Violet had braced herself for the impact—ready to hit the pavement hard—when a strong arm caught her mid-fall.
For a moment she froze. The warmth of his palm came through the fabric of her blouse; his scent—clean, dry, with a hint of wood and cologne—filled her head. His arm was firm around her waist, the other steadying her by the forearm.
She looked up—and met Julian’s eyes. Her heart stuttered, a sharp, traitorous thump. With his help she found her balance again, still half leaning against him.
Benny and Polly, clutching the stolen ring, went rigid. The man standing between them and Violet wasn’t just tall—he carried a kind of quiet, heavy presence that made the air feel tighter. His gaze swept over them, sharp and cutting, before turning back to Violet to make sure she was okay.
Po
