Chapter 200
Oh heavens, this was beyond mortifying!
Last night, Evelyn hadn't taken that bath after all, but Alexander had indeed helped her change into her silk pajamas.
Just recalling it made her cheeks burn scarlet.
What else had transpired?
She strained her memory...
Propping herself up on one elbow, Evelyn glanced toward the ensuite bathroom—then suddenly clutched her face with both hands, emitting a muffled shriek into her palms!
It came flooding back.
Alexander, believing her asleep, had gathered his sleepwear and stepped into the shower.
But midway through his bathing ritual...
She'd awoken in a wine-hazed daze, pushed open the steamed glass door, and stumbled inside!
"Sweet merciful skies!"
Evelyn collapsed backward onto the king-sized bed, burying her flaming face in the duvet as if she could smother the memory.
The worst part?
She distinctly remembered pausing to admire the water cascading over Alexander's sculpted shoulders before he'd spun around with that startled expression.
And the bite mark.
Dear lord, the unmistakable crescent-shaped imprint she'd left on his collarbone when he'd carried her back to bed.
The evidence would still be there at breakfast.
Evelyn groaned into the Egyptian cotton sheets, her toes curling in humiliation. How would she ever face him across the breakfast table now?
Somewhere beneath the pillows, her phone buzzed with an incoming message—probably Claire demanding details about last night's charity gala.
As if anything could distract her from this fresh hell.
The ensuite door clicked open.
Evelyn froze.
Alexander's rich baritone cut through her panic: "Darling, are you planning to suffocate yourself before coffee?"
She clutched the duvet tighter. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep...
The mattress dipped beside her. Warm fingers brushed her tangled auburn hair aside. "I believe this belongs to you."
Against her bare shoulder, he placed something cool and metallic—her missing diamond earring from last night.
Evelyn peeked one emerald eye open.
And there it was—that faint, perfect bite mark visible above his unbuttoned shirt collar.
Alexander's lips quirked. "Sleepwalking again, sweetheart?"
She yanked the covers over her head with another strangled whimper.
This wasn't happening.
It absolutely wasn't happening.
"Did I really see all that? How am I supposed to look Alexander in the eye now?"
After such an embarrassing moment, maybe she should just feign temporary amnesia.
Evelyn's cheeks burned crimson. Even now, with her eyes closed, the memory played vividly in her mind.
In that confined, steamy space, she had been pinned against the tiled wall by a dripping-wet Alexander.
His sculpted muscles were mere inches from her face. When she dared to glance up, his smoldering gaze locked onto hers—more unsettling than the raw hunger he'd shown when he'd kissed her without warning.
The shower spray cascaded over them both, the water running in rivulets down their heated skin.
His breathing was ragged, his stare unapologetically intense as he loomed over her, casting her in shadow.
Evelyn's pulse roared in her ears.
Alexander braced one arm against the wall, leaning in until his lips nearly brushed her ear. "Mrs. Whitmore," he murmured, voice rough, "did you barge in here because you wanted to join me?"
A strangled noise escaped her throat.
God, that couldn’t have been her. That couldn’t have been her response.
But it was.
Her memory was frustratingly blank.
Evelyn pressed her palms against her flushed cheeks, desperately trying to recall if things had escalated beyond what she could remember.
Every muscle in her body ached when she woke up, as if she had run a marathon in her sleep.
The alarm blared on schedule. She slapped her cheeks lightly, forcing herself to focus, then rushed out the door toward Titan Capital Group.
During the commute, her fingers hovered over her phone screen. She typed out a message to Alexander—then immediately deleted it.
Too awkward.
The moment she stepped into the office, hushed whispers reached her ears. Cassandra and Natalie were huddled together, eyes gleaming with scandalous excitement.
"Absolutely! No doubt he’s a beast in bed!"
Evelyn tilted her head. "Who is?"
"Mr. Whitmore! You missed it—when he walked in this morning, everyone saw it!" Natalie gushed. "A fresh, deep bite mark right on his throat! Bright red! His wife must’ve gone wild last night!"
Cassandra nodded eagerly. "Can you believe it? Alexander Whitmore—the man who never loses control—finally snapped! Who is this mystery woman who managed to bring him to his knees?"
Then, noticing Evelyn’s frozen expression, Cassandra abruptly cut herself off.
A sharp realization dawned on her.
Oh no.
"So... I bit Alexander last night?"
Evelyn's fingers trembled as she stared at her reflection in the office window.
How could she not remember a single thing?
Just then, Simon approached and lightly tapped on her desk. "Mr. Whitmore didn't sleep well. Make him his usual coffee and bring it in."
Her stomach twisted.
She hadn't sorted through the mess of emotions from last night. She wasn't ready to face him—not after whatever had happened.
Evelyn swallowed hard, already forming the words to ask if someone else could deliver it instead.
But Simon, as if reading her mind, gave her a knowing look.
"Mr. Whitmore was very specific," he said smoothly. "He only wants the coffee you make."
Her pulse jumped.
Why did that sound like a challenge?