It's Never Easy - Boudreaux Universe

“I’m sorry, I just don’t want to jeopardize our work relationship.” He looks away, his gaze focused on the garden instead of me, and suddenly, I feel the need to be alone.

“I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed,” I tell him as I push off the bench and make my way to the door. I can’t allow him to see how disappointed I am, so I don’t look his way when I say, “Goodnight, Julian.” I don’t wait for him to respond. Inside, I set my glass in the sink and make my way to the bedroom, shutting myself inside and leaning against the door. Looking up at the ceiling, I focus my teary gaze on the patterns in the white paint and wonder just how I got to this place.

Yes, I enjoyed tonight’s event, but what I loved more was the feel of his warm lips on mine. I shiver when I recall how his hands felt on my skin— his touch scorching me from the inside out. And I know I’ll never be able to be near him again.I’m woken by the clattering of crockery in the kitchen. Groaning, I reach for my cell phone and check the time. It’s not even seven in the morning. What the hell is Julian doing? There is no way he’s awake and making breakfast. I decide to cover myself with the blanket, trying to ignore the noise coming from down the hall, but when I hear something shatter and a curse word floating toward me, I’m up and on my feet in seconds.

When I reach the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight. Julian’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants splattered with color. They hang so low on his hips I can see the V pointing into the waistband as well as a dark line of hair disappearing from view.

He’s shirtless, and the sight of his sculpted torso has my body clenching involuntarily. He’s cursing up a storm as he runs his fingers through his hair. Tanned skin, dips and peaks, and a delicious set of shoulders have me moving in a daze toward him, and that’s when I spit out my own, “Fuck.”

Blood drips from my foot the moment I lift it, and I realize I’ve stepped on a piece of broken glass.

“Shit,” Julian curses once more, moving toward me with a tea towel. He scoops me into his strong arms, and I can’t deny, besides the pain, desire swirls low in my stomach. “I’m so fucking sorry.” He’s talking, but he’s not looking at me.

He sets me on a kitchen stool and drops to his knees before me. Lifting my foot, he positions it on his thigh as he works the shard free and presses the tea towel to the cut.

The way he works on my foot—tenderly and gently—has my mind forgetting the pain shooting through my foot as he cleans the wound. Once Julian has bandaged it, he sets my leg down and rises. We’re so close I can feel the heat of his skin on mine. I’m not even touching him, yet I’m burning up.

Tipping my head back, I glance up to meet his hungry gaze. I want to say something, to tell him I want this, that I don’t care about anything else right now, but I can’t form the words.

He reaches for my chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, which forces me to look directly at him. I can’t turn away. I’m fucking mesmerized by him.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry. That fucking glass slipped out of my hand.”

“I am. I mean, you did a good job cleaning it up,” I tell him. A smile graces my lips, and in turn, he grins as well. There’s that stupid smile. The one that makes me want to kiss him.

“Good. This is why I don’t cook. I was trying to make you some breakfast.” The air in the room is stifling. Tension hangs heavily between us. The need coursing through me steals my breath when Julian leans in, but he doesn’t kiss me.

“Thank you.” My mumbled words form more heat between us, and I feel dizzy from the scent of his cologne, along with the smell of his skin so close to mine. I want to reach out and touch him, to feel his mouth on mine. But I wait for him to make the first move.

His lips inches from mine . . . brushing gently over my mouth to the corner where he finally presses a quick kiss before he steps back, releasing me.Chapter 16JulianI pulled back, and the expression on her face shows it may not be the best idea I’ve had. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. I’ve never been so unsure around a woman before. I don’t have many one-night stands, but I’ve always been confident. Nea does something to me, something I can’t explain. She makes me feel like a teenager again; young, free of responsibilities.