How could the man from last night be... him?!
The man who had taken her innocence five years ago and who was now her boss, was actually the man she had been with last night?
With wet hair, his slightly long bangs lay on his smooth forehead, hiding the surging emotions in his eyes.
A crystal-clear droplet of water, like a rolling pearl, fell from the tip of his hair, slid down his cheek, past his slender neck, and finally disappeared into the depths of his open bathrobe.
Her gaze followed the droplet, from his hidden cold pupils all the way down, scanning his face a few times before continuing downward.
Flat chest muscles and six-pack abs seemed to be faintly visible beneath the white, deep V-neck bathrobe.
The belt loosely tied, the hem of the bathrobe exposing his long, straight legs. Like a model, it was a silent temptation.
"Have you not seen enough just now?" the man's calm voice suddenly blasted from above her head. She raised her head to see his deep gray pupils teasingly glancing at her.
The sheet slipped away, exposing the soft curves of the female's body in the dim yellow light. Seeing the interwoven purple kiss marks on her fair skin, it seemed like a beautiful canvas on which he had created art, leaving his own mark.
Unconsciously, his throat moved slightly, his pupils constricted a bit, and his breathing became somewhat heavy.
"Was the man last night... you?"
For some reason, seeing the smile at the corner of his lips, Emma Smith felt relieved.
Wait, no, but why him?
Although she also worked at Thomson Group, and Robert Thomson was technically her boss, he was a high-ranking executive, whereas she was just a Deputy manager of the Electronic Sales Department. Despite working in the same company, she had never approached him or appeared in front of him over the years. How did they meet?
Moreover, judging by his unsurprised expression, did he remember her? Did he remember their brief relationship five years ago?
She looked at him with puzzled eyes: "Why are you here?"
Seeing her confused eyes, Robert's brows furrowed imperceptibly.
Normally, women who had just been intimate with him would be clinging to him, right?
Why would she ask him why he was here?
What an interesting woman. The corner of the man's mouth curved into a playful smile. His cool fingertips slowly approached, aiming for her soft, snow-white peaks.
Her pupils contracted violently, and her body reflexively shifted to the side. However, just as his fingers were about to touch her, they suddenly changed direction and grabbed an elegant wine glass from the bedside table.
He then strode over to a round table, picked up a bottle of red wine that was being allowed to breathe.
The blood-red wine dripped into the transparent glass like blood. He held the wine glass with his fingers and casually sat on the sofa, looking at her with a mockingly amused expression: "Why am I here? Didn't you ask me to be here? And—"
"Shall we talk about you becoming my... lover?" He gently shook the red wine in his slender hand, looking completely at ease.