Chapter 103
Nora's POV
Three Days Later
We'd been too busy to see each other these past few days.
Federal audit had kicked into high gear, which meant Julian was buried under financial records and testimonies all day long. I caught glimpses—a text at one in the morning asking if I was still awake, a photo of Pepper curled up on his desk, a voicemail that just said miss you in that low, rough voice that made my stomach flip.
I wasn't much better. Two major stories dropped at once—a factory shutdown in the industrial quarter, and a follow-up piece on the road collapse. I spent three straight days chasing sources, transcribing interviews, and rewriting drafts until the words blurred together.
We texted when we could:
Still at the office?
Yeah. You?
Same. Eat something.
You first.
Stubborn woman.
Stubborn man.
It was ridiculous how much I looked forward to those little exchanges. How much I smiled at my phone like a lovesick teenager.
On Friday evening, I was packing up my desk when my phone buzzed.
I'm in the parking garage. Want to grab dinner?
I stared at the message, heart leaping into my throat. He was here? Now?
I didn't bother replying. Just grabbed my bag and half-ran for the elevator.
When I stepped out of the elevator, he was leaning against the car, arms crossed, looking unfairly good in a casual blue shirt and dark slacks. No tie. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Hair slightly mussed like he'd been running his hands through it all day.
He looked younger like this. More real.
I slowed as I approached, suddenly self-conscious. "Hi."
His eyes tracked over me, warm and intent. "Hi yourself."
I stopped a few feet away, clutching my bag. "I thought you were drowning in audits."
"I was. Took a break." He pushed off the car, closing the distance between us in two long strides. "Wanted to see you."
Julian took my bag from my shoulder without asking, his hand settling there as he steered me toward the Navigator. The weight of it felt natural now, like he'd been doing this for years instead of weeks.
I slid into the leather seat, and he closed the door with a soft click before rounding the hood. When he climbed in beside me, the car suddenly felt smaller.
"Hungry?" he asked, pulling out of the garage.
"Starving. But nothing fancy—I need to stop by the medical center later to see my mom."
His eyes flicked to me, then back to the road. "There's a place near the center. We can eat, then walk over."
I frowned. "You know the area?"
"I know everywhere you go regularly." His tone was matter-of-fact, like he was discussing the weather instead of admitting to tracking my movements. "Had it all mapped out."
The words landed like a stone in still water, rippling through me in ways I didn't want to examine too closely. He just drove in comfortable silence while my brain spun in circles trying to process the casual possessiveness of it all.
---
About three kilometers from the medical center, Julian slowed and pulled onto a side road. No streetlights yet—just empty green space stretching into gathering dusk. He cut the engine.
I looked around, confused. "This isn't right. The restaurant's still ahead."
"Battery's dead."
I pulled out my phone, already searching for charging stations. "Nearest one's two miles out. We can still make it if we go now."
"Can't." He shifted in his seat, angling toward me. "Completely drained. Won't move."
Something in his voice made me pause. I glanced at the dashboard—or tried to, but his palm was already blocking my view. When I leaned forward to look around his hand, he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned in, cutting off my angle entirely.
"There's a charging station within thirty inches," he said, voice dropping low. "Question is whether Miss Grey is willing to help me out."
Understanding hit like a bucket of ice water. I sat back, keeping my expression neutral even as heat crawled up my neck. "That line get approved by federal review?"
"Passed with flying colors."
"Well, my rates are steep."
"I'll pay whatever you're asking."
I should've kissed him then. Should've closed the gap and ended the game we were playing. But some contrary part of me—the part that was still getting used to this, to us—made me hesitate.
"Your eyes are too intense," I said instead. "It's predatory."
Without missing a beat, he closed them, settling into a picture of relaxed patience.
I studied him in the dim light—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lashes fanned against his cheekbones. Slowly, I reached out and traced the arch of his brow with one fingertip. He didn't move, but his breathing changed, deepened.
I let my touch drift lower—across the bridge of his nose, along the hard edge of his cheekbone, down to his mouth. His lips parted slightly when I brushed over them. I pressed down, just a little, feeling the heat of his breath against my skin.
Then I dropped my hand to his throat, fingertip finding the hollow where his pulse beat fast and hard.
His eyes snapped open.
Before I could pull away, he caught my face between his palms and kissed me hard enough to steal my breath. No finesse, no careful testing of boundaries—just raw want barely held in check. His hand slid into my hair, angling my head where he wanted it, and I made a sound that should've embarrassed me but didn't.
This was different from the gentle kisses we'd shared before. The tension of it made my head spin. He was holding back—I could feel it in the tremor of his hands, the way his teeth caught my bottom lip but didn't bite down—but he was also letting me feel how much he wanted this. Wanted me.
When he finally pulled back, we were both breathing hard. He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes still closed.
"Missed you," he said roughly. "So fucking much."
I couldn't form words yet, so I reached down and pinched his side hard enough to make him grunt.
He laughed—actually laughed—and kissed my temple before settling back in his seat. "Fair enough."