Page 39 of You Rock My World

JOSIE

Dorian’s SUV is already parked at the curb when I exit my condo.

It’s dark and inconspicuous, no one would guess who’s hiding behind the tinted windows.

The moment I exit the pedestrian gate of my building, the back door cracks open for me to slip in.

Dorian doesn’t get out, he can’t. Someone could recognize him.

So I slip in and pull the door shut. And then it’s just us.

No screens, no cities separating us, nothing to diffuse the electric pressure knotting between my ribs.

The car’s cabin isn’t small, but with him in it, it feels like a trap.

Not one I want to escape from—one I want to get caught in forever.

“Hi,” I manage, linking my hands in my lap to physically stop myself from reaching for him.

“Hey,” he greets me, his gaze dragging over me, warm and amused. “You look cozy.”

The SUV glides into traffic, but it might as well be floating from the way my internal organs lose sense of gravity.

“I thought you liked cozy.”

“Oh, I love cozy,” Dorian hums, leaning a fraction closer. He traces the hem of my sleeve with the tip of one finger and mutters, “Nice sweater.”

I knew walking into this car was a mistake.

“You like the spooky cats?”

His thumb brushes a tiny, embroidered black cat on my side. It’s the gentlest motion, a slow, lazy drag. But my body reacts as if he’s touching skin.

“Soft,” he murmurs, to himself.

I don’t know if he means the fabric or me, but it doesn’t matter because I’m already melting, muscles turning into something traitorous and pliant.

“This is bad,” I whisper.

He sighs, while his palm hovers near my waist like he wants to touch me but thinks better of it. “I know.”

“We should keep some distance.”

Neither of us moves.

His eyes flick to my mouth, just as mine linger on his. I should sit back. Instead, I drop my head on his shoulder. He catches me, shifting so smoothly it feels inevitable. His arm hooks around me, pulling me in until my face ends up tucked into the crook of his neck.

“I missed you too much,” I admit.

His head tips forward until his lips are brushing my scalp. “Me too.”

His fingers skim higher, tracing my ribs through the fabric, not close to anything scandalous, but somehow burning worse than if he had.

“You realize this sweater is goofy, not sexy,” I mutter. “It wasn’t supposed to turn you on.”

His laugh is low, rough. “You’re terrible at not turning me on.”

I hug him tighter, saying, “Pot, meet kettle,” and enjoying the rumble of his laughter against my body.

We pass the rest of the ride in silence. Dorian caresses my back until the SUV slows, and the secondary gate of his house slides shut behind us, locking the world out.

I straighten up, and Dorian looks down at me because even seated, he’s so much taller.

“Last chance.”

“For what?”

“To be smart about this.”

I should make a joke, but I can’t find anything in my brain that isn’t him—the weight of his stare, the way his body is angled toward mine, those damn tattoos on his forearms.

“You want me to be smart?”

Dorian’s lips twitch. “Absolutely not. I’m depending on your terrible judgment right now.

” But then he becomes serious and cups my face, brushing his thumb over my cheek.

“I don’t want you to be smart, but I need you to be.

I want this to be right. To be something you’ll never regret, promise?

” He tucks my hair behind my ear, his fingers combing through the locks.

I am putty under his touch. “Could you… err…” I can’t think with his hands caressing my hair. “Could you not use your seduction voice when you ask me to be sensible?”

Dorian pulls back, laughing, and opens the car door on his side. “I told you that is just my horny voice.” He gets out and circles to my side, opening my door for me and gallantly offering me a hand. “I can’t help it around you.”

I take his hand and, after we say goodnight to Ned, I let him lead me through the back entrance. The hallway opens into the main part of the house, where he hesitates.

Dorian clears his throat and gestures vaguely ahead. “Which living room do you want? The small one or?—”

“The big one.” I don’t let him finish. The last time we sat in the small living room, I ended up in his lap, and I wouldn’t survive a repeat performance.

His lips twitch like he expected that, and he keeps walking. We reach the main living room, and I wander to the massive windows overlooking the city. The view is too dark to see much, but the lights below shimmer in long, golden veins, stretching toward the hills.

Behind me, I hear him drop on the couch. “Josieee?” he calls.

I turn and watch him pat the cushion next to him. Then he stretches his arms over his head, muscles flexing. I hate that I don’t even pretend not to ogle. I go to him and, kicking my shoes off, sink into the oversized sectional, curling my feet under my thighs.

Dorian throws one arm over the backrest, legs spread.

“How was the concert last night?” I ask.

“Wild.” His face lights up as it always does when he talks about his music. “The crowd was insane, and we played three encores. I’m still buzzing from it.”

“Sounds incredible,” I say a little dreamily. “I don’t know how you switch from that high to, well, everyday life.”

“It’s a balancing act.” He shrugs, eyes crinkling as he cuts me a side glance. “The day-to-day can be as exciting, depending on who you’re sharing it with.”

Damn me, I blush. Dorian in real life is nothing compared to video-call Dorian. I haven’t forgotten how it is to be face to face with him because I could never. But after several weeks apart, I’m feeling his proximity extra hard tonight.

“Right.”

“What about you?” Dorian sprawls deeper into the couch, one arm still draped along the back, fingers idly tracing the stitching. “Anything new?”

“You mean since we spent three hours on the phone two days ago?” I tilt my head, raising a brow.

His lips curve. “A lot can happen in forty-eight hours.”

I grin wide because something has happened, and I’ve waited to tell him in person. “I have news, actually.”

Dorian leans in. “Should I be nervous?”

I shrug. “Depends. How good are you at writing heartfelt recommendation letters?”

His brows pull together. “Who am I addressing them to?”

I wave a hand. “My potential new employee. I have a job interview on Monday.”

I’ve spent the last month and a half sending out applications. After the VMAs, I knew I couldn’t wait a year—technically, eight to ten months now—to be with him. I want it sooner. I want it yesterday. If my sister’s tragedy taught me anything, it is that life is short. Shorter than we think.

Dorian blinks, processing, then gasps dramatically. “You’re leaving me PR-less? Just like that?”

I smirk. “I figured you’d manage.”

“Unbelievable. I open my home to you, I offer you a couch—and soon, a movie—and this is how you repay me?” Dorian drapes himself across the couch, pretending I’ve ruined his life. “Leaving me a struggling musician with no media shield.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Struggling?”

“Emotionally,” he deadpans. “Now that you’re abandoning me.”

I nudge his thigh with my foot. “Only professionally.”

He catches my ankle before I can pull back, his palm warm where it wraps around me. Dorian rubs a slow, absentminded circle over my sock. “You’re sure about this? The job?”

I nod. “I don’t want to wait.”

He searches my face, probably wanting to double-check I’m really okay with the potential career move, then nods too. “You’ll get it.” He squeezes my ankle before letting go. “They’d be idiots not to hire you.”

I silently hope he’s right and clear my throat. “So. Movie?”

He grabs the remote from the coffee table. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Something funny—Will Ferrell?”

“Yeah, come here.” He opens his arms for me and I scoot closer.

As the movie starts, I nestle into Dorian’s side, thinking how perfect this is. How perfect he is. I wonder if—and hope that —soon we’ll be able to be together most nights, in the open, without worrying about me losing everything if we get discovered.

After we take Penny trick-or-treating tomorrow night, I’m going to spend the entire weekend prepping for my interview.

If I get the job, we can try this for real, without sneaking around.

I’ll also be changing my entire life for a man I’ve never even kissed.

That should terrify me. Instead, it feels like the only thing that makes sense.

* * *

When the movie ends, I’m already half-asleep. I’m not looking forward to the drive home, even if Ned will take me. But above everything else, I don’t want to leave Dorian. Not so soon after getting him back.

I pull myself up anyway. “I should go.”

“Do you want to go?”

“Eh, not particularly, but…”

“Then stay.”

I freeze. “Here?”

“Yes, tonight.” He pulls my hands in his lap. “No pressure. Take the guest bedroom. We can have breakfast together tomorrow.”

I nod, relieved. “Okay,” I agree too quickly, but the thought of staying longer, of not cutting tonight short, is too tempting.

He squeezes my hands. “I’m glad.”

We rise from the couch, and he leads me up the grand staircase.

In the upstairs hallway, he pauses at a linen closet, pulling out a stack of fluffy white towels.

“If you want to shower.” He hands them to me. “And here.” He fishes out a spare toothbrush from a drawer.

“Thanks,” I say, clutching the items to my chest.

He walks me to the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. The room is enormous, with a king bed wrapped in luxurious linens. I take a step inside, and the plush carpet sinks under my feet.

Dorian stops at the threshold, leaning against the frame with one arm braced on the top beam, looking hot as sin.

“Goodnight kiss?” he asks cutely.

It’s become a new game for us. He pleads for kisses he knows I can’t give, and each time, I struggle with the desire to say yes.

And he knows. He’s giving me sad-puppy eyes, but can’t hide the spark of mischievousness.

Dorian is testing me, teasing me, and I wonder who’s going to break first. Maybe I should mess with him in return, give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Sure.”

He frowns, his face a mix of feral longing and hesitant caution, which makes me smile inwardly. But I keep my features serious as I walk up to him seductively, swaying my hips. Hope flickers in his eyes, and his lips part ever so slightly in anticipation.

I stop just short of him, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

My hand comes up to his cheek, and I study the thousand thoughts racing behind his eyes.

He’s wondering if I’ll do it, if I’ll break our rules.

I rise on my tiptoes, bringing our mouths less than an inch apart.

He goes still, holding even the air in his lungs.

I close my eyes and savor his breath as it fans on my lips, warm and inviting.

Every cell in my body is screaming at me to go for it, to take what I want.

But at the last second, I brush to the side, my mouth landing on his cheek.

I linger longer than I should, enough for the sexy scrape of his stubble to ruin me, enough to make him groan.

“Goodnight, Dorian.” I pull back.

He drags a hand down his face, shaking his head with a helpless grin. “Guess I deserved that. Night, Josie.”

Dorian leaves, closing the door behind him. I brush my teeth in the adjoined bathroom and then sag on the giant bed, still clothed, staring at the ceiling. I’m wide awake. The tiredness from before gone.

I don’t know how long I stay in this position. But it feels such a waste to be here when he’s just in the other room. My skin itches. I’m never going to sleep. On impulse, I get up, pad down the hall, and hesitate only a second before knocking on his door.

It flies open immediately, and my eyes widen. Dorian is on the other side in only black boxer briefs, a white T-shirt, and his ink. His hair is more tousled than usual. He’s so breathtaking, I forget how words work and just stand, blinking like an idiot too long before I recover.

“Did you fly here from the bed?”

“No.” He smiles. “I was pacing.”

Ah. He must’ve been as restless as me.

“Can I sleep here with you? Only sleep,” I add, even if I don’t really need to specify.

Dorian doesn’t hesitate. He grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. He pulls me toward his bed with no urgency, just a slow, steady tug, as if leaving room for me to change my mind.

I don’t.

When we reach it, I slip off my sweater and socks, ending up in just a tank top and leggings. He pulls back the covers and slides in, holding them up in invitation. I climb in beside him.

We don’t touch at first. We just lie facing each other, the silence heavy with everything we want to do but won’t— can’t .

Then, slowly, carefully, he pulls me against him. I bury my face in his chest, and he rests his chin on top of my head.

His voice is a whisper against my hair. “We’ll get there.”

I nod, my fingers curling into his T-shirt, as he holds me closer and we fall asleep.