“Why, thank you.” Her limbs tingled, a sense of empowerment rushing through her at making someone like Julian stumble with his words.
Julian shot her a panty-dropping look and shook his head. “Damn stunning.”
“Indeed she is.” Romina piped up, hand on her hip. “Are those flowers for her?”
Julian startled and extended the bouquet to Amalie. “Oh, hey, Ro. And yeah, these are for you, Amalie.” He gave his head a little shake and added, “I can’t think straight with you dressed like that.”
She smiled. It was impossible not to, even though her heart was in her throat. “Thank you for the flowers and the compliment. These are my favorite.”
“I’ll put them in water,” Romina said. “You kids get out of here. I don’t want you back before midnight.” She grabbed the flowers and disappeared into the kitchen.
“I know those are your favorite,” Julian responded as he took a step closer, his glance falling to her mouth once more.
Amalie’s breath caught in her throat. He wanted to kiss her; she could see it written all over his face, in his eyes, in the way he slowly licked his lips.
Julian reached for a strand of her hair and slipped it between his fingers before offering his arm like a gentleman. “Ready to go?”
She accepted, and for a moment, they just stood there, staring into one another’s eyes. This couldn’t be. A couple months ago, they’d hated each other.
Hate. Hate. Hate. Anything else had seemed so impossible.
Yet here they were, arm in arm, stepping into the night with enough electricity between them to light the world.
Amalie and Julian stood outside Simone’s massive home in Ansley Park, a neighborhood nestled right in the middle of downtown Atlanta. Edison bulbs had been carefully strung from tree to tree, illuminating the immaculately landscaped yard. March nights in Georgia had a tendency to be chilly, so no one was out roaming around. Knowing her sister, always the planner, Simone had probably rented a tent with heaters for the backyard. Amalie anxiously twisted a bracelet around her wrist, her palms growing damp as she scanned rows of luxury cars.
“You all right there, princess?” Julian asked, breaking her from her silent freak-out as he leaned closer.
Amalie exhaled and shook her head. “Honestly? No. I’m freaking out a little bit.”
Julian gave her a quick nod of understanding as he lifted her chin so that their eyes met. Her pulse went completely mad at his touch.
“Screw these people, Amalie,” he said. “You’re a force to be reckoned with. If they can’t appreciate you, then they can screw off.”
She straightened at that, smoothing her dress down. “You know what? You’re right. Let’s do this,” she said, hooking her arm through Julian’s, heading straight into the lion’s den.
Thankfully, Simone was their first encounter, waiting with a little squeal and a tight hug for Amalie.
“Simone, you look stunning.” Amalie brightened as they broke apart, her eyes scanning her sister’s lithe frame clad in a gorgeous red dress with a lace bodice.
Simone flapped a hand at her. “Not next to you. Oh, Maxwell is going to eat his little shriveled-up heart out tonight.”
This earned a startled laugh from Julian, and Simone’s attention zeroed in on him like a hawk. She raised an eyebrow at Amalie and then beamed at Julian as she extended her hand. “I’m Simone, Amalie’s extremely rude and boorish sister. Forgive me for unintentionally ignoring you, but as you can see, my sister is quite the goddess and I was distracted.”
Julian shook Simone’s hand with a smile that took Amalie’s breath away. It wasn’t fair for someone to look that good. Almost as if she knew what was going on inside Amalie’s head, Simone shot her a quick wink.
“Julian Smoke. Nice to meet you, Simone. I’ve heard a lot about Amalie’s infamous sister, so it’s nice to finally meet you in the flesh.” Amalie turned to him, awestruck. Sometimes she forgot he wasn’t always a caveman and that he’d had to schmooze during his days on the pro tennis circuit.
“Likewise, Julian. My sister talks about you all the time, and I have to tell you that we both think what you’re doing is incredible.” Simone’s voice was soft.
Julian hitched his shoulders in a quick shrug, and his mouth kicked up as he said, “Thank you,” although his eyes never left Amalie’s. She knew she should look away, but she just couldn’t.
“So Julian, I simply must ask, don’t you think Amalie is the most gorgeous girl at this party?” Simone spun her hand in an airy motion about the room.
Amalie did everything she could to suppress her groan while telepathically willing Simone to shut her mouth. Julian’s gaze raked up and down her body in a sensual caress, hovering in certain places a little longer than others, setting her flesh ablaze. His lips twisted in that sexy grin that often signaled he was up to something. “Amalie’s always the most beautiful woman in the room.”
While Simone looked entirely too pleased with herself, Amalie’s heart thrummed in a quick, thunderous beat that echoed all the way into her ears. The pull between her and Julian was strung so tightly that she could almost reach her hand out and strum it with her fingers.
Simone’s sudden laugh broke the tension. “Oh, I like this guy, Amalie.”
Just as she was about to say something else, one of the caterers approached, stress lining his brow. “Mrs. Lennox? There seems to be a bit of an emergency regarding the crab puffs. Could we perhaps get your approval on something else?”
Simone nodded good-naturedly. “Of course. I’ll be there in just a moment.” After the caterer disappeared, Simone turned back to Amalie and Julian. “There are bigger issues in the world, yet this is considered an emergency.” She shook her head. “I hope to catch you both again tonight, and Julian, it was wonderful to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Julian answered smoothly.
With that, Simone kissed Amalie on the cheek and disappeared into a sea of glittering diamonds.
“Well now, there’s not much else for us to do besides hit the dance floor,” Amalie said. “Tell me, Smoke, do you dance?” She playfully hip-checked him.
His gaze darkened instantly. He watched her with a predatory, hot-blooded stare that should’ve sent her running. Instead, it woke places that had lain dormant for far too long. She felt alive for the first time in years. The revelation had her fingers itching to reach out and touch him.
“I dance as well as I play tennis,” he answered, his voice huskier than before.
Julian extended his elbow, and her stomach swooped as she linked her arm through his. She felt all kinds of eyes on them as they made their way through the crowd. Julian was a beautiful specimen of a man, and she wasn’t surprised people were studying him like a walking piece of art.
The dance floor was exactly where she’d anticipated—housed in a white tent in the backyard, filled with fancy heaters to offset the early spring chill. It felt like they were making the climb to Everest with how long it was taking them to reach it. Just as Amalie saw the band and tasted sweet victory, Satan’s spawn and his over-enunciated words caused her to freeze in her tracks.
“Amalie? Is that you?” Maxwell asked, derision obvious in his tone.
Julian’s hand tightened at her waist, his body moving closer to hers almost as if to shield her from a threat.
Maxwell’s voice was so completely opposite of Julian’s. There was nothing decadent or sexy about it.
Amalie tensed, hearing the words he’d hurled at her the night she realized just how toxic he really was—that she’d only made the bestseller list because of who her daddy was, that she was a nobody and wasn’t cut out for writing. Slowly she and Julian faced Maxwell the third, or as they both had started referring to him, Maxwell the Douche.
Julian’s lips tipped into a wry grin. Maxwell wasn’t an ugly guy, but standing next to Julian he looked like a hobbit. He had muddy brown eyes that rarely expressed an emotion other than greed. His wheat-colored hair was short a
nd spiked up all over the place, doing nothing to hide his receding hairline. His lips were too thin, his face too babyish, his body too beanpole. On Maxwell’s arm was an orange girl with platinum blonde hair that was so big—like 1980’s beauty queen contestant big—that Amalie was in awe of whatever brand of hairspray the girl used. But Amalie’s eyes didn’t linger there for long as her gaze dropped to the girl’s perfectly manicured talons that were digging into Maxwell’s arm.
“Who else would it be?” Amalie asked.
Julian drew her even closer. Being this near to him was intoxicating. To make matters worse, his thumb began brushing soft circles on her waist. She had never loved a backless dress more than she did right then.
Call it temporary insanity, but she gave in to the charade. She swung her arm around Julian’s narrow waist and gripped his jacket.
Maxwell watched their interaction with disdain, his lip curled into a sneer. Of course, he did the insecure posturing thing and ran his eyes over Julian, sizing him up before speaking again. “This must be the tennis player who can’t cut it and needs your dad to float him, just like Andrew did for you all those years ago.”
He might as well have said, “This is the dog shit on my shoe.” It would’ve sounded the same.
Julian, despite his extreme ego, let it roll right off him. But Amalie was not about to do the same. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she said, “but he’s a legit contender for the US Open. I’m writing a book about his comeback.” She shot Julian a winning smile to punctuate her point.
Maxwell, who always did have a low-key tendency to be smarmy, coughed out a little mirthless laugh into his fist. “Oh, right. This is that last little project that I’ve been hearing about at the country club. The one that’s going to be your wake-up call to join the rest of us in the real world.”
Oh hell no. Amalie was about to let him have it, but Julian shifted the slightest bit, his touch becoming more possessive. “This is the clown you wasted all those years on?” He gave Maxwell a go to hell look and then squeezed her hip. “You are way too good for him, Amalie. Come on, babe. Let’s dance.”
The astonished expression on Maxwell’s face was absolutely priceless.
As she let Julian lead her toward the dance floor, Amalie touched her lips, surprised at the smile she found stretched there. It had been so long since she had someone on her side, and it felt good.
The dance floor was dimly lit, and a band played in the far corner. As if on cue, a stunning instrumental version of one of Amalie’s favorite songs, “The Very Thought of You” by Billie Holiday, began to play. It was a weird movie-moment coincidence, but then her eyes darted to the band in time to see Simone wink and then disappear. That explained it.
“Thank you for having my back,” Amalie whispered as Julian wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
“I’m willing to have your front, too, if you’re ever interested.” The left side of his sulky lips tipped higher, revealing his dimple, making him look even more sinful.
“Julian!” she squeaked before resting her head on his chest to hide her flaming face. His words stirred something inside her, and she was dangerously close to just letting him have at it. So, so close. Somehow, she managed to say, “That is not what friends do.”
She lifted her head in time to see Julian’s lips tilt as he swallowed. “Some do.” His eyes smoldered, his pupils wide and full of desire. “That Maxwell guy?” he said by way of subject change as he shook his head. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to knock the shit out of him. What did you ever see in that guy? You’re, well, you’re you, and he’s an asshole who wouldn’t even begin to know how to make you happy.”
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she tightened her grip around his neck in an effort to keep her hands from running through his hair. She wanted to blurt out, “Would you know how to make me happy?” Instead, she asked him, “What do you mean I’m me?”
His fingers gently traced a line down her cheek. “I think you know what I meant by that,” he said, the hand still around her waist pressing deeper, trembling. Something inside of her came undone as she realized he was nervous.
“Julian.” His name was breathy as she spoke it. She wasn’t sure what her next words were going to be, but she felt certain that at the end of them he would kiss her senseless. She could feel it in the way his eyes caressed her skin, in the tightly coiled tension of his body.
Just as she was about to speak, not caring about the consequences, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. It took everything she had not to unleash a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.
Andrew Warner tapped Julian on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?” His Savannah drawl sliced the moment to ribbons.
Amalie and Julian jumped apart like guilty teenagers. Irritation pricked at her as she gave her father a bored look, her tone matching as she said, “Dad.” Seeing that he wasn’t going anywhere, she released a heavy sigh. “Maybe we ought to talk off the dance floor.”
Not waiting for either man to follow, she deftly maneuvered through the crowd, but not before grabbing a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Then she stupidly showed her cards as she came to a halt, taking a long, loud gulp.
“I had to come over and meet my investment,” Andrew said, sizing Julian up before shoving a hand toward him. “Andrew Warner. Nice to finally meet you, my boy.”
Amalie nearly choked on her drink. She wasn’t offended that he hadn’t come over to see her. No, she was used to being an afterthought. It was the fact that he’d belittled Julian. An investment? Boy? Her blood boiled as she watched the two. She wanted to snap, but somehow she held herself together, and God bless Julian for being more collected than she could ever be.
Andrew clapped Julian on the back and added, “You were great at Georgia. Three national championships? Unheard of.”
Julian muttered an embarrassed, “Thanks.”
“You know I’m an alumnus there. I’ve been paying for you for a while. You know I always contribute—obviously, I still am.”
Amalie couldn’t even make herself look at Julian. No wonder he’d called her “rich girl” with such venom.
“Um, that’s an inappropriate thing to say, Dad.” The words were awkward and stilted, but they were out there.
Andrew’s shrewd gaze zeroed in on her. “Oh, Amalie, come now and grow up. Everything boils down to money, and if I recall, you wouldn’t be on this little adventure if it weren’t for my money.”
The mortification from earlier grew while Julian’s discomfort showed as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, his shoulders taut.
“My daughter here is different, Julian. I tried to tell her to get a real job and quit this silly writing thing. If she was writing the great American novel, fine. But let’s face it, she’s not. All I want is for her to be taken care of, to have security like her sister. My Simone”—he lifted his hand to where Simone stood, chatting up an old couple in the corner—“travels the world doing advertising for Warner Hotels.”
Knife to the heart, twist, and turn. It was almost an audible sound, the squelch of her heart being ripped to shreds by the man who was supposed to always protect it, to protect her.
Hot tears stung behind Amalie’s eyes, but she refused to cry. Julian’s hand suddenly wrapped around hers, his fingers easily lacing through her own, his touch calming the dizzying nausea washing over her. When she dragged her humiliated stare to meet his, she recoiled before drawing closer. The anger in his eyes was beyond anything she’d ever seen on or off the court.
His voice came out just short of a polite growl. “With all due respect, Mr. Warner, you’re being an asshole, not only to me but most importantly to your daughter.” He squeezed Amalie’s hand in emphasis.
Her lips parted in surprise. No one ever spoke back to Andrew Warner, inside or outside of the board room.
“She’s a brilliant writer and an even better person,” Julian continued, “and I expect
her to be treated as such. Oh, and by the way, I’m not your fucking investment, and I’m not your boy. Come on, Amalie.” Julian led her around her father without a backward glance, maneuvering them through the tent and outside to the brick pathway that led to the front yard. They didn’t stop until they reached the sidewalk, where Julian’s car was parked.
Moonlight painted the hardened angles of his face in an ethereal silver glow. Amalie honestly would’ve studied him the entire evening, cataloging his striking features in her memory, the twitch and pop of his steely jaw, the pull of his dark, arched brows over eyes that begged for something—a word, a glance, anything from her. Then the reality of what just happened and what it could’ve cost them doused her like a bucket of ice water, her earlier lust replaced by her blood crackling in her ears. Andrew Warner was a force to be reckoned with, and he was their meal ticket.
A meal ticket Julian just pissed off.
“What did you just do?” She disentangled herself from Julian’s reassuring touch, ignoring how cold and alone she suddenly felt without it. He’d gotten in her head tonight—the magic of the party, his body in a tux, his overwhelming good looks—everything had her all messed up and beyond confused. “You probably just cost us everything.”
A grim laugh tumbled from his mouth as he cocked an eyebrow. “So you wanted me to stand there and let your father degrade you? Better yet, why didn’t you stand up to him? You’re fiery as hell with everyone else.”
She straightened her spine, shocked it was still a firm row of bones given that he was right. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think I do.”
Amalie lifted her chin. “How could you know? You, the man who’s afraid to talk about his past? It’s like you’re so busy being weighed down by it that you can’t even look toward your future, something that could bring us both down if you’re not careful.”
Julian reeled and Amalie wanted to cram those words back into her mouth, but it was too late. Besides, she’d meant them, hadn’t she?
Painting the Lines: A Hot Romantic Comedy (Ace of Hearts Book 1) Page 12