Star-Crossed(16)

That was very true. Wyatt and Romeo had been a little too vocal about hating each other. Jules getting caught on this date, especially after the national news making drama of this morning’s shoot out that Romeo was smack-dab in the middle of, was a little too newsworthy, and Jules should’ve considered it.

“I’ll meet you there,” Jules agreed when Romeo tossed his napkin on the table and stood. He walked past her, and Jules couldn’t help but reach out and grab his wrist. She looked up at him imploringly. “You’re not a dirty secret. Ya know that, right?” He gave her an amused smirk. “Yes, I am.”

Jules let go of his wrist and winced, hating to admit he was right. “Shit.”

“Hey.” Romeo reached out and cupped Jules’s chin. “I get it. Don’t worry about it.”

Jules took a shuddering breath because his touch felt so good. He shocked her by rubbing his thumb over the curve of her bottom lip. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she 42



moaned just from the simple caress. Unable to help the indulgence, she licked at the rough pad of his thumb, savoring just that hint of a taste of him.

“Jesus,” Romeo groaned.

Jules opened her eyes, giving him a look that must have conveyed exactly how she felt—pent up and pulsing with a raw sexuality that left her aching for something wild and raw and hard in a way few would understand.

Romeo slammed his other hand against the table, heedless of the bandage and fresh stitches beneath it as he leaned heavily into her. It’d be so easy to run her hands over his beautiful body. To push aside his suit jacket and pull open the buttons to his expensive silk shirt.

Jules wasn’t the only one fighting for sanity. If anything, Romeo was worse off, and she shoved at his stomach before they caused a scene. She brushed her fingers against the ridges of hard, abdominal muscles hidden beneath his shirt as she rasped,

“Go.”

Romeo’s hand slid to the back of her neck, his thumb caressing the curve of her throat. “I’m gonna make it good for you, Juliet.”

“I know,” she whispered, still fighting the unexpected tidal wave of passion that had welled up between them. She couldn’t even be bothered to correct him about her name; she was too far gone to do anything more than push halfheartedly at his stomach once more. “Go now, Romeo.”

He left, and Jules felt bereft the moment he did. She resisted the urge to watch him go and admire that powerful, dangerous body in the sexiest suit she’d ever seen.

Instead she found herself looking to the other tables. She hadn’t noticed anyone but Romeo until he left. Now she saw the eyes again, some that stared at her, more that followed Romeo as he made his way out of the restaurant. He was a little too handsome, a lot too huge, and far, far too recognizable.

They’d just made a scene with tabloid reporters and major media outlets crawling in every corner of this hotel. It’d be a minor miracle if Jules escaped without being

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exposed for the lapse, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care too much. Not when her body was vibrating with this much sexual energy. She hadn’t felt this alive, this desperate for something outside the ordinary that’d been her life for so long. She didn’t even hesitate to raise her hand when she spied their waitress at the next table over.

When the young waitress walked over, ready to serve, all Jules had to say to her was, “Check, please.”

Then Jules sat there, skin tingling with need, her heart beating the hell out of her ribs because she’d done it. She’d voiced her thoughts out loud, and Romeo responded without hesitation when most men would have been put off by her forward, aggressive nature.

She was a strong, independent woman who didn’t see anything wrong with a hot, steamy sexual encounter between two consenting adults. It was nice to meet a man who didn’t make her feel like less of a woman for enjoying a little casual sex when the opportunity arose, which, granted, was next to never, but that was beside the point.

She’d been the aggressor, and he’d been okay with it. In fact, Romeo almost seemed to enjoy it.

She smiled as she searched through her purse for her credit card, thinking maybe she needed to start visiting New York if this was the type of men they had to offer. A man who didn’t mind being an equal with a woman, who was fine with Jules having a successful career and her own checking account and a sex drive she didn’t have to be ashamed of.

“Ma’am.”

Jules turned to look at the waitress, credit card in hand. “Yes.”

“The gentleman you were with already paid the bill.”

“What?” Jules frowned. “But—”