Under the Rose - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,56

tripled happily at the thought.

“Have either of you ever written a love letter?” Cora asked. “Received one?”

“I should add that Cora has received several,” Thomas said. “From me.”

Freya made a sound of amusement, but Cora gave me an extremely suggestive wink over her champagne flute.

“I’ve never received a love letter,” Freya said. There was a note of real sadness in her voice—disguised if you hadn’t known her as long as I had.

“I’ve written one, a long time ago,” I said.

Freya’s emerald eyes widened behind her glasses. “Is that true, Julian?”

I held her gaze, swallowed hard. “It is so.”

Pink flushed her cheeks, and her full lips parted. “Who was it for?”

My most distracting distraction had a hold on me now. Even Thomas and Cora faded to the far edge of my vision. I was captivated by the bespectacled beauty in front of me. Could a gold sequin dress have magical powers? Freya would know.

“It was for a woman I knew who was leaving. I was never going to see her again.” My voice was rough.

“Oh?” Cora pressed.

“I wanted…” I cleared my throat, pausing to share a smile with our two suspects. “You see, I wanted her to stay with me. We don’t always realize how much we’ll miss someone until we’re forced to reconcile that reality.”

“Missing someone desperately,” Cora said, sipping her drink. “Now that’s passion. Such yearning.”

“Maybe that’s why our community is desperate for original love letters right now,” Freya said—eyes still on mine. “Maybe we’re looking for that thrill. Of passion that’s been restrained.”

Our bodies on the mat. Sweat dripping. Breathing heavy. Wrists pinned.

I knew why I was struggling to resist her seductive beauty. At Quantico, we’d had a physical outlet, a way to suppress our blistering attraction by doing what we did best—fight each other into submission.

But it had been too long—I was understanding that fully now. Seven years without an outlet meant that every additional minute I spent next to her felt like I was being suffocated with pent-up sexual arousal. And while undercover at that.

My father would be furious. I was furious. So furious I could have slammed Freya against the closest wall and fucked away our mounting tension. The last time I’d let myself unleash my messy, uncontrolled sexual appetite was…

Never.

Thomas grabbed Freya’s elbow. “Listen, after dinner, I need to speak with the two of you. It’s not about the money, it’s about the pride—”

“Thomas, be quiet.” Cora glared at him.

I felt glued to Thomas’s fingers, tightening on Freya’s skin. She had told me multiple times that she hated “that macho shit”—her words—and I knew her to be extremely capable of kicking his ass.

But I still took a big step forward, crowding Thomas’s space.

“Cora’s right,” I said. “This is our first dinner, but I’m guessing cocktail hour is a bit conspicuous, don’t you think?”

With grace, Freya twisted her arm and disengaged from his hold—like she’d been trained to do. “You’re on edge, I understand,” she said. She was trying to connect with him, getting on his side. “Your bad luck?”

“My curse,” he said quietly. He touched his ear, glanced behind his shoulder. “No one believes me. Not even Cora.”

Cora gave an exasperated sigh.

“The garage in our Nantucket summer home flooded. Our car was stolen two weeks ago. I sprained my knee on the golf course. In the past few weeks, we’ve had multiple flights canceled, we’ve both been ill twice, and there was a fire in our orchards at our house in Vermont. And it all started happening…”

Cora’s hand lashed out and landed squarely in his chest. “It’s time to be seated,” she commanded. “Come. We must find our seats. Thomas, you need another drink.”

She dragged him to the table. They were whispering to each other, fraught body language destroying their elegant illusion.

“Another drink, Julian?” Freya asked. We weren’t actually drinking, but it was an excuse to steal a minute’s time.

“Of course.” The server appeared just as Dr. Ward waved us over.

Two seats, right next to him.

We had been tossed into the lion’s den, and now we were seated next to the goddamn lion.

I stepped as close to Freya as I could, one eye on the table to watch everyone’s reactions to us. “Don’t leave my side. This whole night feels dangerous.”

“I can’t go back through that tunnel,” she whispered back.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll make sure we leave out the front door. I promise.”

“I’ll bake you chocolate chip cookies for a month,” she said.

“That’s—” I started, brow furrowed, surprised at her olive branch. “You know