Chapter 3 - The Cold Comfort of GlassThe ride back to the penthouse was executed in absolute, impenetrable silence.
Derek drove the heavy black SUV through the rain-slick streets, his eyes fixed on the rear-view mirror, keeping a sharp lookout for any tailing vehicles. In the backseat, Maya sat pressed against the door, staring out at the blurred neon lights of the city.
Julian sat on the opposite side of the seat. He did not touch her, nor did he speak, but the sheer heat of his presence, the dangerous, vibrating tension radiating off his body, filled the vehicle until the air felt too thick to breathe.
When the SUV pulled into the private underground garage of the Croft Tower, Julian got out first, opened her door, and offered his hand.
Maya looked at his large, strong hand—the hand that had just broken a man's thumb without hesitation—and hesitated.
"I can walk," she said softly, her voice spent.
She stepped out on her own, but as soon as her worn sneakers hit the concrete, her exhausted knees buckled.
Before she could hit the ground, Julian caught her. He didn't wait for her permission this time. He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
"Julian, put me down!" she gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at the lapels of his coat to keep from falling. "The guards... the elevator staff..."
"Let them look," Julian growled, carrying her toward the private elevator. "Let the whole damn city look."
The doors of the private elevator closed, isolating them in a tube of mirrored glass and brass as they soared forty floors above the city streets. Maya rested her forehead against the cool fabric of his shoulder, too exhausted to fight the warmth of his body against hers.
When they stepped into the penthouse, the lights were soft, low, glowing in warm amber tones.
Julian carried her straight past her small maid's quarter at the back of the apartment.
"Where are you taking me?" Maya asked, panic rising in her chest again. "My room is back there."
"You are not sleeping in that closet tonight," Julian replied, his voice firm as he pushed open the heavy double doors to his master suite—a grand room with a king-sized bed, a fireplace roaring softly in the corner, and a panoramic view of Lake Michigan.
He set her down gently on the edge of the plush, down-filled mattress.
"Stay here," he ordered.
He walked into the master bathroom and returned a minute later with a basin of warm water, a clean white washcloth, and a first-aid kit. He pulled an velvet ottoman over to the bed, sat directly in front of her, and gently reached for her right foot.
"What are you doing?" Maya whispered, trying to pull her leg back.
"Hold still," Julian said.
He unlaced her filthy, water-logged sneakers and slid them off, followed by her threadbare cotton socks. Her feet were pale, covered in painful red blisters, her heels bruised from hours of standing on concrete.
Julian soaked the washcloth in the warm water, wrung it out, and began to gently wipe away the dirt and grime from her skin. His touch was unbelievably soft, completely at odds with the violent man who had terrorized a room full of mobsters an hour ago.
Maya squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear escaping and running down her nose. "You shouldn't be doing this. You're Julian Croft. You don't wash a servant's feet."
Julian stopped. He set the washcloth down in the basin and reached up, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look down at him.
"Stop calling yourself a servant," he said, his dark eyes blazing with a dangerous, intense light. "If you say that word again, Maya, I swear to God I will fire you tonight."
"Then fire me!" she cried out, her voice trembling with emotion. "Fire me so I can leave! So I don't have to look at you every day knowing that you bought my life! Knowing that I owe you forty-five thousand dollars!"
Julian stood up abruptly, towering over her, his breathing heavy.
"You don't owe me a dime!" he shouted. "The debt is gone! Erased! I bought the loan company thirty minutes ago while we were in the car! Derek finalized the paperwork! The debt no longer exists!"
Maya stared at him, her mind going completely blank. "You... you bought the company?"
"Yes!" Julian spat, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. "I bought the entire goddamn collection agency! I bought every contract they held, destroyed yours, and sent the Feds to shut down the rest of their illegal operations! You are free, Maya! Do you understand me?! You are completely, totally free!"
He stopped pacing and turned back to face her, his chest heaving, his face pale under the firelight.
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"You can walk out that door tomorrow morning," Julian whispered, the anger suddenly draining out of him, leaving behind a raw, naked vulnerability she had never seen in him before. "You can take your things, leave Chicago, and never look back. You don't owe me money. You don't owe me explanations. You don't owe me anything."
Maya sat on the edge of the vast bed, looking at the powerful man standing before her—a man who had just bought an empire simply to erase her pain, a man who feared nothing in the underworld, but was currently shaking with the fear that she might walk away.
