Semua Bab Winning Her Back: Bab 71 - Bab 80

The drive back to the mansion was filled with a nervous energy. Naomi’s plan buzzed in my head, a counterpoint to the lingering dread. Getting ready this time felt different. I shed the armor. Out came the little black dress, I paired it with sheer tights and strappy heels that made me wobble slightly. My makeup went darker, smokier. I piled my hair up, leaving tendrils loose around my face. I looked different. Daring. Someone who might go clubbing. Someone who wasn’t Lila Blackwell, the discarded wife.As I applied a final coat of deep red lipstick, I paused, staring at my reflection. A treacherous, foolish sliver of hope flickered. *Maybe he’ll come home early. Maybe he’ll see me like this, about to leave, and.. My mind conjured the fantasy: Ethan walking in, his eyes darkening with that possessive heat I craved. Him crossing the room, pulling me close, his voice husky. ‘Where do you think you’re going, looking like that? Not without me.’ Maybe he’d kiss me, persuade me to stay, pro

The silence that followed was total. Oppressive. I closed my eyes hard, praying I would remember, praying the tile floor would swallow me whole. What a drunken, silly demand.Then, a sound. A low, almost imperceptible sigh. Not an exasperated one this time. Something deeper. Tiredness.His voice, as he spoke, was horrorously close. He hadn't moved, but his presence was instant, overwhelming. It wasn't the frostbite fury of the entry. It was lower, coarser, scraped raw. "I don't hate you, Lila."The words hung there in the air, simple, unadorned, utterly disarming. I took a breath. I risked the very slightest incline of my head, just enough to catch sight of him in the reflection off the glass.He wasn't glaring at me. His gaze was on some point on the wall, his jaw still clenched but the fury choked back, replaced by a deep weariness and something else, something uncomfortable and sinister. His knuckles were white where he leaned against the doorframe.At other times, he continued, hi

His query hung there, shrapnel-like, vibrating with the raw anguish of his confession. "Is this what you wanted, Lila? To push? To see how deep the crack goes? To see me shatter?"His grip around my wrist was iron, his pressure on the cusp of pain wedging me to the graniteools plane of his chest. His other hand burned through the thinnish cashmere at my hip, his fingers digging in deep. Every hard plane of his body pressing against mine, the warmth that spilled from his body a brand, the frenzied thudding of his heart against mine a wild counterbeat to the panic-staccato that was mine. His warm, ragged breath caressed my face, reeking with Scotch and the particular Ethan musk that caused perilous shivers to course down my spine despite fear.His eyes. God, his eyes. They weren't blazed; they were afire, consuming me. Raw, terrifying need fought with anger and anguish so deep that it left me breathless. Close as this was, I could perceive the tiny tremble of his jaw, the widening of hi

I woke before dawn, a nervous energy humming beneath my skin. The vast bed felt colder, emptier than usual, a stark reminder of the chasm I was determined to bridge. Silently, I slipped out, padding down to the cavernous kitchen on bare feet. The head chef was startled at my early appearance."Madame Blackwell! Is everything alright?""Everything's fine," I said, forcing a calm smile. "I'd like a full breakfast prepared this morning. Mr. Blackwell's favorites. Eggs Benedict, extra hollandaise, crispy bacon, fresh sourdough toast, berries, the works. Set for two in the dining room, please. At seven-thirty sharp."His eyebrows shot up, but he recovered quickly, a professional mask settling over his surprise. "Of course, Madame. It will be ready."Back upstairs, I showered and dressed with meticulous care, a soft, dove-grey cashmere sweater and cream trousers, aiming for an aura of gentle, approachable warmth. Not demanding. Not confrontational. Inviting.At precisely seven-thirty, I was

A shudder ripped through him. The last thread of his control frayed and snapped. With a groan that was pure surrender, he crashed his mouth down onto mine.This kiss wasn't like the brutal possession in the study. This was desperate. Starving. A claiming born of need so profound it bordered on agony.His lips were demanding, yet seeking.His tongue swept into my mouth, not conquering, but claiming sanctuary. I kissed him back with equal fervor, my arms winding around his neck, fingers tangling in his damp hair. It was a clash of tongues, a sharing of breath, a fusion of heat.His hands were everywhere. One slid down to grip my ass, hauling me tighter against the hard length of him.The other found my breast through the flimsy lace, his thumb rasping over my hardened nipple, sending jolts of electricity straight to my core. I moaned into his mouth, arching into his touch, my nails digging into the powerful muscles of his shoulders, urging him closer, demanding more.He tore his mouth f