My eyes narrowed questionably. “Old friends?”
“Well,” Julian continued to reach for my hand, “we’re much more than that out there. We can be whatever you’d like in here. Whatever would make you happy.” Old friends. It was simple, too casual to be a misunderstanding or humored commentary. Old friends.
“Take my hand,” he pressed, gaining my attention once more. His eyes were wide with need, burning with a blue flame to match the warm fireplace behind him.
“What is this room?” I hesitantly reached for his palm, shuffling from the mattress as he stepped back. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed up, revealing the muscles of his forearms that moved like a perfectly chiseled rolling wave of strength with each move of his wrist while he escorted me from the bedroom. We approached the living room, the fireplace already roasting the room like a warm hug.
“Wait,” I tugged against his hold, “what is that room?”
“It’s where you’ll sleep.” Julian mentioned that as if it were expected, as though I was a moron for assuming anything other than taking a room in his home. My jaw dropped, simultaneously peeved and relieved.
“I’ll sleep in there? What about you—”
He released his hold around my wrist, smiling at me with a smug lift of his mouth. “I can sleep in there too, if that would make you happy, Aideen.”
“No.” My head shook. “I don’t want us sleeping in there.” I couldn’t believe his humor, his toying attempt at seduction. As if I would ever!
“My room it is then.”
I punched his arm, his smugness turning to laughter. “That’s not what I meant! I was going to ask how can you have a space for me here if I’m not to know anything about your life?” His left arm extended into the living room, nodding for me to enter. The box he gave me during our hostage crisis was tucked against the side of the large couch, suggesting that perhaps he expected my return. Creeper. Julian sank into one end of the couch, watching me linger in the doorway expectantly.
“No games,” he assured me, “nothing. Simply talking. Trust me.”
“Can I?” While waiting for his response, my heart grew stupefied by the longing I felt to hear the velvet pour from his mouth. I stared at his arms, taking in every mark of ink winding around his skin, forming a decorative sleeve on his right forearm. Squinting, my mind more composed than the last two times I saw his entire arm; one time when he had on no shirt—sweet Lord, I can’t go back there, I found myself possessed by a series of lines within a rectangular shape, weaving around his elbow. I’d seen that before.
“You know the answer to that, Aideen,” he finally replied, following my eyes and promptly running a hand through his hair. “Please come and sit down with me.”
I walked over to Julian, brazenly filled with confidence and a new level of comfort, and lifted his right arm from the armrest of his couch. His skin was smooth, as though his world required he never lift a finger for work. Privileged. Julian stiffened, paralyzed by my touch. I feel it too. The spark tickled through my palm as I held his wrist, my other hand pushing the sleeve of his sweater farther back, folding it over his elbow. It was a delicate cashmere, a fabric so light it graced his body like silk. I shouldn’t have looked up at him; his eyes were raw, widened with a fear I had yet to witness within those hauntingly deep circles of blue. Raw. Terrified. Primal.
“Aideen.” Julian swallowed, his throat tightening around my name. I quietly looked away, pulling my gaze from the burning expression in his eyes, focusing on the tattoo my finger traced around his elbow. The lines were straight and curving, weaving within the frame of a small, fading black Celtic cross.
“You’re a religious man,” I scoffed, the trembling tip of my index finger stroking the lines along his arm. “This is Celtic. You’re Catholic?”
“I’m a nothing, Aideen, a nobody.”
I know those words. My eyes fluttered upward, receiving an empty gaze, a lonely expression that possessed me. In that moment, my heart disregarded what he did to me, who he was, and I became consumed by the beauty before me. In that moment, Julian was human.
“That’s not something I would expect someone like you to admit.” I studied his stare, receiving no feedback, barely even a blink. “Are you…I’ve seen this before.”
Julian’s arm rotated within my palm, twisting itself free from my grasp. He cleared his throat, the cushion of his couch shifting beneath his weight as he moved.
“How can you think you’re a nobody?” I prodded, my persistence possibly promising my death. Julian shifted to allow his right leg to fold beneath him, repositioning himself comfortably in the corner of his couch. His right hand pulled along his face, stretching his skin with exasperation. But I have so many questions.
“Why am I here?”
His hand fell, dangling from the armrest, and the deep circles melted into mine. “Because I want you to be.” Swallow. Breathe. Don’t die.
I don’t know what came over me—his eyes, the way his tongue slowly probed along his lips, or how disastrously melancholy Julian appeared while sitting across from me—but my hand took control, my brain ceasing to anticipate physical function, and lifted to hold the stubble on his cheek. I thought it would be rougher, but it still felt smooth, the bristles tickling my skin. His eyes locked on mine as my hand roamed above his clenching jaw.
“You’re a nothing,” I repeated his words, questioning their depth, “a nobody.”
Julian’s brows met, hovering above his locked eyes. His blink broke his silence, his left hand quickly reaching to pull my wrist from his face.
“I’m thirsty,” he told me as he placed my hand at my side and slowly got up from the couch. I choked, wanting to say something else to him but unable to before he left the room. He smells delicious. I turned around, my arms protectively crossed against my chest, gazing at the wall of books next to the smoldering fireplace. I wondered if he had time to read all of them or if it was for show, an illustration of his intelligence or wealth. Why do I care? I’m a nobody.
With a sigh, I spun slowly, my eyes catching Julian’s return. His right hand possessed a bottle of glistening Riesling, the glass sparkling with condensation. It dangled by his index finger and thumb, swaying while he stood in the doorway. His eyes were softer than before. He must have used eye drops. Nobody like him would show this much emotion after all he said and did to me. Nobody. Ah, the word of the hour. Julian’s left hand held the stems of two wine glasses, both sparkling and clear from his expensive dish detergent. I’d kill for a dishwasher. Maybe he did.
“I know this wasn’t your best of friends the other night, but,” Julian shrugged, a small smile lifting in the corner of his mouth, “we can try again?”
“We?” I questioned, my arms dropping to my sides while I approached him, losing myself at his beck and call. I hate me. I waited for him to return to the couch before making my next move, not wanting him to believe he completely changed my mind about his sanity and motives. Once he placed the bottle and glasses on the coffee table, Julian walked around to the box that rested like a terrible hangover on the floor.
“Here.” He straightened from sorting its contents, approaching me with the same blanket I snuggled into a few nights ago. “No movie this time.”
“You have such a delectable sense of humor,” I mocked, taking the blanket from him. “And to think I hated you all of this time.”
I opened the fabric, allowing it to drape around my body from behind, tightening its ends across my chest while dropping onto the couch across from Julian. He reached over the coffee table to remove the cork, his laughter blossoming between us in a slow, smooth rumble that softened my paranoia. The gurgle of pouring wine was a comforting sound, reminding me there was more to enjoy in that moment other than how handsome Julian happened to be. Pretty psycho. He extended his left arm toward me, passing an overflowing glass of cold Riesling across the sofa.
“I’m glad that emotion is in the past tense.” He grinned, his smile beaming with radiance that I actually felt. “Cheers to a fresh start.”
“You’re deathly mistaken, Mr. Molloy.” I took the wine, clinking it with his raised glass. “I still despise you. Very much so, but I owe you a favor for saving my life—”
“Three times.”
I rolled my eyes, irritated at his reminder. “I owe you one favor for the one most recent time you actually saved my life. I’ll pretend to be whatever it is you expect of me on the outside, but you absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, continue to believe you control my world and my life. Do I make myself clear?”
“You’re quite bossy, babby. Is that why you don’t have a husband and three children?” Julian’s lips widened above his wine glass while he sipped, filling my core with rage.
“I’m a nothing,” I mocked him, my eyes narrowing with annoyance while I took another sip. This shit is delicious. It must have cost at least a hundred dollars. Oh, sweetness. I want to make out with this bottle.
“You’re everything, Aideen,” he defied my mockery, his grin remaining while those eyes, the perfectly round reminders of his history, burned into me.
“You can’t say that to me when we aren’t in public,” I warned. “Please.”
“I’ll try to honor that command.” He winked at me, bending toward the coffee table to refill his glass. “Now, shall we? There are a lot of things we need to talk about.”
“I’m all ears, Molloy.” I set my wine glass between my knees, lifting my eyes to Julian expectantly. “Why are you suddenly so patient? One minute you tie me up, the next you kidnap me, you make me be your girlfriend on the outside to protect your image…”
“…and the next, I’m saving your life,” his voice raised, a passionate response that stopped my ramble. “I know a lot that you don’t know, Aideen, about many things. I am curious, though. How long had you known Elliott Daly before you went into the hospital? College, right? Ten years?”
“Yes.” My brows met. “How did you know that?”
“A guess on how long you’ve known each other.” He shrugged. “Elliott mentioned the hospital once we were initiating our deal.” It was so not a guess. What did he know?
“Go on.” Julian finished his second glass, placing it on the coffee table before turning on the couch so our bodies were facing one another, his feet lifting to rest against the middle cushion. Too close to mine. I’m too damn ticklish.
“Elliott Daly has done more damage to your life than you are even aware of, Aideen. Your coffee shop, for example.” Julian paused to scratch the stubble forming along his jaw. “It’s been watched by the Feds and some quite inhumane people for over a year.” Um. What?
“You expect me to trust you?”
“I expect you to want to live.” How are my life and trusting this criminal intertwined?
“This is a game,” I objected. “This isn’t true. You’re a liar. You’re insane. Literally, clinically, and absolutely insane.”
“I’m not.” His voice was calm. “Let me finish and we can see what you think of me, of Elliott, of all of this.” His hands raised, hoping to calm the lioness preparing to shred the gorgeous man across from her.
“Where is Elliott, Aideen?”
“I don’t fucking care.”
His eyebrows lifted incredulously. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care.”
“When did he leave?”
“Jesus! The questions! You’re supposed to be giving me answers, telling me what the hell I’m doing here, again, on your couch.”
He shrugged, a gentle smile flashing along his lips before it disappeared. “I like having you here. You’re safe with me. Maybe I haven’t made myself clear enough yet, but Aideen, I don’t want you to die. Elliott’s been watched by the Feds since last New Year’s because he was a snitch for the Byrne cartel in Southie. He was busted trying to sell drugs with his cousin, Malcolm, the same slimy fucker who tried to kill you twice within the last month.” What. The. Hell? He must be insane to think I would believe this story. Elliott was normal; he had a puppy and he watched soap operas. He was obsessed with watching people walk around downtown Boston, he loved running in the park late at night, and he was my best friend. I felt the blood leave my face, my nose numb.
“He ratted out some lowlife front-man from another family who lent him money. This front-man, William O’Connor, he’s a shark. He was planning on taking out some significant people in the Byrne family, but once your best friend ratted him out to the Byrnes, he won their loyalty. You probably don’t know how close Elliott and Malcolm actually are, do you?” I could barely shake my head in reply.
“Elliott wasn’t always this bad,” he continued nonchalantly, destroying every piece of the last ten years of my life. “He was a good friend to you. But introducing you to Malcolm wasn’t a mistake. You inherited some money when your dad passed away.”
“How do you know that?”
“Public record.”
“But still…” Stalker. Julian’s neck rolled around, stretching both sides before he continued, ending my anticipation. He divulged enough information to make my head spin, my heart weary.
“I’m going to tell you the truth, Aideen.” His brow lifted, his expression softening to reassure me of his intentions. “Elliott and Malcolm have been in on this from the beginning. Your dad passed, you inherited fifty thousand dollars, Elliott and Malcolm were in trouble with sharks in Southie, and they needed your money.”
“I don’t even have it,” I informed him. “It’s locked away in trust until I’m thirty-five.”
“They didn’t know that,” he replied, an agonizing sigh rippling from his chest. “They just knew you had money because you’d given what you already had in savings after law school to your coffee shop. They wanted your money to repay their sharks.”
“That’s where you came in.”
“That’s where I came in.” He nodded, the pieces of his puzzle slowly falling into place. He watched me, waiting for my next move, probably assuming I would jump over the couch and strangle him. Yet I was paralyzed. The smell of his cologne, the softness of that stupid blanket, and the bubbling wine all rendered me useless. Oh, and the fact he just told me the shittiest shit about my best friend.
“Wait.” I closed my eyes, hoping to gather my thoughts. “How do you know all of this mob stuff?”
“My grandfather is responsible for some crucial racketeering legislation.” His response was quick, rehearsed, only his eyes reacting with movement.
“That’s all?” I questioned, staring at him suspiciously. “You just tell me my life for the last few years has been a lie, just like that. Facts. Simple tidbits of information you held on to and omitted, yet you have tried to control my freedom for two weeks now. But that’s all? This must be how you conduct yourself. You lead people on, then tell them this twisted traumatic crap in an effort to earn their trust once you’ve ruined it by battering their souls against your rocks. That’s all, right? So, Grandpa Molloy has it all figured out because he’s, what, in with the Feds?”
“In a sense, but the rest of what you said is completely inaccurate. Please believe me.” His arm fell from the side of the couch as Julian turned to move toward me, leaning over my feet bound by the blanket.
I scoffed, my temper beginning to boil. “In a sense? How does your grandpa know about the Feds watching my shop? And what the hell—are you actually serious right now? The Feds have been watching my shop for months and you knew this entire time?”
“Yes. I have.” I was burning, fueling with rage, desiring only to smack the living daylights from Julian and leave an imprint of my puny little hand against his beautiful face. Oh, what the hell? I jumped from the couch, catching him off guard while he leaned toward where I sat. He was slow to adjust his body but quicker than I expected, while I lifted my hand into the air. Hit him. Hurt this beautiful jerk. I did. The burn of our skin colliding seared my palm, radiating throughout my hand and up the length of my arm. I felt it in my heart, the burning that spread from slapping his face with every ounce of strength I had within me. Hit him again. I did. Twice more before he flinched.
“That was a mistake.” He bent forward to rise from the couch, his eyes darkening like the night sky, his long fingers separating from his reddened cheeks and reaching for me.
Julian’s fingers tightened around my shoulders, forcing me in place despite my attempt to wiggle free from his tortuously warm grasp. His skin was hot, the calming flood of his warmth rushing through my shoulders and into my body. It was frightening, a wave, a rush, suffocation. I struggled to balance between the couch and coffee table, the sharp edge of which pressed into my calves as we teetered.
Julian whispered my name, his hands tightly adhering my shoulders to him. They melted into sopping pools within his grasp, like sand slipping from a castle along a violent shore. Elliott. How did he know all of this about Elliott? How could he keep so much from me in the last week alone, then vomit out this crap about my best friend? Ex-best friend. I hate this guy. I hate Julian Molloy. I hate his blue eyes, I hate his hair, I hate that arrogant smile, his stupid perfect teeth. I want to kill him. I want to kiss him. Kill! I want to KILL him. Oh, my brain. Stop looking at me like that. His brows met, pulling attention to his widened eyes burning with the emptiness observed before, haunted by more secrets to which I would never be privy. I don’t want to be. Yes, I do. No, I don’t.
“Get off me,” I growled, nudging my right shoulder free, bumping it against his chest. Now that was a mistake. He smells so lovely, sweet, bold, spicy, and…what is he doing? Both of his hands curled into fists, lifting to my cheeks. They pulled along my face in a slow, gentle graze before dropping against my shoulders and stopping beneath my ears. No. Not the ears. My eyes raced, searching his face in a frantic tension, looking for a key to my escape, a loophole or distraction. Our bodies touched, my chest against his, our hips in contact.
“Please don’t hit me like that, Aideen,” he whispered, his face leaning toward mine, his lips sizzling the air around my left ear while my body erupted with a tremble.
“I think, for once, I’ll do what I please.” Shouldn’t have said that. I heard the parting of his mouth, surely stretching into a smile against my ear while his fists opened to hold my neck. His hands gracefully wrapped around my throat, their hold delicate, and I regretted each word I just said.
“Me too,” Julian breathed, his words whispered into the sensitized skin of my neck before I felt my body disorient. His lips were warm, leaving a trail of slow, deliberate kisses before his mouth pulled away. Paralyzed. Can. Not. Move. Breathe. I stared at the fabric stretched taut against his body, reminding my heart to pump blood as my brain numbed. It feels…good. Julian’s hands roamed from my neck into my hair, tightening around the base of my skull and lifting my face to his. I want to kill him. Kiss him. I want to kiss him.