Dating Games(78)

I brush my tongue along his bottom lip, begging for entrance, which he’s more than eager to grant me. A hand goes to the back of my head as he digs his fingers into my scalp, urging me on. Moaning, I deepen the exchange, my nerve endings stirring. He tastes of mint, wine, and something unique to Julian. A flavor I’ll crave long after we say our final farewell. The way he kisses me, his tongue sweeping against mine, exploring me as if trying to imprint every tiny sensation to memory, only increases my need for more.

My fingers digging deeper into his hair, I press my body against his. But no matter how I try, I can’t get as close to him as I want, as I need. Even a whisper of air between us is too much.

I circle my hips, desperate to satisfy the ache building inside, but I doubt anything can ever extinguish the fire within. Julian’s kiss has sparked an inferno, one I fear will continue to burn for years to come.

I rip my lips from his, panting, pressing my hand against his chest as I struggle to catch my breath. Chests heaving in near unison, we stare at each other as if seeing one another for the first time. I try to tell myself it was just a kiss. People kiss all the time. But deep down, I know this isn’t just a kiss. Not with him. Not with us.

“Does this mean I can finally kiss you now?” he asks when I don’t say anything immediately.

I peer into his blue eyes, a brow raised in question. He doesn’t close the distance between us, indicating this is my decision and mine alone. But it’s not even a decision. Not anymore. Not after a taste.

“Yes,” I breathe.

He brings a hand to my face, cupping my cheek. I fuse into the contact, closing my eyes. “Even though that’s all this will ever be?”

His voice is soft and timid, almost as if he doesn’t want that any more than I do. I wish I understood why he seems to deprive himself of love, of happiness. But now’s not the time for that conversation.

“I don’t care about that,” I insist. “All I care about is this, right now.” I bring my lips back to his, skimming them. I feel him harden against me. “You taught me that, Julian. You taught me it’s okay to live in the moment, to stop planning for every minute of every day. And right now, in this moment, I just want to kiss you.” I swallow hard, grateful he can’t see the truth in my eyes. “Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?”

“Nothing more,” I confirm.

“Nothing more.”

There’s something in his voice as he repeats our promise to each other. Sadness. Remorse. A reminder. I can’t quite pinpoint what it is. Before I can dissect it further, he loops his arm around my waist and flips me onto my back, hovering over me.

I’m breathless from the sudden shift, my heart rate spiking. As our eyes meet, I smile a small smile, a glow washing over me. He rests his elbow by my head, leaning toward me. Then he kisses me, fully, madly, completely, reminding me why I chose this path, why I want to live in the moment.

Because this moment is everything.





Chapter Twenty-Eight





Monday morning, I walk into the office with a smile on my face, still in the clouds from my weekend of making out with Julian. After these past few days, I doubt anything can burst my bubble. It was one of the most enjoyable weekends I can remember in recent history. It allowed me a peek into yet another side of Julian Gage…the real Julian Gage.

We got up to watch the sunrise over the ocean. He made me breakfast. We walked along the beach, fingers intertwined. He even took me to some local bars most of the people in his circle would never be caught dead in. We ate fish sandwiches as he shared stories of going there with Christopher during his college days. Throughout the weekend, it felt like we were a real couple, especially when he’d steal a kiss as we cooked dinner together, or lounged by the pool, or sunbathed on his boat.

By the time he dropped me off at Chloe’s apartment, leaving me with a sweet goodbye kiss, I didn’t think anything could dampen the high I’d been on…until I sit down at my desk and open my latest draft of the August Laurent feature and am reminded of how lackluster this story is. Julian’s kisses are magical and make me feel things I never thought possible. But they can’t fix this. Only I can.

So that’s what I attempt to do, spending hours toiling over my notes, looking for anything that could spice up a story that should sell itself, but it still falls flat. It’s nothing more than a piece about how a man went from helping a friend at a wedding to being a highly sought-after escort, empowering women who are going through a difficult breakup or divorce, making them feel beautiful again. Why? Why would a woman believe she has no other option but to hire him? And why does he do this? Why does he sacrifice having a personal life of his own to help women, help strangers?

I’m about to throw in the towel and refocus my attention on writing articles for my column when I hear a ping from my computer, indicating an incoming message. I glance at the alert on my screen, my breath hitching when I see it’s from August Laurent.

Navigating toward my email program, I find the message and click on it, bracing myself for him to back out of the article altogether.

To: Evie Fitzgerald

From: August Laurent

Subject: On Second Thought…





Dear Miss Fitzgerald,

I hope this message finds you well. I’d like to apologize for my somewhat rash behavior as of late. I was quick to shoot down your request to interview some of my past clients without giving it the careful consideration it deserves. I’ve spent the weekend doing just that, and after reading a rough draft of the article you sent with your latest email, I’m in agreement with you. It’s missing something.