The emergency meeting in Dubai had lasted exactly thirty-seven hours. For Julian, it felt like thirty-seven days. He had spent the time operating on pure, cold adrenaline, tearing apart a rival bidder's strategy, making three non-negotiable acquisitions, and closing a billion-dollar deal that should have felt like a triumph. Instead, the entire experience was tainted. Every moment of strategic brilliance was undercut by the memory of a fierce, dark-eyed barrister in Paris, standing naked in his suite, challenging him to admit the depth of his need.
He had won the business war. He had lost the war with himself.
Julian landed back in London at 3:00 PM, bypassing his headquarters entirely. He didn't check his email, didn't call his board, and didn't even change out of the travel-creased suit he'd worn for two days straight. All that mattered was the apartment he knew Ava would be working in a borrowed space near the Temple where she often stayed when she had late sessions at the chambers.
He didn't call or text. He simply walked into the sterile, high-end lobby, his presence alone causing the concierge to stiffen and immediately grant him access. Julian was past polite requests; he was on a mission fueled by sleep deprivation and unacknowledged desire.
He found her exactly where he expected: bent over a mahogany table covered in complex, densely-written legal texts. The room was bathed in the cool light of an autumnal London evening. Ava wore a loose white silk blouse and tailored charcoal trousers, still looking utterly impeccable even in the middle of a private work session. She looked exhausted, her brow furrowed with deep concentration.
The click of the door latch made her look up, her eyes widening in genuine surprise, quickly veiled by her trademark calm.
"Julian," she said, her voice perfectly even, betraying nothing of the chaos they had left behind.
He shut the door, the expensive mechanism sealing them in. "I didn't call," he stated, his voice raspy from lack of use.
"I gathered." She pushed back from the table, rising to full height, her professional armour instantly back in place. "The flight was long. Perhaps you should be resting, not harassing junior counsel."
"You are not junior counsel, and you know it. And I haven't rested since I left Paris." He took three deliberate steps toward her, crossing the line of books and documents that marked her professional boundary. "When I'm in a meeting, I hear your voice. When I'm reviewing a contract, I see your handwriting. When I try to sleep, I taste nothing but you."
Her breath hitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible sound that was his entire victory. "You are being melodramatic," she whispered, but her hands, resting on the edge of the table, were gripping the wood hard enough to whiten her knuckles.
Julian stopped just out of touching distance. The air between them crackled with the memory of the Paris suite, the rain, and the confessions whispered between sheets.
"You asked me in Paris what I was afraid of," he continued, his voice dropping to a gravelly, intense murmur. "I am afraid of this. This need. This utter, catastrophic breakdown of control that happens every time I'm within ten feet of you, and especially when I'm a thousand miles away."
Ava finally let her defenses slip, a fierce vulnerability darkening her eyes. "And what do you want me to do with that information, Julian? Validate your fear? I told you, I don't surrender easily. I am not a casualty in your control battle."
"I don't want your surrender. I want your truth." He reached out, slowly, deliberately, tracing the sharp, elegant line of her jaw with his thumb. "The truth is, we operate best when we are equally matched. And right now, Ava, the playing field is not equal. I've been running on empty for thirty-seven hours because every victory I secured meant nothing without the real prize."
"Which is?"
"You."
The word was heavy, uncompromising. It was not a plea but an acknowledgment of a fact that threatened both their realities.
Ava closed her eyes briefly, a flicker of pain crossing her face. "You don't do commitment. You do acquisitions. You do not do love. You do leverage."
"I'm learning," he countered, his voice raw. "Teach me the rules, Ava. Write the contract. But stop denying this." He brought his face close, his scent a mix of expensive wool, jet fuel, and desperation intoxicating. "Tell me you don't want to burn down this room with me."
She looked up at him, her dark eyes glittering with unshed emotion. "I hate how much I want it."
"Good."
The final word of resistance shattered. Julian's mouth found hers, not with the angry, demanding clash of the gala, but with an intensity born of long, mutual denial. This kiss was deep, searching, and entirely devoted to the undoing of all their professional barriers. It was an acknowledgement of shared madness, a silent treaty signed in desperation and desire.
He pulled her against his chest, the scent of his skin and the rough, solid feel of his suit a stark contrast to her silk. Ava wrapped her arms around his neck, sinking fully into the moment, allowing the fatigue and the pressure of the past week to dissolve into this desperate, singular connection.
They moved together, a whirlwind of clothes and urgent hands, across the room. Julian shoved a stack of legal briefs onto the floor without a second thought, the expensive paper scattering beneath their feet. It was a minor act of professional vandalism, and Ava felt a surge of exhilaration at the sheer, reckless abandon of it. For tonight, the law was silent.
He pushed her against the heavy mahogany desk, his body pressing into her, demanding a response only fire could provide. She met his intensity with her own, tearing at the buttons of his travel-creased shirt, needing to feel the granite of his chest against her palms.
"I need to hear it," Julian murmured, his lips leaving a trail of fire down her neck. "Tell me you missed me."
"Every second," she admitted fiercely, the truth tearing past her carefully constructed walls. "I missed your arrogance, your control, and the silence only you can force in a room."
He lifted her onto the desk, pushing aside the last of her legal papers. The cool, hard wood of the desk against her skin was another layer of friction, making the heat between them feel dangerous. Julian knelt before her, his hands running up the smooth line of her legs, his eyes usually so cold and distant filled with singular, focused devotion.
The rest of the night was a silent language they both understood: power and vulnerability traded seamlessly. Julian was demanding, yet acutely focused on her pleasure, studying her reactions with the same meticulous attention he gave a complex contract. Ava, normally so guarded, was a wild, passionate creature under his touch, finding a freedom in surrender that she had always feared.
In the late hours, after the raw heat had faded to a warm, consuming glow, they lay in the borrowed bedroom. Ava rested her head on his shoulder, his arm a solid, heavy presence around her. The remnants of their professional world the scattered papers, the expensive suits were forgotten on the floor.
"I hate how right this feels," Ava confessed into the quiet, the admission echoing the fear they both harbored.
"We don't feel right, Ava," Julian corrected, his fingers idly tracing the line of her collarbone. "We feel necessary. And terrifying."
He spoke of his family betrayal, the cold, calculated ruin that had forced him to build his fortress of control. Ava spoke of her father's firm, the betrayal that stripped her of her legacy and taught her to trust only her own intellect. They were two broken halves, using power to fill the holes that only connection could mend.
"I won't walk away from my firm for you, Julian," Ava stated, her voice quiet but firm. "I won't be the casualty of your business again."
"I wouldn't ask you to," he said, surprising her. "I want you standing beside me, challenging me. I want the fight, Ava, if it means I get you, too."
The raw honesty of the night cemented the shift. This wasn't just lust; it was a connection forged in mutual, unwilling respect. But as the first hint of gray light touched the London skyline, a familiar, distant fear began to creep back in. They had breached the walls between them, but the external world the media, the chambers, the board was waiting to punish them both for the transgression.
Julian had a flight back to New York early that morning. He kissed her forehead a gesture that felt surprisingly tender and dressed silently, returning to the impenetrable armour of the billionaire CEO.
"This is a secret," Julian said, his eyes meeting hers, holding the gravity of the consequence. "Do you understand the stakes?"
"I wrote the rules of stakes, Julian," Ava replied, finding her own cold, hard resolve. "You and I are a statistical risk neither of us can afford. But if you think I regret a minute of last night, you're wrong."
He gave a sharp, almost painful nod. "Good. Now, go back to being the barrister who hates me, Ava. It will keep us both safe."
He left. Ava lay back, the warmth of the sheets quickly becoming cold. The law was back, and with it, the fear. She had surrendered her control, and she knew the price for such recklessness was always, inevitably, paid in full.