Grace was used to seeing this man naked. But now, in a suit, he felt like a stranger—distant, almost noble. He was nothing like the man in her memories.
The day John Amster rescued her, he wore a black vest, military pants, and Dr. Martens. His vest, soaked and clinging to his body, outlined his firm muscles. His hand, pressed against her waist, revealed the bulging veins in his arms. He exuded raw masculinity.
At first sight, Grace thought he was a soldier. In bed, he was rough, passionate, relentless. He pushed her to the brink every time. Now, dressed sharply, he looked even more extraordinary than she had imagined.
His fingertip brushed against her palm, rough and warm. She snapped back to reality. Quickly, she withdrew her hand.
She had suspected he came from a good background. The hotels they met in were always upscale. But the calluses on his hands told a different story. He wasn't some pampered heir. Yet, she never imagined the man she slept with would be John Amster—heir to the Amster family. And a father.
She forced down her emotions. "Mr. Amster, I'm truly sorry. Jimmy got into a scuffle. I should have kept a closer eye on him—"
Jimmy interrupted. "Dad, it's not Ms. Quinn's fault! Larry was being rude."
Grace stood straight, hands clasped in front of her. She looked composed, nothing like the woman he had tangled with in bed. But under John's gaze, she felt uneasy. Licking her lips, she continued, "Mr. Amster, I promise to take better care of Jimmy. Please don't file a complaint."
Jimmy tugged at his father's shirt, eager to defend her.
John finally spoke. "Ms. Quinn is indeed at fault."
Grace lowered her gaze, bracing for reprimand. His eyes flickered to the side of her neck. A dark red mark lingered there, evidence of last night.
He stepped closer. His voice dropped. "Ladies should stay out of duels between men."
His warm breath brushed against her skin. A shiver ran through her. He was doing this on purpose.
The hall bustled with activity, but if anyone saw them like this, her reputation would be ruined. Flustered, she stepped back. His gaze, dark and intense, locked onto hers.
John patted Jimmy's shoulder. "If this happens again, I'll take the blame. Even if Larry gets seriously hurt."
Grace frowned. That wasn't the right way to teach a child.
John caught her disapproving look and smirked. "Ms. Quinn, don't worry. Boys fight. It has nothing to do with you."
She exhaled. "Thank you for understanding. I'll take Jimmy to change. Excuse me."
She walked away without looking back, Jimmy's small hand in hers. After changing him into clean clothes, she gently patted his head. She cared about Jimmy. And John… he was an excellent partner. Good stamina and all.
But it was time to end things.
She pulled out her phone.
[The game is over.]
After dressing and applying light makeup, she headed to the venue.
Sitting in the audience, John glanced at his phone, reading the message from Grace a second ago. That woman. Direct and cold. She wasted no time.
Just then, a spotlight illuminated Grace on stage. She stood in a white dress, violin in hand, a soft glow surrounding her. With light makeup, she looked delicate, almost ethereal.
She wasn't the seductive woman from bed. Nor the composed teacher from earlier. Her features were sharp yet enchanting. When she smiled, her fox-like eyes pulled people in. But when she didn't, a coldness lingered there.
Now, eyes closed, violin resting on her shoulder, she looked like something out of a dream.
John had expected an average performance. He was wrong.
A parent whispered, "I didn't know Ms. Quinn was this skilled."
As she played, he recalled her clinging to him, breathless and needy. Now, she looked untouchable. Elegant. He wanted her even more.
When she finished, she opened her eyes. Their gazes met. John didn't look away.
Applause erupted around them.
Grace led the children in a bow. She handed out handmade gifts to the parents, graceful and attentive. When the event ended, she sighed in relief.
Removing her earrings, she walked toward the dressing room.
Just as she reached for the door, strong arms pulled her inside.
She gasped.
John's firm chest pressed against her back.
"Let me go," she snapped, face flushed.
But he tightened his hold.
"Ms. Quinn, that's not what you said last night."
His warm breath tickled her ear. Her body reacted before her mind could stop it.
"I remember you saying, 'Slow down, be gentle, honey.'"
Her cheeks burned. She glared at him, flustered and angry.
"Mr. Amster, I told you—it's over."
His finger brushed against her lips, silencing her.
His gaze darkened. "Shh. Someone's coming."
Her body tensed.
She pushed against his chest, but he caught her wrists, pinning them above her head.
He leaned in, lips grazing her ear. "I want to hide you away," he murmured. "So no one else can see you. And make you cry out… again and again."