Looking again at the head buried on his shoulder, some emotion flickered through Nathan Moore’s dark eyes. With a bend of his arm, his towering body sank down directly.
His large hand cradled the sobbing woman’s nape, a kiss landed on Titus Zane’s crown of hair and lingered, without moving for a long while.
"Nathan Moore, my heart hurts so much..."
Titus Zane clutched Nathan Moore’s arm tightly. After becoming extremely drunk, her most vulnerable side was also exposed, dropping all defenses like a drowning person clutching at the only straw, pouring out her despair.
His handsome brows tightened, his large hand forcefully moved Titus Zane’s head away from him, showing her to be a fragile little woman beneath her cool facade.
Her hair was disheveled, and her face was marred with tear tracks.
Looking at that not-so-large but noticeable mark, Nathan Moore’s handsome brows involuntarily tensed, and almost as if possessed, he pressed his thin lips down upon that pink blemish.
This was Nathan Moore’s first kiss to Titus Zane.
Although they had countless sexual encounters, he had never kissed her, biting her shoulder when out of control to vent his hatred.
The kiss traveled bit by bit along her brows and eyes, lacking any violent rudeness, only endless gentle entanglement, until—
It reached her lips but directly bypassed them, then landed on her neck, the hollow of her throat, continuing to tenderly kiss.
"Mmm..." A low moan escaped from her lips, and even in her drunken state, her senses became all the clearer.
Such a familiar sensation, so tender it made one tremble uncontrollably, it must be Logan, only Logan would treat her with such gentleness...
Titus Zane cupped the head buried against her chest, and voluntarily arched her torso, a murmured utterance slipping from her lips.
The head buried against her chest tensed noticeably, Nathan Moore looked up to see the intoxicated woman, flames of anger flickering in the depths of his eyes.
In an instant, it turned into the ice of the coldest December, enough to freeze all ardor.
"Logan..." The gentleness gone, Titus Zane twisted uncomfortably, her delicate brows furrowing, issuing another murmured utterance.
With a bang, the hand she had placed on Nathan Moore’s head was thrown heavily onto the bed, Titus Zane tightened her brows in pain, and the man above suddenly rose, striding out of the room.
"Logan..." On the bed, Titus Zane curled her body, her sobs breaking into audible cries.
As it turned out, Titus Zane was heavily drunk, still not awake by dinner time.
Sitting at the dining table, gazing at the exquisitely laid out dinner in front of him, Nathan Moore did not touch his chopsticks, instead, his gaze flicked towards the maid who had just brought over a bowl of soup.
"Call her down here!"
Without a title, without a name, as if loathing to the point of refusing to utter the name.
It was an odd day for Nathan Moore; there had been times when Titus Zane didn’t come down for meals, and he never asked the housekeeper to call her.
The maid responded, placed the soup bowl on the table, exchanged a glance with Olivia Zane, then turned to walk toward the staircase.
After a short while, the maid returned to the dining table.
"Sir, Miss Titus still hasn’t woken up."
"If she hasn’t woken up, then wake her up!"
"I called, but Miss Titus is still sleeping deeply."
Nathan Moore’s handsome brows tightened slightly, commanding in a cold voice, "Then splash cold water on her to wake her up!"
"Ah?" The maid was startled, turning to look at the lady of the house who had been silent all this time; the latter had her hands folded in front of her, quietly watching the conversation without interference.
"What? Did you not understand what I said?"
The voice, cold to the extreme, rose again, and the maid quickly bowed her head in agreement, "Yes, sir, I’ll go right away."