Chapter 5 - The Ruin of a Tailored Suit
Julian did not offer a hand.
He knew the sudden movement would only make her shrink further.
Instead, he looked at his own impeccably tailored trousers.
Then, he bent his knees.
He dropped straight down, letting the expensive black wool of his suit drag directly against the wet, cold marble floor.
He knelt.
He surrendered his height, his authority, and his pristine appearance in one fluid motion.
He brought his face exactly level with hers.
He was close enough to smell the faint trace of lavender soap on her skin, buried under the sharp, sour scent of pure adrenaline and fear.
His dark eyes mapped the geography of her face.
He saw the frantic pulse beating wildly at the base of her throat.
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He saw the way her fingernails were digging half-moons into her own arm to keep the uniform closed.
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