In the past, lost in the throes of passion, she would say whatever he told her to.
He could even force the filthiest words out of her.
Yet this time, the words died on her lips. Her rosy, slightly swollen lips parted, but no sound emerged. She could only tilt her head back and gaze up at him, her watery eyes wide with confusion.
The look in Preston Keaton's eyes darkened, and a sudden fire of irritation sparked within him.
He bent his neck, his eyes accusatory. "Why won't you say it?"
Evelyn Grant, pinned tightly by his arms, stammered, "Say what?"
'She always pretends to be clueless when she doesn't want to do something.'
Preston Keaton's gaze grew heavy, his eyes dark and intense, as if shrouded in mist. His jawline was cuttingly sharp, his indifference chilling to the bone. This silent, brooding version of him was what Evelyn Grant feared most. Terrified he was devising some new way to torment her, she tremblingly buried her face in the crook of his shoulder.
