She didn't book a plane ticket right away.
The slightest move and Preston Keaton would know. She wouldn't even make it out the door before his people were blocking her at The Mid-Levels.
Evelyn Grant pressed her lips together and looked down. A livid bite mark stained the skin of her chest. He had no trace of tenderness in him; everything he did was absurdly fierce.
Fresh, crimson kiss marks now littered her neck and legs.
Again and again, he had grabbed her and continued, pinning her down with breathless kisses and a relentless rhythm.
He had pressed her down in the bathroom, on the bed, against the floor-to-ceiling windows, and on the sofa. She couldn't even bear to look at the state the suite was in by the end.
