser and the chrome and leather chaise longue in the corner added a sophisticated, modern feel to the room, and the light drifting in from Central Park added a romantic flair.
The silk sheets beneath and over her were cream-colored. A grey comforter and a plaid blanket in grey, cream, and hunter green were at the bottom of the bed, apparently kicked there in her sleep.
But where was Julian?
She climbed out of bed, still dressed in her clothes from yesterday.
Instantly, she remembered everything that had happened, from her unexpected dinner with Hardy and Julian, to the way he’d touched her and teased her under the table, to her moaning out loud in front of Hardy, and to her meeting one of Julian’s former clients, Regina, and the way Skylar had gone berserk on her. Finally, she relived the way Julian had carried her to his car, where they’d both said things they probably shouldn’t have said, him about getting to the heart of her, and her about needing him to make her come, the implicit message being he do it even if she fought it and him.
For a moment, she wanted to climb out the window and escape, but obviously, that was impossible given Julian lived at the very top of a Manhattan high rise, so she instead gathered her courage. She splashed water on her face, used an unopened toothbrush she found under Julian’s sink to brush her teeth, then left the bedroom in search of him.
“Julian?” she called, but she didn’t get a response.
She’d been in his penthouse before, and she reacquainted herself with it now, noticing more details on the high-end furnishing and textiles. She admired the craftsmanship of everything from the light fixtures to the fabric on the sofa. The rows of books in the bookcases told her that Julian had a curious mind about a plethora of subjects and that he enjoyed non-fiction as well as fiction in a ratio of about seventy-five percent to twenty-five percent.
The penthouse revealed so much about Julian but also so little.
Who was this man who’d chosen to sell his body even after he inherited enough money to make him wealthier than most people on the planet?
Why did he limit his relationship with women to paid transactions and a string of one-night stands?
Was that the way he wanted it, or just what he thought he could have?
Had Julian been born to be a man that took the world by storm even as he rigidly kept his personal life tidy and constrained?
As someone who gave more time to her career than she did her personal life, Skylar understood the benefits that life brought with it.
And the loneliness it brought with it, too.
30
In the early morning, when Julian left his penthouse dressed in his jogging clothes, he told himself it was time to test his theory about fate and its limitations given free will. He couldn’t deny that meeting Skylar had been an act of fate, but he also didn’t believe either of them was helpless in the face of that. Ultimately, it was their own actions that would decide where fate took them.
He was betting that between he and Skylar, this thing between them wasn’t going to last long enough for him to get his second chance with her.
It was a workday, and Skylar was a consummate professional. She’d wake, hightail it out of his penthouse, head back to her place to change, then spend the day exactly how she spent most days, chasing her dream of becoming the president of Embrette while somehow managing not to strangle Hardy Priese. And he was going to let that happen. And he wouldn’t chase after her, wouldn’t contact her, wouldn’t do another half-ass job of trying to get to know her better only to fail. Things would go back to where he’d meant them to go before they’d run into one another again, thanks to Hardy Priese.
He'd leave her to her secrets, and she’d leave him to his.
