Evelyn Clayton had a cigarette between her fingers, just about to stand up and get dressed, but a pair of large hands held her down.
"Wear this one." James Grant picked up a men’s shirt with his fingertips, the curve of his lips light-hearted and suggestive, "If you find it troublesome, I can help you dress, just as well, I want to see it again."
"You’re crazy." Evelyn reached out to swat away his mischievous hands, but was pulled back to the bed with a force, she frowned unhappily, "Let go, I’m leaving."
"What’s the rush?" James took the cigarette from her hand, took a puff, then mischievously blew a beautiful smoke ring at her, flipped over, and pressed it out in the ashtray on the bedside table.
The grayish white smoke gradually dispersed, vanishing into thin air.
His hands were extremely intrusive, wandering from her delicate, rounded shoulder, to the smooth, silk-like back, and then slowly down along the spine, and then...
Evelyn’s eyes, like peach blossoms, alluringly squinted, gradually enveloped in a layer of mist, her fair skin flushed red with passion, her red lips slightly parted, evidently resisting and struggling, yet even more enticing.
James’s eyes grew darker, his phoenix eyes shamelessly admiring this flawless work of art.
Evelyn was beautiful, dazzlingly beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful.
Especially when blooming beneath him, she was stunningly beautiful.
His gaze swept over the red mark on the white sheets, then he chuckled lightly:
"What? Am I a tool? Used and tossed aside?
"That’s not very gentlemanly of you, future sister-in-law."
Evelyn’s pupils slightly contracted, forcing herself not to show fear. The next second, she raised her hand intending to push the man in front of her away:
"You knew all along I was your brother’s fiancée, yet why did you still provoke me?"
"I recall it was you who initiated last night, wasn’t it?" James countered, holding her soft hand, pressing it against his defined chest muscles, "Last night at the bar, your hand just recklessly reached into my shirt, I resisted and you were displeased."
"I was drunk, I didn’t see clearly!" Evelyn argued while secretly using force, attempting to pull her hand back.
"Didn’t see clearly?" James’s eyes turned cold, but the curve of his lips became more pronounced, "Did you mistake me for Matthew Sullivan?"
"How could it be him?" Evelyn sneered, without hiding disdain.
She didn’t want to marry Matthew Sullivan at all, not to mention having any romantic feelings for him.
When the marriage agreement was made, she was only five years old, what could she understand?
To be honest, the marriage was nothing but a one-sided intent of James and Matthew’s father to repay her father’s kindness.
Tonight, she deliberately used the excuse of being drunk, planning to cause some trouble, just to break things off with Matthew Sullivan once and for all.
Before, whatever Marcus did outside, she never cared, because she never intended to marry him.
Yet this time, he got involved with her stepsister Iris Lockwood, disgusting her thoroughly.
That’s why she lost her mind in anger, accidentally drinking too much, unexpectedly getting involved with James Grant.
Now she utterly regretted it.
James and Matthew were half-brothers, famous playboys in Aethelburg.
Their scandals outnumbered the female friends Evelyn had encountered in total and neither was more restrained than the other.
To Evelyn, the only difference between James and Matthew was that he never grossed her out.
But she still didn’t want to be entangled with such a man because of this incident.
Especially since her marriage agreement hadn’t been dissolved yet, what happened between them last night, with the drunkenness faded, only left awkwardness. The source of this content ɪs novel·fıre·net
After all, she was inexperienced, unable to be as adept as James.
Now she had only one thought, and that was to quickly detach herself, clearing up any entanglements.
"Oh, not me, nor him, then who was it?" James showed no sign of letting her go, holding onto her hand without releasing, his actions increasingly indecent while he leisurely pursued the questioning, "Can that person be more attractive than me? Have a better body than mine? Or make you cry and beg on the bed, asking for more again and aga—"