Chapter 273

"Let go of me! What are you doing?"

Olive's lips were naturally bright red and remarkably small, a charming "cherry mouth," as someone had once told Elvis—the kind of mouth men longed to kiss. He'd never seen her face without her veil; it was breathtaking. That night, he dreamt of pushing her against a wall, kissing her passionately. How had she ended up in his bed? To seduce him? His Adam's apple bobbed nervously. Many women had sought his attention, but none so audacious.

He reached out, his rough fingertips caressing her pretty, makeup-free face. It was clean and white, faintly scented with her natural perfume and a familiar shower gel. Everything about her appealed to him. He pressed harder, noticing her rosy complexion quickly fading to pale. With each press, a destructive urge ignited within him. A dark, ironic curve formed on his thin lips as he lowered his head to kiss her.

Olive, initially sound asleep, awoke to a nightmare. A crushing weight pressed on her chest, stealing her breath. Her eyelids fluttered, then snapped open. Elvis's handsome face loomed over her; he was kissing her fiercely. She gasped. How had he gotten into her room?

Her small hands pushed against his chest. "Let me go! What are you doing?" she cried.

"Are you awake?" he asked, not moving. He braced himself beside her, cradling her soft body. "I thought you'd continue pretending to sleep."

"Pretend to sleep?" she asked, startled.

His deep voice, slightly hoarse, was remarkably pleasant. "What's wrong? You came into my room, put on my clothes, and got into my bed to sleep?"

Wait. This was his room? She understood instantly. Grandma and Betty had tricked her! They'd lured her here!

"Mr... Mr. Augustine, I think there's a misunderstanding. Please listen to me."

"Oh," he said, glancing at her swollen, red lips. "Speak. I'm listening."

"Today... I came to apply for a job. Aren't you hiring a nutritionist? I came to care for your grandmother."

He was in dark blue silk pajamas, the belt loosely tied around his waist, giving him a mature air. "I underestimated you. First, you lingered by the Bright Star, staring at my car. Then, you approached my cat at the bar, hugged it, and bumped into me. This time, you pretended to be a chef, to care for my grandmother, and ended up in my bed." His tone was sarcastic. "Since when have you been watching me? Investigating everyone around me? You're so scheming."

His cold mockery drained the color from her face. Did he really believe she'd deliberately seduced him? He was a watchful man, surrounded by temptation, and every coincidence seemed intentional to him. He saw her as just another woman, even more cunning than the others. He didn't love her anymore. A sharp pain pierced her heart.

"No," she insisted. "This is my final explanation. If you don't believe me, let me go. I'll leave immediately."

He gripped her slender wrist, preventing her from rising. "What do you want to do now? Still seduce me? You're in my bed and want to leave? Play hard to get?"

Her clear eyes blazed with anger. "You said I wanted to seduce you, yes, but I don't anymore. Okay?"

His brow furrowed. "What are you saying? Are you kidding me?"

"Seducing you or not is my business. It depends on my mood. Right now, I don't want to. Why are you so angry?"

The instant she spoke, she felt the change in him—his body heat intensifying, his muscles taut. She wasn't naive; they'd shared intimate moments in the countryside. She knew what he wanted.

"President Augustine, you seem to enjoy women who take the initiative. Are you this enthusiastic with every woman in your bed? Let me go. How do I know you pay attention to personal hygiene?" They'd been separated for three months. To him, she was just another woman in his bed. His strong reaction made her question his behavior during their separation.

His gaze darkened, his lips thinning. She'd even questioned his hygiene! He'd been undergoing treatment for the past three months; before her, he'd been frigid. He knew she'd seemingly tried to seduce him, yet he'd fallen for it.

"Or," she continued, daringly, "although many women want to be in your bed, do you...do you have feelings for me?"

He abruptly released her wrist. "Don't be delusional. A woman's under the covers; who can resist? Get out of my bed and get out!"

Hope died in her eyes. In Los Angeles, he'd liked her instantly; now, he hated her.

"I'm leaving!"

She scrambled out of bed, opened the door, and fled. He lay down, trying to sleep, but her scent lingered on his blanket and pillow. He covered his red eyes, then went to the bathroom for a cold shower.