Page 73 of Goldsin

I feel my neck up to my cheeks heating. I’m blushing undeniably at his words, the red in perfect contrast to my pale complexion.

I hate how easily he can affect me. With just a few sweet words he gets my body responding to him.

“Wish I could join you tonight. Nothing like a good kill to get the blood pumping, right?” he adds, a lopsided smile stretching his lips.

I try to ignore the piercing heat on my skin, reminding me—no, remindinghim—of how pliable I am at his meager compliments.

“Focus. You have your own business to take care of.” I twist and turn, checking to make sure the dress is ready to be worn outside.

Am I telling him to focus, or myself?

“True, but it doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the view.”

My gaze flicks to his through the mirror, and I catch his eyes roaming the length of me. Slowly. Torturously.

Shaking off the effects, I slip on my shiny black pumps fromAmina Mauddi. They’re Eleanora’s. I wore them once and thenforgotto give them back ... But all things considered, that’s what best friends are for, right?

Four days have passed since our bathroom encounter. I expected Julian to go running to his father, or better yet, to kill me with his bare hands. Instead he’s been the most helpful.

He arranged tonight’sevent.Being my eyes and ears, he managed to find out where Marcus was having dinner. The guy’s a busy man, and with only a week for me to do what I need to do, it’s been hard to find a free slot in his agenda.

8 p.m. sharp. Table reserved for two at Sulawesi Spice down in Pioneer Square.

He’s going there with some colleagues. And all I have to do is kill him.

Sounds laughably simple, if you take away the sixty reserved tables and the staff. Oh, and his bodyguards, of course.

Arranging my hair, I style it in a half-updo, leaving two pieces to frame the light makeup around my eyes. I’m smoothing down some rebellious strands with gel when I hear the mattress dip.

Standing from the bed, Julian joins me by the mirror. “Put this on,” he murmurs.

Our eyes meet in the reflection. Before his usual cocky grin can stretch those soft lips, something vulnerable flashes behind his cold eyes. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone.

“It’s perfect for Sulawesi Spice. Trust me, you’ll haveevery man’s eyes on you ... including Marcus Whitman’s.”

He hands me the dress. Our fingers brush together, and I try not to show the surge of emotion that courses through my body at the touch.

My fingers run smoothly over the black bodice of lace, down to the long satin skirt. I peek inside at the tag, and when I read“Alessandra Rich”I eye Julian skeptically.

“I gather this wasn’t just lying around your room, was it?”

“Are you implying I don’t have girls leaving things for me to find?”

I cross my arms. “A whole dress? What, did they leave your room naked?”

“And satisfied,” the asshole adds.

I push the dress back at him. “I can’t accept this.” Turning to face the mirror, I give him my back.

“Aurelia,” he murmurs down my neck. “Accept the gift.”

“No, thank you.” I lift my chin.

“Stefanie will be very hurt when she hears about this,” he pushes, knowing exactly what to say.

“Stefanie?” I can’t control the way my voice pinches. “You went to her? Why?”

Stefanie is Lady Harrow’s private stylist.

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