Chapter 181
Nora's POV
The next morning, I was perched on the edge of Julian's bed, watching him struggle with the cuff buttons on a new shirt. He stood in front of the full-length mirror, his movements uncharacteristically clumsy.
"So," I started, keeping my tone casual as I cradled my coffee mug. "The station got an invitation to Vaughn Mining's anniversary gala. The director wants me to go."
Julian's fingers paused on the stubborn button. Through the mirror, his eyes flicked to mine. "Then go."
I blinked. "You... don't mind?"
He abandoned the cuff and turned to face me, leaning back against the mirror frame with his hands sliding into his pockets. "Why would I? It's a work assignment." His mouth curved slightly. "Unless you're hoping I'll get jealous?"
"I just—" I fumbled with the edge of my clothes, caught off guard by his nonchalance. "I thought you might have an opinion about it."
"My opinion is that you're a professional doing your job." He tilted his head, studying me. "But if you're asking whether I trust you around your ex, the answer is yes. Completely."
Something warm unfurled in my chest. I set down my coffee and crossed to him. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not making this weird."
He caught my wrist gently, tugging me closer. "Nora, if I got territorial every time you had to interact with someone from your past, we'd never leave this house." His thumb traced circles on my pulse point. "I know where I stand with you. That's enough."
I rose on my toes and kissed him softly. When I pulled back, he was smiling—that rare, unguarded smile that made my knees weak.
"Now," he said, releasing my wrist to hold up his shirt cuff. "Help me with this damn button before I rip the whole thing off."
I laughed and took his hand, focusing on the tight buttonhole. His skin was warm under my fingertips, and I could smell the cedar scent of his soap mixing with the crisp cotton of the shirt. When I glanced up, he was watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
"There," I said, fastening the second cuff. "All done."
"Not quite." He nodded toward his waist. "Tuck the shirt in for me? I can never get it to sit right."
I hesitated, then reached for his belt buckle. The leather was smooth under my fingers as I worked the buckle free. Julian's breathing slowed, his gaze never leaving my face.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be," I muttered, trying to ignore how close we were standing.
"Am I?" His voice dropped an octave. "I'd say you're the one making things... difficult."
I shot him a look, but my hands were already sliding the shirt fabric into the waistband of his pants. The moment I smoothed the material flat, he caught my wrists.
"Careful," he murmured. "Keep doing that and we won't make it to work on time."
Heat flooded my cheeks. "Julian—"
He pulled gently, and somehow his belt came loose, the leather sliding free of the buckle. His dress pants sagged, dropping to his ankles before I could react.
I stared at him—at the black boxer briefs and the way his abs flexed as he fought back laughter. "What the hell just happened?"
"You tell me." His expression was pure innocence. "One second I'm fully dressed, the next you're trying to undress me."
"You did that on purpose!" I shoved at his chest, but he caught my hands, holding them against him.
"Maybe," he admitted, his grin widening. "But you're the one who can't stop touching me."
"That's—" I tried to pull away, but he tugged me flush against him, and suddenly I could feel exactly how much he was enjoying this.
"You wore my T-shirt to bed," he said, his voice dropping to that low rumble that did things to my pulse. "You walked around half-dressed, bent over to help me, and now you're surprised I'm reacting?"
"I didn't mean—"
"Plus," he continued, backing me toward the closet door, "you fell asleep on me last night. Left me hanging." His hands bracketed my waist, caging me in. "So forgive me if I'm a little... pent up."
I swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I was exhausted—"
"Don't apologize." He kissed my forehead, then my temple, working his way down to my jaw. "Just let me make up for lost time."
His mouth found mine, and I melted into him, forgetting entirely about work or schedules or anything beyond the way his hands slid under the hem of my shirt—his shirt—and the heat building between us.
When we finally broke apart, gasping, I managed to say, "Wait."
He froze. "What's wrong?"
I looked pointedly at his bare legs, then up at him. "You can't button your own cuffs, but you just undid my bra in three seconds flat. Care to explain that?"
For a beat, he just stared at me. Then he laughed. "Different skill sets," he said, completely shameless. "Undressing someone else is way easier than dressing yourself."
"That's the worst excuse I've ever heard."
"Is it?" He kissed me again, cutting off my protest. "Then punish me for it."
Before I could respond, he scooped me up and carried me toward the bed.
---
Later—much later—I lay with my head on his chest, tracing lazy patterns on his skin. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, my hair was a mess, and I was pretty sure we were both going to be late.
"By the way," Julian said suddenly, his voice still rough. "I got invited to the gala too."
I lifted my head to look at him. "You did?"
"Mm." He was studying the ceiling like it held the secrets of the universe. "PR optics."
"Are you going?"
He finally looked at me, and something cold flickered in his eyes—something that reminded me he wasn't just the man who made me breakfast and kissed me breathless. He was also the Federal Inspector General with the power to dismantle empires.
"Why wouldn't I?" His smile was sharp, dangerous. "Some things need to be settled."
A shiver ran down my spine—not from fear, but from the sudden, visceral understanding that Kyle Vaughn had no idea what was coming for him.