Page 47 of Angel Eyes

“I know, dammit, I know it. Come for me, angel. Let me have it.” No sooner had I said the words than she shuddered, jerking her hips and choking on a broken cry that sent me right over the edge after her. “Oh fuck, Juliet.”

White stars dotted my vision as the warmth of our combined releases spilled across my abdomen. The sound of our labored breaths echoed in my ears as a tangy scent filled the air. She collapsed on top of me, burying her face in my neck, and I folded my arms around her, tangling a hand in her hair as I whispered her name, over and over again like a prayer.

Juliet stirred from her sleep sometime later, opening one bleary eye and peering up at me.

“Hi there.” I pressed my lips against her temple.

“Hi,” she said, her gaze shifting to the blanket I had draped over us.

The sun was setting now, the final rays of daylight pouring in beneath the shade covering the window, and she nuzzled my chest as I buried my nose in her hair.

God, I could get used to this.

After she had fallen asleep, I had lain awake, just watching her and thinking about things I shouldn’t. About spending future afternoons on this couch with her or lying in bed together. About how my sheets would smell like her after she left and how I would miss her until she was in them again. About texting her every morning and every night and every hour in between.

I thought of other things, too, of things that seemed more intimate. Of her sitting at my desk writing while I painted. Of meeting up with her after she finished classes for the day. Of taking a trip to the countryside, adopting a dog, picking dinnerware sets, and a whole host of other things that went far beyond the bounds of friendship.

Speaking of …

“Juliet, tell me something. Do you really want to be just friends?” There was no way she could deny we had a connection when every time we touched it felt like electricity dancing between us. She sat up, pulling the blanket up over her body, her eyes downcast. “Look at me.”

Look at me and tell me you don’t feel this between us.

Her gaze flicked to mine, and an emotion I couldn’t decipher passed behind her eyes. “Yes, I think it would be best, don’t you?”

No. I did not think it would be best.

“I think,” I said, schooling my expression, “I want to do whatever makes you happy.” Even if the thought of being just friends with her after this felt like a knife twisting in my gut. Still, if being friends was all that was on the table, then I would give her that.

At this point, I would probably give her anything.

“Can you at least tell me why?”

She looked down at her hands as she toyed with the edge of the blanket. “I have to focus on why I came to Paris in the first place, you know? This creative writing program is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and now I might even have a shot at publication. It’s unlikely I’ll ever get another chance like this, and I … I can’t afford to get distracted.”

I stared at her, her words punching the air from my lungs.

Well, I asked, didn’t I? And she was right. If anyone understood the importance of not letting anything stand in the way of one’s art, it was me.

“Got it. Friends then?”

She nodded without looking at me, reaching for her dress, and I searched for my own clothes, ignoring the pit in my stomach. Friends. I snuck another glance in her direction, watching her mussed hair fall across her face, the muted light from the window casting her in a faint glow.

Absolutely stunning.

I didn’t know how it happened, but Juliet, with her sweet smiles and sweaters, had become a fixture in my life, filling it with a light I hadn’t known was missing. And even though this thing between us could never be permanent, I wasn’t ready to let her go yet.

I glanced at her again, and in a twist of cruel irony, she chose that moment to drop the blanket, giving me a glimpse of her lovely tits as she lifted her dress over her head.

I swallowed a groan.

Yeah, I could be her friend—so long as keeping my hands off her didn’t kill me first.

Seventeen

Juliet

“He has an art gallery? Holy—”

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