Chapter 4

The air in the Grand Atrium of the historic library had finally thinned, shedding the thick, suffocating humidity of three hundred chattering voices to leave behind a heavy, velvet silence. It was nearly midnight. The crystal chandeliers, those monstrous cascades of cut glass that hung like frozen waterfalls from the high, vaulted ceilings, were dimmed to a low, amber hum, casting long, dramatic shadows across the parquet floors. I stood near one of the towering arched windows, the glass cold against my back, watching the last few stragglers of the elite crowd trickle out through the heavy oak doors. The scent of old paper, expensive perfume, and spilled champagne still lingered in the air, a heady mix that made my head spin just slightly. My book, *The Architecture of Desire*, had been a triumph. The speeches were done, the photos taken, the autographs signed until my hand cramped. But all I could think about was him. Julian. He was leaning against a massive, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf dedicated to first editions, a half-empty glass of scotch in one hand, his tuxedo jacket discarded to reveal a crisp white shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. He looked effortless, predatory in