Even in the car, he had caught the subtle floral scent clinging to her skin—a fragrance like roses after the rain, fresh yet intoxicating.
Grace kissed his earlobe, using every bit of charm she could muster to entice him.
But John suddenly pulled away.
Her eyes, misty with longing, clung to him like glue.
Before, whenever she looked at him like this, he would lose all self-control.
Grace blinked up at him, biting her lip. "You..."
"I bought some yogurt. Put it in the fridge for you."
Grace: "…"
After setting her on fire, John just… left.
He stood up, gathered the dishes, and headed into the kitchen. A moment later, she heard the sound of running water as he started washing up.
Grace sat there in stunned silence.
Wasn't he supposed to be some powerful corporate heir? Why did he look so damn natural doing the dishes—like a seasoned kitchen worker in a wealthy estate?
