“You’re beautiful,” Vivian groaned. The raw need in her voice made Jules’s head spin. So did the golden silk of her gown, like and unlike the dress on New Year’s Eve in the way it moved and hung on her body. “Like a rose,” Vivian continued dreamily, smiling against Jules’s mouth, stroking over the burgundy fabric at Jules’s shoulder. “Petals and thorns. I want them both.”
