Page 140 of Meet Me In The Dark

He’s right there with me, following me over the edge as his mouth parts on a guttural moan.

When it’s over, when we’re spent and tangled and breathless, I collapse against his chest.

I don’t know how long we stay that way, with hisarms around my body.

I just know I never want to leave.

Forty-Four

My usual oat latte sits waiting on my desk when I step into my office on Monday morning. A smile spreads so wide across my face, I’m pretty sure it terrifies Louise at reception. I catch her startled glance and quickly suck in my cheeks to stop it.

Leaving Julian’s arms this morning took effort that felt borderline painful.

He’s stamped himself permanently into my bones, and I’m not sure if I can survive him.

Turning on my computer, I decide to catch up on emails to distract myself and nearly cry when I see one from Tom Kingsley’s assistant.

Fuck. My. Life.

He’s following up on our previous conversation about the job offer. The one I’ve already declined a handful of times. Apparently, Kingsley isn’t a man accustomed to rejection because he’s now inviting me to dinner tonight with his team.

And, oh, how thoughtful, he’s already made a reservation.

I stare at the screen, chewing my lip in indecision. Maybe dinner isn’t a terrible idea. If I say no again, publicly and clearly, he’ll finally back off.

Sighing, I type out a quick but polite email, accepting his dinner invitation.

It’s at that exact moment that my phone buzzes on the desk. Julian’s name flashes across the screen, and that stupid smile nearly splits my face in two.

I pick it up. “Hi.”

“Come to dinner with me tonight.”

My traitorous heart does a flip. “Julian—”

“Come to dinner with me,” he repeats, voice softer this time as he tries to coax an acceptance out of me.

Dinner is shockingly normal for two people who started their story in darkness and anonymity. I want to say yes so badly it aches, but he’s two minutes too late.

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“I can’t.” He’s going to hate what I’m about to say. I already hate myself for it. “I’m going to dinner with Tom Kingsley.”

Silence.

Heavy, charged silence.

“Julian?” I ask hesitantly. “You there?”

“Oh, I’m here, sweetheart,” he finally replies, voice dangerously controlled. “But I’ve spent a small fortune on a therapist teaching me how to breathe through situations exactly like this. I’m just putting my money to good use right now. Give me a minute.”

My brows lift, surprised curiosity replacing panic.

He has a therapist.

God, that’s hot.