Chapter 361 Edge Of Temptation

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    “I’m not so desperate that I need to force you.” His breath, warm as summer wine, caressed her cheek. Lips grazed the shell of her ear, tongue painting an unhurried, maddening stroke.

    “Laura, are you sure you don’t want this? You used to beg me for it–couldn’t wait to pin me down. Have all those cravings really disappeared?”

    That cultured voice, wrapped in the hush of night, became a hook baited with irresistible promise.

    Laura froze, spine taut as if caught in a hunter’s snare.

    D*mn it! iHe’s /iiactually /iiusing /iihis /iilooks /iias /iia /iiweapon/i.

    He knew she couldn’t resist him, especially when desire hung this thick, yet he still dared to

    press.

    “Laura,” Weston murmured, his voice a dark velvet drawl. “Every woman who ever tried to have their way with me in bed never even got the chance. I saved that privilege for you alone. Tell me–are you going to im it?”

    Words deserted her. She could only re, eyes sparking like flint struck in the gloom.

    Overhead light nted across Weston’s frame, carving out each contour with painterly precision.

    Lean muscle rippled beneath skin the color of warm sand–defined, yet never excessive, a study in controlled power.

    Laura had always been a shameless worshipper of beauty, and this man, face and body alike, fit her personal pantheon perfectly.

    Small wonder her resolve thinned, trembling beneath temptation’s weight.

    “Laura, you honestly don’t want this?” Weston’s voice slipped into every corner of the room, coaxing, daring.

    She sucked in one breath, then another, clinging to thest thread of reason. That thread snapped the instant Weston tipped his chin and brushed his Adam’s apple against her lips.

    With a sudden twist, she rolled, pinning him beneath her, hair spilling forward like a banner of

    conquest.

    16:23 Wed, bSep /bb3 /b

    Chapter 361 Edge Of Temptation

    “Weston, tonight you follow my lead.”

    “All right.” He smiled, satisfaction shing in those storm–dark eyes.

    If her appetite centered on him alone, if she never again searched for another would dly surrender.

    Only to her–no one else.

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    Weston

    Watching her writhe across his chest, his grin widened, pleasure bending the curve of his mouth.

    Had he known he would ache for her this deeply, he would never have ended things back then. Late, yes–but not toote.

    Hourster, she copsed, spent, and drifted into a heavy sleep. Weston eased upright, gazing down at the woman tangled in sheets. “Laura Wentworth, don’t let me catch you two–timing.”

    A man’s voice cracked through the darkness of Julius Whitethorn’s dream. “Julius, you are my son. One day, you will be exactly like me.”

    Laughter–high, frantic–spiraled in next. “Haha! You’re his son. You’ll turn into a monster just like him. Don’t cling to me. I don’t want to be your mother. I wish I’d never borne you!”

    Male and female voices tangled, needles of sound stabbing his mind without mercy.

    Blood–red light flooded everything, spreading until no corner of his consciousness stayed untouched.

    iNo/ii! /iStopi! /iiStop /iitalking/ii! /iiDon’t /iimake /iianother /iisound/ii! /i

    Julius jerked awake, eyes snapping open into total ck.

    He gulped air and sat upright, realizing his clothes clung, soaked with cold sweat.

    A nightmare–nothing but a nightmare.

    Before turning in, Julius had taken pills, yet sleep abandoned him long before morning crawled in.

    He rose atst, stealing a nce toward Quinn, still curled in the center of the bed.

    She remained asleep, breathing deep, untouched by his unrest.

    Pale moonlight filtered through the curtains and rested on her face, a hush made visible.

    16:23 Wed, Sep b3 /b

    Chapter 361 Edge Of Temptation

    Earlier, she had insisted he was not like his father.

    iBut /iiwhat /iiif /iithat /iifaith /iiis /iimisced/ii? /i

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    In his dream, his parents‘ voices fused into one dire oracle, promising he would grow into the very man he feared.

    If that destiny arrived, would Quinn’s gaze still soften, or harden into something colder than silence?

    A dull throb began behind his eyes.

    He jerked his head, as if the pain might fling the thought away.

    Then, he left the room and descended to the ground–floor bathroom.

    The mirror showed a face so bloodless it looked sculpted from wax.

    iWas /iit ibecause /iiof /iithe /iinightmare/i? iOr /iiDad’s /iivisit/ii? /i

    Some buried desire in his heart kept wing toward daylight.

    He twisted the faucet and let stabbing cold water scour his skin.

    When he finally stepped out, dressed after a bath, he saw Quinn standing outside.

    “Did I… wake you?” he asked, caught off guard by her silent vigil.

    “Not really. I never sleep deep,” Quinn replied.

    She had felt him rise from the bed, and when he never returned, she got out of bed to find

    him.

    After all, she could sense that Joaquin’s sudden arrival had stirred something in Julius.