Chapter 120
Nora's POV
My fingers hovered over the reply button. Part of me wanted to send something teasing, maybe mock his pitch. But a bigger part just wanted to hear his voice again, live and unfiltered.
I hit the video call button.
He answered on the second ring. The screen filled with his face, hair damp and pushed back from his forehead, revealing the sharp lines of his brow and cheekbones. He'd just showered.
"Hey," he said, that slight smile playing at his lips.
"Not satisfied," I blurted out, then felt my face heat. "I mean—I didn't see you all afternoon. That's not acceptable."
His smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Baby, are you pouting?"
"Maybe." I propped my phone against a pillow, settling back against the headboard. "How was your mysterious legal matter?"
"Handled." He shifted, and I caught a glimpse of what looked like a hotel room behind him. Minimalist, impersonal. "Tell me about your day instead."
So I did. The words tumbled out—volleyball on the beach where Emily absolutely destroyed me, collecting shells and seaweed for samples, the sunset photos I'd posted to Instagram, the collaboration opportunity Emily had offered. He watched me with that quiet intensity of his, occasionally asking questions but mostly just listening, his gaze never leaving my face.
"When are you coming back?" I asked.
His expression shifted, something apologetic crossing his features. "That's actually what I needed to tell you. There's a meeting tomorrow morning. I won't be able to leave until afternoon."
Disappointment crashed through me, sharp and immediate. "So I have to wait even longer?"
"I'm sorry." He leaned closer to the camera, and I could see the genuine regret in his eyes. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
I wanted to complain more, to tell him it wasn't fair, but the words stuck in my throat. He looked as frustrated as I felt.
"Okay," I said quietly. "Just... come back soon."
"Always." He paused, then his whole demeanor changed—shoulders relaxing, that devastating smile returning. "I might not sleep well tonight."
"Why?"
He shifted again, and suddenly his face filled more of the screen, eyes locked on mine. "Because there's this girl, thousands of miles away, who I can't stop thinking about."
My heart did something stupid in my chest. "Julian—"
"I miss you," he said simply. "And I hate that I can't be there tomorrow morning like I planned."
"You're getting really good at this," I managed, trying to keep my voice steady. "The whole... saying exactly what I need to hear thing."
"I'm just being honest." His voice dropped even lower, intimate in a way that made my skin feel too warm. "As a Federal Inspector, I belong to the government and the people. But in private? I'm yours. Only yours."
The words hit me like a physical thing. I pressed my face into the pillow, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face, my heart hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it through the phone.
"Nora?"
"I'm here," I mumbled into the fabric.
"Are you hiding from me?"
"Maybe."
His laugh was soft, affectionate. "Come back. Let me see you."
I lifted my head reluctantly, knowing my face was probably flushed. His expression when he saw me—warm and possessive and tender all at once—made everything worse.
"I should let you sleep," he said, though he made no move to end the call.
"Yeah." I didn't move either.
We stayed like that for another moment, just looking at each other across the distance.
"Want me to sing again?" he offered, that slight smile back. "Tuck you in properly this time?"
"No!" I said too quickly. "I mean—I'm tired. Really tired. Goodnight."
I ended the video call before he could respond, then immediately felt like an idiot. But within seconds, an audio call came through.
I answered without thinking.
"Goodnight, Nora," his voice came through, low and warm in the darkness. "Sleep well."
I curled around my pillow, phone pressed to my ear, letting his presence—even just his breathing on the other end of the line—settle over me like a blanket.
"Goodnight," I whispered back.
---
Morning light woke me, streaming through the gauze curtains. Considering how much I'd been thinking about Julian before finally drifting off, I'd slept better than expected.
I padded to the balcony, taking in the view. My cottage faced the ocean on one side, manicured gardens on the other.
Voices drifted up from below. I recognized Emily's laugh, then Zachary's deeper rumble.
"The construction crew is working," Emily replied. "Everything's ready for the soft opening."
Breakfast was quiet—most guests apparently sleeping in after yesterday's festivities. I grabbed coffee and a croissant, exchanged polite nods with a couple I vaguely recognized from the wedding, and found a table overlooking the water.
My phone buzzed. A message from Julian: How did you sleep?
Better than you, probably, I typed back. When's your flight?
Working on it. Miss you.
I smiled despite myself, then pocketed my phone as I finished eating. The beach was calling—I wanted to get some shots in the morning light for my piece on Zachary's island development.
The sand was pristine, unmarked except for bird tracks near the waterline. I walked slowly, camera in hand, capturing the play of light on waves, the texture of weathered driftwood, a cluster of shells arranged in a perfect spiral by the tide.
The rhythmic crash of surf was meditative. I lost track of time, crouching to adjust angles, moving further down the beach in search of the perfect composition.
The sound of an engine cut through the peace.
I looked up to see a small jet ski carving through the shallows, heading straight for shore. The driver wore board shorts and sunglasses. He killed the engine as the ski's nose hit sand, then hopped off with practiced ease.
He pulled off his sunglasses, and I got a clear look at his face.
Fuck.
Connor Lopez. Kyle's friend. Same social circle, same entitled attitude, same Alpha swagger.