His name was Julian. He possessed the kind of devastating, predatory symmetry that seemed engineered purely for sin—a sharp, sculpted jawline shadowed by a heavy, deliberate stubble, and smoldering, dark eyes that didn't just look at a woman, but stripped her bare with a single, heavy glance. Standing well over six feet of pure, unadulterated masculinity, his body was a masterclass in physical temptation. Broad, powerful shoulders tapered down into a lean, ridged waist, and every movement he made rippled with the effortless power of tightly coiled, definition-perfect muscle. He was a gorgeous, intoxicating specimen of a man—the kind of rare, dangerous fantasy that left women breathless, aching with a desperate, primal need to be possessed by him.