Chapter 56
Julian's POV
For perhaps the first time in years, I found myself completely at a loss for words.
Evelyn stood before me utterly naked except for that silver cross—the one I'd stolen and repaired and returned like some kind of twisted courtship ritual I hadn't fully understood until this exact moment.
The lamplight painted her skin in shades of gold and shadow. Highlighted every scar. Every curve. Every mark that Vorkuta had left on her body.
She was breathtaking.
And terrifying.
And so fundamentally sacred in this moment of vulnerability that I felt something close to panic rising in my chest.
Oh, I'd pretended often enough. Had cultivated a reputation as a shameless playboy who cycled through lovers with the same casual frequency most people changed their coffee order. I flirted. I teased.
I let beautiful women drape themselves across my arm at charity galas and whisper propositions in my ear at private clubs. I said all the right things with just the right amount of lazy arrogance to make them believe I was exactly what I appeared to be—a man who treated sex like a recreational sport and commitment like a communicable disease.
But I'd never actually taken any of them to bed.
Because seven years ago I'd seen Evelyn Valentine for the first time at Arthur's place, and something in my brain had simply... stopped. Recalibrated. Recognized on some fundamental level that no other woman would ever compare to the girl who'd moved through the crowd like a ghost. Who'd had ice in her eyes and steel in her spine and an aura of devastating fragility that made me want to simultaneously protect her and possess her.
After that, everyone else had just seemed... insufficient. Pale imitations of something I couldn't have but couldn't stop wanting.
So I'd played the part. Let the world think Julian Russell was a man who took his pleasure where he found it. But the truth was I'd spent seven years turning down offers with clever deflections and strategic excuses. Seven years of cold showers and my own hand. Seven years of telling myself it was tactical. That maintaining the facade mattered more than satisfying base urges.
And now—standing here with Evelyn actually naked in front of me, offering herself with a vulnerability that made my chest ache—I was starting to think I should have gotten some fucking practice.
Because I had no idea what I was doing.
My hands were shaking. My heart was trying to hammer its way out of my ribcage. My brain had apparently abandoned all higher functions in favor of a repeating loop of holy shit holy shit holy shit that was spectacularly unhelpful.
If I'd known that seeing Evelyn's bare skin would reduce me to this level of incompetence, maybe I would have taken someone—anyone—up on their offers just to learn the mechanics. To have some baseline experience to draw from instead of standing here like a teenager who'd just discovered what breasts were.
My eyes traced over her for perhaps half a second—just long enough to register the elegant line of her collarbones, the soft swell of her breasts, the cross gleaming between them—before I jerked my gaze away like I'd been burned. My heart hammered against my ribs. My mouth had gone dry.
"Evelyn—" Her name came out strangled. Wrong. I cleared my throat and tried again. "You don't have to—"
But the words died because there was nothing I could say that wouldn't sound either patronizing or pathetic. So instead I moved. Pure instinct taking over where rational thought had fled.
The throw blanket was still draped across the back of the sofa where I'd been sitting earlier. I grabbed it in one smooth motion and crossed the distance between us in two long strides. My hands were shaking—actually shaking—as I draped the soft cashmere over her shoulders.
Evelyn didn't move. Didn't pull the blanket closed around herself or step back or do any of the things a reasonable person might do when someone was clearly trying to preserve their modesty. She just stood there watching me with those ice-blue eyes that saw far too much.
The blanket hung down her arms. Covered her shoulders and upper back. But the front remained completely open. Her breasts still visible. The cross still gleaming against her sternum. The gentle curve of her stomach and the dark triangle of hair between her thighs still exposed to my frantically averted gaze.
I could barely breathe. My lungs felt too small for my chest. My collar too tight even though I wasn't wearing one anymore. I fumbled with the edge of the blanket, trying to pull it across her body without actually touching her skin. Trying to create some barrier between us and this moment of impossible vulnerability.
The blanket wasn't wide enough. Even when I stretched it as far as it would go, it kept slipping down one shoulder or the other. Falling open in the middle. Refusing to cooperate with my desperate attempt to restore some semblance of propriety to this situation.
I finally gave up trying to wrap it around her entirely. Instead I just held the edges in place with two fingers pressed against her left shoulder. Pinching the fabric. Keeping it from sliding away. My other hand hovered uselessly in the air between us. Not quite touching her. Not quite retreating.
"There," I managed. My voice came out rough and uncertain. Nothing like my usual smooth confidence. "That's... you should... fuck."
Evelyn took a step forward. Slow and deliberate. The movement made the blanket slip again but I couldn't make myself care because suddenly she was right there. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. Close enough to smell the faint scent of soap and something uniquely her beneath it.
Her arms came up to wrap around my neck. Light and careful. Almost tentative. The blanket fell away completely as she pressed herself against me. Soft breasts against my chest.
The hard points of her nipples burning through the thin fabric of my t-shirt. Her hips aligned with mine in a way that made my cock—which had been valiantly trying to behave itself—harden instantly to painful rigidity.
There was no way she didn't feel it. No way to hide the evidence of my arousal when she was pressed this close. When every line of her naked body was aligned with mine. When I could feel her breath warm against my throat.
She laughed. Soft and low. The sound vibrating against my neck where her face was tucked. "I was starting to think you weren't interested in women," she murmured. Her lips brushed my skin as she spoke. "Given how hard you were trying not to look at me."