Page 103 of Full Throttle

Dominic was halfway to the stairs when he saw her.

Rain pooled in his leather shoes, soaking through his socks. The last of the dinner party guests were ducking into the safety of the cathedral, shrieking with laughter as the rain doubled in force. Dominic had been about to do the same when something caught his eye: a dark-haired woman hurrying down the slick limestone steps, her wet skirt fisted in one hand.

Juliette.

What the hell was she doing?

Perhaps she’d forgotten something. Her phone, or a scarf, or an embroidered tea towel that she’d bought in the gift shop. At the end of the day, it was none of his business. And yet…

He glanced up at the sky. Rain sliced down like knives, pooling in the neck of his dinner jacket, and he swore under his breath. Honestly. Did this woman have no sense of self-preservation? He skidded across the limestone steps, scanning the balcony.

Ah.

There.

A dark-haired figure leaned against the railing; her pale face was tipped up toward the sky. Dominic stumbled toward her, cursing violently under his breath. Bloody stairs. Stupid, bloody limestone.

“Marchmont,” he called. “What the hell are you doing?”

She didn’t turn. “Go away, Hastings.”

Juliette stared out at the city lights. Rainwater ran in rivulets down her face, clinging to her dark eyelashes. She was shivering. He pulled off his dinner jacket, and although she didn’t reject it, her knuckles were white on the fabric. She didn’t seem surprised that he’d followed her, which was either encouraging or embarrassing. He couldn’t decide which.

Dominic hesitated. “Is…Did something happen?”

Juliette turned. “Why don’t I hate you?”

He blinked. “Pardon?”

Had she already slipped and hit her head? But Juliette just kept looking at him with that same haunted expression, rain streaking her face like tears.

“I should hate you, for what you said in Paris. Or have you forgotten?”

Dominic closed his eyes. He wanted to laugh, although the question wasn’t funny. How could he possibly forget? How could he ever forget the look on Juliette’s face that day, the way her expression had crumpled like a ball of paper in his fist?

No.

He hadn’t forgotten.

Dominic swallowed. The city lights turned Juliette’s dress semitransparent. Her hair clips were coming undone, the butterfly wings wilting in the rain.

“I don’t know,” Dominic said.

Juliette’s laugh was hollow. “Really? That’s your response?”

“It’s the truth. You should hate me.”

She rubbed at her face. “Just go. Please.”

Thunder clapped overhead, shaking the building with vicious hands. Juliette’s teeth were chattering, and she burrowed deeper into his dinner jacket; the black material swallowed her slight frame. Dominic shifted his weight.

“I’m not leaving you alone in the middle of a storm. It’s dangerous.”

She wasn’t looking at him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Those steps are a bloody nightmare. One wrong move and you’ll break your neck.”

Juliette made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. Lightning cleaved the sky in two; rain bled from the wound, pooling at his feet in icy drops. His toes were going numb. Just another reason that he should practice common sense and leave.