Chapter 15 Julia

Ishower and put on makeup, mostly out of habit. I don't care if Gus sees me with or without it. After today he's never going to see me again—with or without makeup, obviously.

After I finish my mascara and blink a few times, I study my reflection in the foggy mirror. No amount of mascara is ever going to alleviate the tension from fighting over something as bizarre as Gus's cum.

I shake my hair out, toying with strands here and there. I'm stalling, I know. I'm putting off the inevitable moment when I have to leave the bathroom and sit downstairs with Gus to wait out the end of this miserable blizzard. Knowing him, he'll spend however long we have left making snide comments about me and gloating about how he banged me—twice.

"Get your shit together," I order myself. "Seriously. Get your shit together, Julia."

Deep breaths. So many deep breaths.

When I exit the bathroom, I discover a crackling fire in the fireplace in my bedroom, surely a gift from Gus—and I hate to admit it's cozy after a shower. Maybe it's a peace offering.

Fuck him.

Gus is in the living room, working on his laptop and listening to music on the record player. I hover in the doorway.

"Is this Elvis?" I finally ask. I don't know the song, but I know Elvis Presley's voice.

"Are you a fan?" Gus replies—his way of telling me I'm right without having to actually say it.

"No, I'm not a middle-aged man," I counter before I head to one of the enormous windows where there's a full view of the spanning land in front of the cabin.

Snow has piled at least two feet high, but the flakes aren't falling now. There's a rush of sunlight peeking through the cloud cover, and it catches the light on the icicles hanging off the porch awning.

It's lovely, honestly.

"Looks like it's warming up," I mention.

He doesn't look up from his laptop. "Yep," he confirms in a clipped tone.

"That means I can leave now." I tap my knuckle on the window.

"Just shovel the driveway, hike six miles out to your abandoned Corolla, and haul it out of a ditch. You'll be all set, Julia."

Glaring, I face him. "You're not going to drive me?" I question, acid building in my voice. "How am I—"

He lets out an extended sigh before he signals over his shoulder to the window behind him. Confused, I move over and peer out—and his driveway has been magically cleared of all snow, and there's a car parked in one of the spaces out front. This time, it's much bigger than my rented Corolla. A Subaru? I can't tell. All I know is it's not a typical billionaire car. This one is clearly equipped to handle snowy, icy roads.

Apparently, he really wants my ass gone.

"Thanks," I murmur, absorbing the easy departure plan. Storm over, contract over—Gus and I are over.

Done.

"Welcome," he replies, murmuring as softly as I did.

I let out an exhale, trying to grapple with the lingering uncertainty. My shoulders tighten and my hands tingle like they're itching to do something. When I glance back at Gus, he's still facing his laptop, but the screen is dark like he hasn't touched it in minutes.

"Well, I guess that's it then." I head to the archway that leads out of the living room. "Thanks for…"

For inviting me into your home? For making me come so hard my eyes watered—twice? For letting me go back to my life without a fuss?

"…for taking advantage of your money and power to sleep with me," I say instead. "It's been real. We'll always have Montana, August."

Finally, he looks up from his screen and his blue eyes cut across the room, glaring hard and dangerously. He looks me over, the steeliness in his expression gradually softening until he responds, "And thank you for being worth my life's work and very existence."

It takes me a moment to realize he just gave me a compliment. A real one. "Seriously?" I question, sort of mocking, but there's genuine curiosity behind my words.

Again, his eyes climb, taking me in like he wouldn't mind having me available for his perusal more often. "So, you did have fun."

Another mind game? Just when I thought we could be civil, he had to be all…well, all Gus about it. "Go suck your own dick," I snap before turning on my heel to leave.

To my surprise, Gus follows me out of the living room and up the stairs. Annoyed, I shoot him a look over my shoulder.

"Wanted one last hungry, lingering look at me, Daddy?" I ask, putting a sway into my hips.

"I hate it when you call me that," he nearly growls—but the way he fixates on my lips makes me wonder if he means it.

"Why does it bother you so much?" My tone is innocent, but we both know I'm needling him.

He snickers. "Because you're obviously desperate for your father to pay attention to you. Like hell am I going to solve your daddy issues."

Bastard. I hate what he said, but letting him know he struck a nerve is only going to prove him right. We reach the top of the stairs and he folds his arms over his broad chest, staring down at me.

I stare right back.

"Are you going to pack?" he finally asks, breaking the silence.

"I am."

"Great."

"Marvelous."

"Christmas come early," he grits before he takes a step forward. He leans in, his face close to mine, and says, "I'm going for a hike. I assume you'll be gone when I get back."

"Great assumption," I retort before I head to my room.

"Unless you want to join me," he calls out.

I stop in my tracks, brow furrowed. Slowly, I rotate and look over my shoulder. I find Gus standing right where I left him, arms still folded, staring at me with trademark focus.

"You want to hike with me?" I don't even bother trying to hide my curiosity—no, confusion. We got into a shouting match first thing in the morning, and now he wants to hike. With me. Right now.

…Is he about to murder me?

"I'm hospitable and Montana is grossly underrated." He curls the corner of his lip upwards into a semblance of a smile. "And I frankly wouldn't mind watching that ass move for a bit longer."

"You're vile." I roll my eyes, but my pulse—my traitorous, skanky pulse—picks up. "You have no right to my ass anymore. Get it out of your head."

"Not my fault you went and showed it off to me," he grumbles lowly before he closes the gap between us. "You went and put that perfect ass in the air and let me kiss it, Julia."

"Whatever."

"I didn't even ask you to," he continues, his words snaking through me. "But you loved it didn't you? You asked for it. You begged for it. I bet a rich girl like you has never begged for anything before."

Restraint fails me and I inhale sharply. Seeing this, he stops with his face close to mine, his mien triumphant.

"You're much easier to rile than I thought you would be," he comments, gaze dropping to my mouth and then back up to meet mine. "Much easier."

"If you think you've gotten under my skin, you're not half as astute as you pretend you are."

"I'm still more astute than most," he responds, not missing a beat—and I'm a sucker for a cocky guy.

I fold my arms, and look him up and down like I'm assessing his body. His physique is to die for—and he knows it. But I can still mess with his head.

"I'll hike with you," I finally decide. "I'm curious to see if you can even make it down the driveway at your age."

"Driveway? I have a trailhead out back."

Of course he does.

"Either way, don't forget your walking stick," I go on. "I'll meet you here in a minute."

I leave before he can respond, my heart now racing with excitement. I was supposed to be back in Boston by now. Hell, I was supposed to be back in Boston a day ago and would normally be taking an impromptu flight to anywhere to get a last-minute trip in before Christmas. I may be in Montana right now, but unpredictability always gives me a rush.

After rifling through my suitcase for anything warm, I opt for the sweater I wore during the flight over and am tugging it over my head when I meet Gus back in the hallway outside my bedroom. When he sees me, a frown rises on his face.

"You can't wear that," he informs me flatly, gaze sharp.

"Why not?"

"Because you're going to freeze, Boston. This isn't a cozy New England winter, where you can pop into a Starbucks when your cheeks turn pink. We're in the wilderness. I need you in layers."

His unprecedented concern makes me scoff. "Thought you preferred me naked."

"Shockingly, I prefer you alive and not frostbitten. Here." He dips into his room and returns with a heavy flannel shirt. "Put that over."

"I am not wearing your clothes," I protest, holding the shirt at arm's length.

"And yet you've spent hours with my cum on you."

"Ugh, you're disgusting." But I put the shirt on anyway. Immediately, his smell consumes me: masculine and piney like the rest of the cabin, but clean and comforting all at once.

I hate how inexplicably safe the smell makes me feel.

We stop to put on our boots, jackets, hats, etcetera before Gus leads me out to the back of the property where forest meets cabin. Sure enough, there's a trailhead that leads into the tree line.

The hike starts out easy enough. There's snow on the trail, but the dense tree cover has caught most of it.

We're silent, the cold too pronounced for us to make conversation. We don't need it though. Even in silence, there's an inexplicable comfort between us—like we both needed a walk after our fight. The frigid, fresh air erases tension like a pressure release. Briefly, animosity and annoyance fade from the space between us. The sound of crunching snow and morning birds replaces quips and insults.

Gus stays a step ahead of me, but glances back every few minutes. The movement is subtle, like he doesn't want me to notice he's watching. I see him though. It's impossible to be in Gus Winter's presence without fixating on the man. His presence commands attention, the kind of gravitas I would expect from a CEO of his caliber. I wonder if this is the person he was before he became a billionaire.

He"ll surely never tell me.

I'm starting to get hot from hiking in so many layers when Gus stops and raps his knuckles on a tree trunk. There are two neat paint markings on the bark, white cutting a jarring interruption amid the trees. "See this," Gus comments, raising his chin in my direction. "It's a paint blaze. It means we need to turn right up here."

So the man reads trails signs. Huh. I've met dozens of billionaires in my life, and I'm willing to wager none of the rest knows trail signs.

"You must hike a lot."

He raises his shoulder. "I spend a lot of time on this trail. I used to hike it when I was a kid."

"With your grandfather?"

"And grandmother. Back then, the land belonged to a family that owned a timber mill few miles from here. They used to let us on the property."

"Wow. What are the chances that the land would go up for sale in your lifetime? I would imagine a family property would have stayed in their family."

"Yeah, they wanted to pass it down," he acknowledges. "But then I cut them a check for ten million dollars and they happily sold it to me."

I stop in my tracks, but he keeps going, leaving me frowning in bewilderment before I rejoin him. When I'm by his side, he glances at me, thinking he's slick. I see him grin, but only slightly. And I know that I—of all people—shouldn't be impressed by a man with unlimited means spending enormous amounts of money on whatever he wants. Ten million dollars is a drop in a bucket for a billionaire. But a hiking trail, of all things? A hiking trail that he frequented with his grandparents? I hate to admit it…but it's pretty cute.

Stop. Get your shit together.

I vow to focus on the walk and nothing more. Absolutely nothing more.

The trail takes us uphill as the line of trees dips lower into a gorge. Crisp blue-sky blankets us overhead now that the trees are clear. I breathe in, wondering if air has ever tasted so good before.

Rocky outcrops line one side of the trail, opposite the gorge. We continue until we emerge into another clearing. Here, Gus stops and pulls his backpack off his shoulder. "This is it," he announces.

He motions for me to join him at the edge of the slope, and when I stand next to him I can see why he brought me here. We're overlooking a vast expanse of green and white, grander than anything I've ever seen before.

"I like this spot," he mentions, his breath fogging. "I think out here."

"What do you think about?"

The questions slips out while I'm too caught up in the grandeur to realize how sincere it sounds. It's inquisitive and intimate—so unlike Gus and me.

To my surprise, he cants his head to the side. "Work," he admits, sighing like he should know better.

"Work," I repeat.

"Not tasks and to-dos," he clarifies. He slides his beanie off and ruffles his black hair. "I think about ideas. The future. I think about what I could do to make millions of lives easier."

"Calling it work seems wrong." I also remove my hat to brush my hand through my hair. "I don't know, August. To me, it sounds like a calling."

He turns to face me, his expression surprised and a little impressed.

Wait, is he impressed?

"You're right," he finally agrees. "It's not work when you're in the place where you should be, doing exactly what you're meant to do."

Silently, we stare at each other and the moment grows inexplicably weighty.

Without a word, he reaches out and pushes my hair behind my ear, his blue eyes never leaving mine. They're so light, they match the cloudless sky surrounding us—and yet they contrast starkly with his tan skin and black hair. Through and through, Gus Winter is a man of contrasts. He practically sweats money, and yet he chooses to live in a remote cabin. He can eat at any restaurant in existence, and yet he opts for simple, home-cooked fare. He's disturbingly attractive, and yet he has devoted his life to sitting at a computer and building empires instead of ruling the world like a fucking king.

And he could sleep with any soft-spoken, affectionate homebody…and yet he selected a cold, wanderlusty bitch who wants him to choke her out and pull her hair.

"I don't know where I should be or what I'm meant to do," I whisper, the words practically spilling out.

I've never uttered those words, or any version of those words, to anyone.

Gus drags his thumb along my cheek. "If it weren't so cold, I'd take you to this other spot. It's a few hours' walk, but it's magnificent, Julia."

At first, I wonder if he's avoiding my comment. He takes a small step closer though, bringing our bodies inches apart. His eyes stay on mine, and I realize: He's telling me that for now, I belong here. He doesn't want me to go…he just doesn't know how to say it.

And maybe I don't know how to admit I don't want to leave either.

"I'm sorry. Again," he murmurs. "About earlier. I don't know why…"

"Why we fight," I finish, nodding softly. "Why we push each other's buttons. I don't know either."

"I can't stay angry at you though," he goes on. "That's unusual for me. I can usually hold a grudge like it's my job, but now that I've spent time with you…Julia, you piss me off, but I struggle to stay mad at you."

My heart shouldn't surge, but I can't help it. "It's because you like fucking me, old man."

When Gus slips into a small smile, it makes that surge even stronger. "Definitely part of it. But it's more than that. You…"

For once, I wait.

"You can read me like a book. I'll be honest—it's scary. Maybe the scariest thing I've ever encountered in a woman, or anyone. Because believe it or not, I don't want anyone to know me."

His words are so honest and yet I'm so inexplicably sad for him. Something must have happened to Gus to make him the way he is. So harsh. So closed off. The man is so perfect on the outside, but behind the fa?ade, there's a loneliness I don't think he even recognizes.

I do. I recognize it.

Because deep down, I suspect I'm the exact same.

"Too bad, August," I murmur before I place my hand on his chest, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. "Because I'd love to know you. I'd probably like you if you'd let me."

The sun is starting to set when we get back to the cabin. My nose is numb and my lips are stinging, but I wish we could stay outside. The views look more dazzling with every change of the sun's angle, and I could envision myself spending an entire day watching the clouds pass over the trees. Not to mention, once we go back in, it's time for me to pack and head to the airport.

Gus hesitates before he unlocks the backdoor with a code on the numbered keypad. He turns to face me and his lips part like he wants to say something. I wait. Instead, he opens the door and ushers me in.

The warmth of the cabin surrounds me and I let out a relieved exhale. Gus makes a similar sound and closes the door behind us.

Before I can stop him—or ask what he's doing—he helps me remove my boots by the door, chuckling when he has to use all his might to tug one off of me. When he straightens, our faces are close together and one of his arms is still around me.

My body tingles in his proximity.

Tell me to stay.

Tell me you feel it too.

Tell me you don't want me to leave you.

He doesn't. Gus kisses me instead. It's hard and desperate—the way we always kiss each other. But this time, there's a note of familiarity behind it.

I've kissed him enough times to have lost count. I've touched him, tasted him, allowed him to enter me. He knows what I like. What I want. What I need. And when he puts his hand on me, the contact is electric—and has been since the first time he touched me. Not in London, but in Boston when he caught me by the fountain.

If this is my last chance to touch him, to indulge in him, I'll take it.

This time, I lead the way to my bedroom.