Forbidden Touch

Chapter 2

Nora

"...she’s young, Julian. Let her breathe," Arthur was saying, the sound of ice clinking in a glass following his words. "She just finished her undergraduate degree. Give her time to adjust."

"Adjusting is fine," Julian’s low baritone answered, cutting through the space with absolute authority. "Living without an understanding of how this household operates is another matter entirely. This isn't a boarding house, Arthur. If she is living under this roof, she needs to understand boundaries, discipline, and expectations."

"She’s an artist, Julian, not one of your construction site managers," Arthur said with a faint laugh. "Stop treating her like an associate."

I took a step back, my cheeks burning with a mixture of embarrassment and indignation. But as I shifted my weight, my heel caught the edge of a heavy bronze pedestal holding a marble vase. The metal scraped harshly against the floor with a loud, ringing sound that shattered the silence of the hall.

"Who's out there?" Julian’s command was immediate, sharp as a whip.

My heart climbed into my throat. Before I could turn and retreat into the shadows, the doors swung wide open, and Julian stepped directly into the hallway.

Without his suit jacket, his dark shirt unbuttoned three buttons down and his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, he looked even more imposing. The faint light caught the corded muscle of his forearms and the sharp edge of his jawline. His gaze slashed through the darkness, finding me instantly.

His eyes didn't stay on my face. They dropped slowly, taking in my bare shoulders, the thin silk of my camisole rising and falling with my rapid breaths, and the bare skin of my feet against the dark wood. A slow, heavy stillness settled in his eyes, darkening the steel gray into something dense, dangerous, and thick with unspoken intent.

"Nora," he said softly, taking one slow, deliberate step toward me. The scent of dark tobacco, cedarwood, and rain-soaked air drifted off him, enveloping my senses. "Eavesdropping?"

"I was going to the kitchen," I said, holding my ground despite the sudden, dizzying wave of heat pooling in my lower stomach. "I didn't mean to interrupt your meeting."

He continued forward until he was standing less than a foot away. He was tall enough that I had to tilt my head back to look him in the eyes. Up close, his aura was suffocating a wall of heat and dark control that made every nerve ending in my body scream in warning.

"If you need something in this house, Nora, you don't wander through the halls in the dark," he murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrated through the small space between us. "You come to me. Do you understand?"

I swallowed hard, my skin tingling where his gaze rested on the hollow of my throat. "I don't need to trouble you for a glass of water, Julian."

His eyes snapped back up to mine, dark and unblinking. "Everything that happens under this roof concerns me. Remember that." What do you mean everything that happens in this house concerns you? I thought to myself not daring to ask him that.

Breakfast was served at precisely seven-thirty in the formal dining room. When I walked down, dressed in a tailored cream knit sweater and a dark fitted skirt for my first orientation meeting at the university studio, I expected to see my mother and Arthur.

Instead, Julian sat alone at the head of the long table.

A thick leather binder and several architectural blueprints were spread across the wood beside him. He wore a sharp, midnight-blue suit, looking impeccably put-together, without a single trace of the late-night intensity from the hallway.

"Good morning," I said, pausing near the entryway.

Julian didn't look up immediately. He finished marking a measurement on a draft with a fountain pen, capped it with a deliberate click, and then raised his head. His gaze dragged slowly from the hem of my skirt, up the line of my waist, to my eyes.

"Sit," he commanded softly, gesturing not to the far end of the long table, but to the single chair positioned directly to his right.

"I can sit over.

"Nora," he cut in, his tone smooth, quiet, and absolutely non-negotiable. "Sit down."

My teeth clicked together, but my body moved before my mind could mount a proper protest. I walked over and pulled out the heavy chair beside him. The faint warmth of his body heat radiated off his side, a constant, silent reminder of how close he was. A maid silently poured my coffee, set down a plate of fresh fruit, and retreated, pulling the doors closed behind her.

We were entirely alone.