Forbidden Touch

Chapter3

Nora



"Arthur and Eleanor left early for a real estate summit in the city," Julian said, taking a sip from his black coffee. "Which leaves me to handle your schedule for the day."

"My schedule?" I looked at him, resting my hands in my lap to hide the slight tremor in my fingers. "I have a ride coming. I called an Uber five minutes ago."

Julian set his cup down with a light, solid clink. He turned his body toward me, resting one broad arm over the back of my chair. The movement brought him so close I could see the tiny flecks of gold hidden in his murky eyes, and I could smell the sharp, intoxicating scent of his cologne.

"Cancel it," he said softly.

"What?"

"Cancel the ride, Nora," he repeated, his thumb lightly tracing the wood grain of my chair, inches from my bare shoulder. "You are not taking rideshares with strangers while you live here. I will drive you to the university campus myself, and I will pick you up when your studio session ends at four."

A spike of heat flared in my chest half anger, half an embarrassing, dangerous thrill at being spoken to with such absolute dominance. "Julian, I'm twenty-two years old. You are my step-uncle, not my guardian. I don't need you controlling my transportation."

Julian didn't flinch. He leaned in closer, his shadow falling completely over me, pushing me back against the leather cushion. The sheer physical presence of him was overwhelming, suffocating every rational thought in my head.

"It isn't about guardianship, Nora," he whispered, his deep voice carrying a velvet edge that made my breath catch in my throat. "It’s about control. As long as you are under my roof, wearing clothes bought with Vance money, sleeping in my family's house... you will follow my rules. Is that clear?"

My chest heaved, my pulse racing so fast I could hear it ringing in my ears. I stared into his eyes, searching for a sign that he was joking, but there was only a cold, unyielding wall of possession.

"And if I say no?" I whispered, challenging him despite the violent fluttering in my core.

Julian reached out, his long fingers wrapping around my chin. His touch was firm, warm, and possessive, holding my face tilted up toward his. His thumb brushed slowly across my lower lip, pressing just hard enough to part my breath. For a fraction of a second, I want him to take me upstairs and f**k me with this level of authority and dominance.

"You won't say no," he murmured, his thumb trailing down the column of my throat, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "Because you like the boundary just as much as I do."

Before I could process the electric shock of his words, his phone buzzed sharply on the table.

Julian didn't break eye contact for a full three seconds. Then, slowly, he released my throat, picked up the phone, and tapped the screen.

"Speak," he said into the receiver, his voice reverting instantly to his cold, professional tone.

He listened for a moment, his eyes fixed on mine. Suddenly, his brow furrowed, his jaw tightening into a hard, rigid line. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly from suffocating tension to ice-cold danger.

"Say that again," Julian commanded the caller, his voice dangerously low. He stood up, turning away from me as he looked out the massive dining room window toward the main gate. "Where was the car seen?"

He went dead silent, listening to the response. I watched as his free hand clenched into a tight fist at his side, the knuckles turning stark white.

"Lock down the estate perimeter immediately," Julian ordered, his voice laced with a dark, lethal edge I had never heard before. "Nobody enters or leaves this property without my personal authorization. Not even my brother."

He ended the call and turned back to me. The heavy, sensual aura from seconds ago was gone, replaced by a cold, hunting focus that made my blood run cold.

"Get your bag, Nora," he said quietly, grabbing his keys off the table. "We're leaving right now and you are not leaving my sight today."

My fingers trembled as I reached for my canvas tote bag on the adjoining chair, my brain struggling to catch up with the sudden shift in the air. Seconds ago, Julian’s thumb had been tracing the contour of my throat, leaving a wake of liquid heat beneath my skin. Now, he stood like a tall, immovable statue against the morning light, his posture rigid and his jaw set so tightly the muscle leaped beneath his shadowed skin.

Julian," I said, my voice barely louder than a whisper as I pushed my chair back. The scrape of wood on carpet sounded sharp in the sudden, heavy silence. "What’s happening? Who was on the phone?"

He didn't answer immediately. He tucked his smartphone into the inner pocket of his suit jacket with a quick, practiced motion and swept his eyes over me, not with the dark, lingering hunger from moments before, but with a sharp, tactical scrutiny.

Nothing for you to worry about," he said quietly, his tone flat, even, and infuriatingly dismissive. He reached out, taking my wrist in a firm, warm grip that left no room for protest, and pulled me toward the dining room doors. "Come."

Don't tell me it's nothing when you just ordered a total lockdown of the estate," I snapped, trying to pull back against his weight as we crossed the entry into the broad, echoing hallway. My bare heels clicked against the hardwood, my heart hammering against my ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. "I heard you. You told them nobody leaves."

Julian didn't slow his pace. His stride was long, effortless, and commanding, forcing me to take double steps just to keep up with him. He led me through the marble threshold toward the side exit that led directly into the underground four-car garage.

"I said nobody enters or leaves without my authorization," he corrected softly, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made my skin prickle with heat despite the sudden cold draught of the stairwell. He paused at the door of the garage, turning to face me.

His body blocked the narrow doorway completely, trapping me between the cool plaster wall and the broad, solid expanse of his chest. He was so close I could smell the distinct, heady mixture of black coffee, fine leather, and cedar lingering on his skin.

"Which means," he murmured, leaning down until his lips were inches from the shell of my ear, his hand sliding up from my wrist to cup the soft skin of my upper arm, "you leave with me, or you stay locked in your room until I return. Choose."