Ch25 - The sweet dream

“What are you doing?” Julian’s voice was low and rough from the alcohol, words a little slurred, but there was a trace of clarity underneath.

Violet froze. Before she could react, he tugged her hard, pulling her down onto the bed beside him. Her hand was still at his collar when their eyes met—his half-lidded and unreadable. She blinked rapidly, mind spinning. How much does he even remember?

“You really don’t remember anything?” she asked carefully.

“What’s there to remember?” he muttered, the corners of his lips lifting. “All I know is I woke up to you all over me.”

The way he said it made the air suddenly feel heavy. Heat crept up Violet’s neck. All over him? That sounded way too suggestive. She quickly shook her head, voice flustered. “Sorry, that’s not what this looks like.”

Being on the same bed as him was making her nervous as hell. She dropped her gaze, hoping he wouldn’t notice how red her ears had gotten.

Julian frowned, then chuckled under his breath. “Huh. I thought you were the bold type. What happened? Why’d you stop?”

“Stop what?”

He caught her hand and pressed it flat against his bare chest. The moment her palm touched him, she felt the heat radiating from his skin—like fire. She flinched, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened, keeping her there. He exhaled a low groan. “Christ… you’re freezing.”

His skin burned against her fingertips as his hand guided hers lower—across his chest, down his abs—

Violet jerked back like she’d been shocked. “You’re drunk,” she stammered, heart racing. “You’ve got a fever from the alcohol. I’ll, um—get some ice.”

She started to move, but before her knees could even lift off the bed, he grabbed her again—this time pulling her straight into his arms……

Julian almost never dreamed, but tonight—after those two extra drinks—he’d slipped into one that felt too real.

In that dream, his head was foggy, voices buzzing around him, people crowding close. He pushed them all away—until he found her. Only then did the tension in his chest ease. He wrapped his arms around her and held tight.

She struggled a little, panicked and blushing, mumbling soft protests that sounded like don’t but didn’t feel like it.

He burned—hot all over—like every nerve was on fire, and the coolness of her skin was the only relief. He pulled her back against his chest, pressing his forehead into her shoulder, and finally let out a breath.

Her body trembled when his warm breath brushed her neck. His gaze lingered on her flushed ear—it was almost painfully pretty.

He chuckled low, tracing his fingers along the curve of her ear. She flinched, and that only made him bolder.

Just holding her wasn’t enough anymore. The heat was unbearable, crawling under his skin. His hand slid from her neck down to her shoulder, slow, deliberate, pushing her shawl off.

The fabric slipped to the floor. Her smooth shoulder caught the dim light. His eyes narrowed, darkening—and without warning, his lips were there.

The kiss was hot—too hot. Her breath hitched sharply, head tilting back.

He didn’t stop. His mouth moved along her skin, tasting her, leaving faint red marks that bloomed under the soft light. Then he bit, lightly, at the back of her neck—a sound escaped him, satisfied.

His hand slid lower, over her thigh, pushing up the hem of her dress—

“No.” Her hand shot down, gripping his wrist, shaking her head hard.

He frowned, reaching as if to turn her face toward him—but before he could, his vision blurred, her face fading out like smoke.

And that—The dream broke.

He opened his eyes to an empty bed. The silence hit first—then the faint, nagging irritation that crept in.

Last night had been chaos—his so-called friends insisting he come out drinking. Matt had gone on about some “rare new bottle” Julian had to try, then handed him something that tasted like jet fuel. He’d had only a few sips before everything blurred.

And then came that dream. That maddeningly vivid dream. The kind that lingered even after waking—the kind where he couldn’t see her face clearly, but knew exactly who it was.

“Christ, I’m losing it,” he muttered under his breath.

He glanced around. Same hotel suite as usual—whenever he got blackout drunk, he somehow always ended up here. His driver and assistant were reliable; nothing seemed out of place.

Noticed some missing calls, he grabbed his phone and called Craig back, “What’s going on?”

Craig’s voice came through low and cautious. “Got a couple of paparazzi camped out in the lobby downstairs.”

“Oh?” Julian stretched lazily, then sat up. “They can’t be here for me. What the hell do they expect to catch?”

“Based on what we’ve seen, probably hoping to snap you leaving with some woman.”

Julian snorted. “A woman? That’s rich. There’s not even a damn soul—” He stopped mid-sentence, catching his reflection in the mirror. His shirt was rumpled, collar open… and there it was—a faint smudge of lipstick on.

His brow furrowed, voice dropping to a chill. “Who came into my room last night?”

Craig hesitated for a beat. “By the time we found out, she’d been inside maybe fifteen minutes. We escorted her out immediately. We’re still figuring out how the woman managed to get in. ”

“That was our failure. I take full responsibility.”

Julian’s temples throbbed. He had no memory of any woman, but for some reason, the image from that damned dream flashed again—soft skin, that same warmth. He shook it off. No way.

This was Marcus’s brilliant idea?

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “I don’t want an apology, Craig. I want a solution. What the hell did that woman do to me?”

Craig cleared his throat. “We checked her belongings and phone—nothing suspicious. We’ve got someone tracking her movements now. Also…” 

His voice lowered. “I already arranged for Miss Violet to come in through the back. Then you’ll both leave through the main entrance together.”

Julian paused, halfway through unbuttoning his shirt. “How long till she gets here?”

“Five minutes.”

“Fuck.” He hung up and stripped off his clothes, tossing them straight into the trash. The shower came on full blast.

Steam filled the bathroom within seconds. He scrubbed off the last of the night, trying to wash away the hazy frustration that clung to him.

He was just toweling off when he heard her voice. “Julian.”

He quickened his pace, tossed the towel aside, and threw on clean clothes.

By the time he stepped out, she was gone from the hallway. He grabbed a water bottle, unscrewed it, and downed half of it on his way to the living room.

There she was—Violet—sitting on the sofa, posture perfect, hands folded neatly in her lap, like she was waiting for a briefing.

Julian set down the bottle. “You cold?” he asked casually.

She looked down at herself, realizing how it must look—high-necked knit sweater, a little out of season. “Woke up feeling a bit under the weather,” she said, clearing her throat.

Her cheeks were flushed. He looked at her for a beat too long before glancing away.

“Appreciate you getting here so early,” he said, checking his watch. “Let’s go. I’m already late as hell for the office.”

“Okay.” Violet rose quickly, stepping beside him—but he didn’t move.

Julian looked down at his own hand, hanging there in the air, waiting. Then he reached over and took hers firmly.

“Hold on tight,” he said with a smirk. “The second we step out that door, we’re the picture of a loving married couple.”