Chapter 104

"Sit." Dominic's voice was low and commanding, his expression stormy.

Evelyn refused to comply.

They were no longer together. Intimacy like this was inappropriate now.

Grandfather would be stable by tomorrow. Just ten more hours.

Ten hours was nothing. A good night's sleep would make it pass in a blink.

"Sit." His grip tightened as he yanked her down.

He knew she wouldn’t scream—not with both grandfathers right outside. His large hand clamped around her ankle, trapping her on the closed toilet seat.

"We’re over. You said it yourself. This isn’t right." She kept her voice steady, appealing to his logic rather than fighting him physically.

Dominic ignored her, squeezing ointment onto his fingers before pressing it to the mosquito bites on her calf.

Evelyn hissed, jerking her leg back instinctively.

The ointment was cold. His touch burned. The contrast made her skin prickle with discomfort.

He glanced up at the sound.

She bit her lip, embarrassed by her reaction. But the sensation—his fingers tracing her skin—sent shivers racing through her.

She forced herself to stay still.

The bathroom was dim, only the vanity lights casting a glow. Dominic’s sharp features looked almost blurred in the low light.

His hands were elegant, fingers long and precise.

A memory flashed—his hands on her that night in the hotel suite.

Her breath hitched.

Stop.

She dug her nails into her palm, shaking her head. This wasn’t her. She wouldn’t let desire cloud her judgment.

Breathe. Remember what you are to him now.

Dominic worked methodically, rubbing the ointment into her skin until it absorbed before applying more.

Her bodycon skirt had ridden up.

Too much skin exposed.

Too many bites.

"Spread your legs." His voice was rough.

"What?"

Her eyes flew open, panic flaring.

He met her gaze, unflinching. "You’re bitten there too."

Before she could react, he lifted her skirt, baring her thighs.

"Dominic—" She tried to yank the fabric back down.

His hand clamped over the material, holding it in place. He leaned in, breath hot against her cheek. "Keep fighting me, and this skirt tears."

Her pulse spiked.

His eyes were dark, dangerous.

Why was he like this?

"Your mother knows we’re done. The only ones who don’t are our grandfathers. And you—you’ll have someone new soon. Shouldn’t you save this for her?" The words tumbled out, desperate.

Dominic didn’t respond. His fingers worked between her thighs, applying ointment with slow, deliberate strokes.

Evelyn’s face burned.

She squeezed her legs together.

His gaze turned molten. Lips pressed tight, throat working.

"I’m leaving." She couldn’t stay. Not when every second tempted her closer to sin.

But as she stood, her movement sent his hand sliding higher—

Dominic seized her shoulders, crushing her against him. His mouth crashed down on hers.

She pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge.

His kiss was relentless—biting, licking, claiming.

Her body betrayed her, heat pooling low despite her protests.

"Don’t—"

He only kissed her harder, hands roaming.

A moan slipped free before she could stop it. She bit his lip, wrenching her face away. "Let me go or I’ll scream."

She was panting, ponytail frayed, skin damp with sweat.

Dominic stilled.

His eyes were wild, chest heaving. For a long moment, he just stared at her, thumb brushing her cheek.

Then he released her.

"Be rational. We can’t do this," she whispered.

His jaw clenched.

That same intensity—that same tenderness—flickered in his gaze.

Evelyn Sinclair, twenty-four, all grown up but still so achingly pure.

And he wanted her.

"Until you marry someone else," he said hoarsely, "I’m not letting go."

The man who’d coldly ended things in the study now defied his own words.

He turned abruptly, splashing water on his face at the sink.

Evelyn stood frozen.

When he finally faced her again, his expression was unreadable.

She couldn’t meet his eyes.

Dominic left without another word.

She stayed in the bathroom until her grandfather called for her.

By the time she emerged, Dominic was gone.

"Dominic left," Reginald Sinclair said, watching his granddaughter’s searching gaze. "Drove off somewhere."

She exhaled. Maybe he’d gone to his usual hotel suite to give her space.

She collapsed onto the foldable bed, exhausted.

Meanwhile, Dominic stood in her apartment, unlocking the door with the keys Olivia had given him.

The ointment had smeared on her skirt during their encounter.

She’d need fresh clothes.

He opened her closet—

And froze.

Lingerie. Neatly folded. Delicate.

His fingers twitched.