8
26 February
Xavier Hall
Juliana selected her outfit with care. It was a hard line to toe. Something sexy, but not revealing. She, who considered herself a good stylist, sat, staring at the different options for too long. Finally, she selected a satin camisole and shorts. It was as naked as she could be while feeling like she had armor in place.
At five in the morning, she slipped down the hall toward Rowan’s room. The manor house was quiet around her and spooky in its slumber. When she finally reached her destination, she was relieved to have arrived. Rowan met her at the door, and they walked to his bedroom without exchanging any words.
He leaned his crutches against the wall and sat on the bed. He reached down and lifted his leg up onto the mattress and leaned back against the pillows with a sigh of relief. He patted the bed next to him, indicating where he wanted her. She had on a pair of fleece pants and a sweatshirt in deference to the drafty building. She glanced down and then back up at Rowan. He noticed her reticence and chuckled but averted his eyes. The sweats hit the floor, and she pulled the top off. Then, she gingerly crawled into bed with Rowan, careful of the brace, careful not to touch any part of his body. She reclined back against the pillows.
“Are you sure this is going to work? Barrington is going to show up this morning?”
Rowan sighed. “He’s like clockwork. He likes to check in every morning with the physical therapist.” Rowan waved his hand. “It’s like a reminder to me to do my rehab, as if I were doing any of this for him.”
Juliana was uncomfortable beside him. Heat radiated from him, and her skin absorbed it. The satin felt heavy on her skin even though there was so little of it. As she lay next to him, it occurred to her that she’d never actually been in bed with a man. Swapping kisses in clubs, yes. But her life hadn’t allowed for anything else. She’d read somewhere that Rowan liked older women. It was one of the reasons she was skeptical about the success of this folly. But she kept her doubts to herself.
Rowan’s hand grabbed her opposite one, and he gently pulled. She turned toward him like a fish on a hook. He placed her hand on his stomach. On her side now, she got an eyeful of him. His shorts sat low on his hips. He was still skinny, for him—the toll of his injury. But it didn’t detract from his presence. Involuntarily, her hand splayed across his belly. Twin sensations of warmth and steel. There was a flash, a thought, of what other parts of his body would feel like that. She flushed and then giggled. Then flushed some more. She wondered if Rowan had picked up on her nervous tic—the inappropriate laughter, the hint of red in her cheeks and underneath her chin.
He nudged her closer and fitted her up against his side, his arm beneath her. The best place for her head was on his shoulder, but she resisted for the longest minute before finally conceding and tucking into him. His scent lured her closer, so she turned her nose into direct contact with his skin.
How can someone who is such a jerk smell so good?
The door clicked open, and even footsteps moved through the room. There was no hesitation, and Juliana could tell Barrington was a frequent visitor. She tensed.
Rowan gripped the hand on his stomach, and he gave a quick squeeze. Steady, it said.
She closed her eyes, like she was taking an impromptu nap, and tried to relax.
When the interior door swung open, Barrington barked out, “You should be up,” before he flicked on the light.
Juliana sat up quickly, pulling the sheet with her. She squinted into the bright lights of the room and peered over to Barrington. The look on his face was almost comical, and she struggled to bank her smile. She shifted the sheet up to cover her mouth and widened her eyes.
“Lord Barrington,” she gasped, like she’d gotten the surprise of her life. Then, she ducked her head in feigned embarrassment.
Rowan shifted and then pushed himself into a sitting position and flung an arm around her. He pulled her head into his shoulder, like he was shielding her from something horrible, but she could see every reaction of Barrington. Instead of speaking, Rowan glared in the direction of his father. Juliana could just make out the tensing of his jaw and the glare before she shifted her glance to Barrington.
“What is going on here, Rowan?” Barrington snapped. But his gaze remained fixed on Juliana huddled in Rowan’s arms. In a rather confused tone, he asked, “Your Highness?” It was equal parts question and demand.
Juliana lifted her head, so her face was completely visible, and there could be no question about who was in bed with his son. She saw the absolute shock before he covered it, and then calculation crept into his gaze. It was something that hadn’t occurred to her, and she briefly wondered if Rowan had given it any thought. She was here to offer an opinion on the pulse of the independence movement. But what if aligning herself with Rowan gave Barrington a way to monitor what was happening on her side of the country? She should have thought about that angle before now.
“I think you need to leave,” Rowan said, his voice so harsh that there was no room for argument.
Barrington looked to Rowan and then back to Juliana before he stepped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.
When he was gone, Rowan gently pushed Juliana away from him. “Round one to us,” he murmured low. In a louder voice, he said, “Let’s get dressed and face the music.”
Juliana nodded. Then, Rowan did something she wasn’t prepared for. He smirked at her and winked.