Betrayed by My Husband, Taken by His Billionaire Uncle novel · Chapter 12 of 32

Chapter 12: South End

We left my van on the roof of his garage.

He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other on my knee, and neither of us said a word the whole way up South Boulevard.

The rain started as we pulled in.

In the elevator he stood against the far wall with his hands behind him, holding on to the rail.

"What are you doing?"

"Six floors," he said. "If I touch you in here, we're not getting out at the top."

I crossed the elevator and kissed him anyway.

We got out at the top.

Barely.

The loft was dark except for uptown through the tall windows, all of it blurred by rain on the glass.

He didn't turn on a light.

He kicked the door shut behind us and stood there with his back against it, with me in his arms, and stopped.

His forehead came down to mine.

"Juliet."

"Don't you dare ask me if I'm sure."

"I'm going to ask you anyway." His voice was rough and low. "You've never done this. Not with anyone. I know exactly what that means, and I'm not going to pretend I don't."

"It's not the exam room."

"No." His hands framed my face. "It's not. So hear me. We go as slow as you want. You can stop me at any second, on any breath, and I'll stop. That's not a promise I'm making for tonight. That's just how it is with me."

I looked up at him in the blue dark.

My bruised wrist was against his chest.

I could feel his heart going under it.

"I know," I said. "That's why it's you."

"Say it, then."

"Yes." I said it clearly, so he'd never have to wonder. "Yes, August. Tonight. All of it."

His entire body seemed to unlock, pure relief rushing through him.

Then he picked me up.

Not like a bride.

Like he couldn't stand one more second of my feet being on the floor.

I wrapped my legs around him and laughed into his neck, and he carried me past the long pale island where I'd stopped him, down the length of the loft, to the bedroom at the end.

He set me down at the foot of a wide bed with gray sheets.

Rain ran down a window that took up the whole brick wall.

He reached up and pulled the pencil out of my hair again.

This time he set it carefully on the nightstand.

He set the pencil on the nightstand and turned back to me.

One hand came up to the side of my face, thumb along my cheekbone, the way he'd done in the exam room.

"You made a sound in that chair," he said. "When I touched you. A little broken thing. I've heard it every night since."

"I was terrified."

"You were. And you were more sensitive than most. I remember thinking I'd never heard anyone that honest."

"I've spent thirteen months alone in a marriage bed." I looked up at him. "I'm tired of being careful."

"Then don't be."

He kissed me, slower this time, with his hand sliding back into my hair.

When he pulled away he held my eyes.

"I'm going to take your jacket off first."

"Why are you telling me?"

"Because you need to know what's coming." His voice was low and steady. "I won't surprise you. Not tonight. Not once."

I turned so he could ease the jacket down my arms.

He folded it once and let it fall to the floor.

Then his fingers found the hem of my sweater.

"Now this."

I lifted my arms and he pulled it over my head.

Cool air hit my skin.

He stood back half a step and looked at me in my bra and jeans, in the blue rain-light, and the look on his face made my knees go weak.

"August."

"I know." He reached for the button of my jeans. "I'm just looking at you first. I've been looking at you since the day you walked into my clinic, and I'm not done."

He slid the jeans down my hips and I stepped out of them.

He stayed on his feet, still dressed, and I stood in front of him in nothing but a pale pink bra and plain cotton underwear, and I didn't cover myself.

I wanted him to see.

"You're shaking," he said.

"Cold."

"Liar." He put his hands on my bare waist and pulled me against him. "You're not cold, Jules."

The name hit me like a warm hand in the dark.

No one called me Jules except Annabeth.

Hearing it in August's voice, in his bedroom, with his hands on my skin, undid something.

"Oh," I said.

"What?"

"Say it again."

"Jules." He said it slowly, like he was tasting it, and then he kissed the corner of my mouth. "My Jules. Get on the bed."

I climbed up and lay back against the gray sheets.

He stayed standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at me, and I watched his hands go to the buttons of his shirt.

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