CHAPTER 2: CHAPTER 2: WE CAN’T LOSE

His skin was scarily hot, and Evelyn Clayton couldn’t control the blush on her face. She hurriedly used her other hand to cover James Grant’s mouth, gritting her teeth:

"Eldest Young Master Grant, are you sure you want this matter to be known? If it gets blown out of proportion, never mind what Matthew Sullivan will do. Aren’t you afraid your stepmother will take the opportunity to make Uncle Grant force you to marry me?"

Shirley Owens had always regarded James Grant, her stepson, as a thorn in her side.

James Grant already held twenty percent of Atlas Group’s shares and was backed by the Whitman Family. If he were to marry a powerful wife, then once Harrison Grant passes away, Atlas Group would have nothing to do with her and her son, Desmond Grant.

So if she could have James Grant marry someone as powerless as Evelyn Clayton, she would be overjoyed.

"Nobody can dictate my marriage, not even my dad, let alone her," James Grant sneered disdainfully, gently licking Evelyn Clayton’s palm with his warm, moist tongue. "Besides, you chased away my companion for tonight, shouldn’t you take responsibility?"

Evelyn Clayton abruptly withdrew her hand, feeling as if the palm he licked had been set afire, the flame traveling all the way to her heart.

The wild entanglements from earlier, spurred by alcohol, the passionate scenes replayed in her mind as if in slow motion like a carousel.

This man’s skills were so good they kept her wanting more.

Feeling her body’s restless stirrings, she couldn’t help but despise herself.

She casually reached out with slender fingers to lightly tap James Grant’s Adam’s apple, playfully provoking him with feigned surprise and coyness:

"Eldest Young Master Sawyer, are you clinging to me because you’ve fallen for me?"

James Grant sneered, and Evelyn Clayton didn’t care to guess how much ridicule lay in that laugh. Her only intent was to provoke him, hoping he’d let her go.

She didn’t have the ability to make this playboy renounce his flirtations, nor did she intend to.

Suddenly, James Grant scooped her up horizontally, her body in mid-air giving her an extreme sense of insecurity, prompting her to clutch his neck in panic: "What are you doing?"

James Grant chuckled softly before carrying Evelyn Clayton off the bed and striding towards the balcony.

Evelyn Clayton looked at the balcony’s glass door absurdly wondering if he intended to throw her off the balcony.

Outside the balcony, the commotion from the adjoining suite came with the night breeze, unrestrainedly entering through the slightly ajar glass door.

"Listen," James Grant released her, pulling the glass door open a little more. The high and low ambiguous sounds from next door became clearly audible, causing her to blush furiously.

Evelyn Clayton was certain that James Grant had deliberately booked the room next to Matthew Sullivan and Iris Lockwood’s.

After knowing him for so many years, why hadn’t she realized how cunning he was at heart before?

"We can’t lose," James Grant whispered, lightly biting her earlobe, his warm breath caressing her elegant neck, tinting it with a blush.

She uncontrollably shivered, tightly biting her lower lip.

She thought she must be crazy, under the spell of James Grant.

Otherwise, why did she really put on a loose men’s shirt, letting him pin her against the glass door, indulging in him all night?

The price of indulgence was, she was nearly exhausted to death on the bed by James Grant.

This man was toxic!

When checking out the next day, she suppressed her soreness and weakness, resentfully glaring at the refreshed James Grant.

Clearly, neither of them had slept all night, so why was there such a drastic difference in their states?