When Claire Prescott came out after washing up, Keane Lowell was sitting on the sofa waiting for her, dressed in his usual elegant and aloof style with a shirt and trousers. When their eyes met, she felt a pang of guilt.
He wouldn't be so petty as to deny her a kiss, would he?
"Come here." The man ordered, his tone carrying an unclear meaning, as if he wanted to have a serious talk with her.
She sat over, and his arm wrapped around her waist. With a slight exertion of force, he lifted her entirely, seating her steadily on his lap.
When their eyes met, Claire's heart trembled slightly.
The man's gaze was passionately intense, his almond eyes like ink dots, deep and unfathomable, yet there were dark circles under them, suggesting he hadn't slept well last night.
Last night she slept soundly, only remembering falling asleep while he was massaging her, but as for how she ended up rolling onto him later, she truly didn't know.
