Chapter 34

She was so delicate that his fingers could nearly span her waist with ease.

This fragile frame wouldn't last long under his relentless teasing.

Alexander’s warm breath ghosted over the nape of Evelyn’s neck, sending an electric shiver down her spine.

Her pulse stuttered, unprepared for the sudden onslaught of sensation. His voice, rough and low, curled around her ear, blending with the heady musk of his cologne and the faint sweetness of jasmine drifting in from the balcony.

Evelyn’s head spun—whether from the half-finished glass of red wine at dinner or the way his lips shaped words that coiled around her like silk, she couldn’t tell.

"Evelyn," he murmured, the words a velvet caress. "Happy marriage."

Her lashes fluttered. Heat bloomed across her cheeks as the memory of their kiss from the night before surged forward, unbidden and intoxicating.

They had been this close before, too.

Her fingers curled instinctively as she moistened her lips.

"Mr. Whitmore," she murmured, her voice soft but steady. "Same to you."

Her pulse thrummed in time with the fireworks exploding overhead, each burst painting the sky in brilliant hues.

From behind, Alexander’s fingers slid between hers, locking them together.

This embrace was different—heady, intoxicating, dangerous.

Evelyn could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing against her back, his warmth seeping into her skin like sunlight.

"Mr. Whitmore?" Alexander repeated, a note of displeasure threading through his voice.

She turned slightly, meeting his gaze. The intensity in his eyes made her breath hitch.

"Then… Alexander," she corrected.

A slow, satisfied smile curved his lips.

His throat worked as he swallowed, his hand gliding over her shoulder to turn her fully toward him.

"I’d rather you call me something else," he murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble.

Her heart stuttered.

"Like what?" she dared to ask.

His fingers brushed her jaw, tilting her face up.

"Like 'husband,'" he said, the word a velvet caress.

The night air crackled between them.

She could barely think.

But she knew one thing—this moment was theirs.

And she wasn’t pulling away.

Alexander's words sent Evelyn's cheeks flaming. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, her lashes fluttering downward in sudden shyness.

The sight of her flustered state only deepened the amusement in Alexander's eyes.

The delicate fragrance of wine still lingered around her, intoxicating him further. His fingers brushed against the nape of her neck, tilting her chin up until her gaze met his.

He leaned in, the space between them vanishing—until his phone shattered the moment with its sharp, insistent ring.

A frown darkened his expression as he answered.

Evelyn exhaled, unaware she had been holding her breath. He was going to kiss me.

Her pulse still raced as she squeezed her eyes shut.

Alexander, phone pressed to his ear, seemed engrossed in urgent business. Without another word, he strode into the study, leaving her alone on the balcony.

After a long, cool shower, Evelyn stepped out, wrapping a towel around herself. The bedroom was empty—Alexander hadn’t returned.

Sinking onto the bed, her thoughts drifted back to the conversation she’d had with Claire earlier that day.

Evelyn snatched her phone and dialed Claire's number, but a deep male voice answered instead.

Her fingers tightened around the device. "Who is this? Where's Claire?" she demanded, confusion knitting her brows.

She knew Lucas' voice well—this wasn't him.

Loud music thrummed in the background, laughter and clinking glasses drowning out clarity.

Is Claire at a bar?

The bartender's voice cut through the noise, professional yet concerned. "Ma'am, are you a friend of this woman? She's had a few too many. Someone needs to take her home."

Evelyn's pulse spiked. She yanked a jacket over her shoulders. "Give me the address. Now."

The moment she hung up, she bolted for the door—then froze.

Alexander.

He was still in his study.

She hesitated, torn between urgency and explanation.

The door creaked open behind her. Alexander stood there, his sharp gaze sweeping over her rushed appearance. "Evelyn," he said, voice low. "What's happening?"

The dim lighting of Eclipse Lounge cast long shadows across the polished floor as Evelyn Carter adjusted her silk shawl.

"My best friend's had too much to drink. I need to go get her," she explained, fingers tightening around her clutch.

Alexander Whitmore studied her with those piercing gray eyes, his expression unreadable. "A man?"

"Of course not!" Evelyn huffed, cheeks flushing. "It's Claire. Claire Dawson."

The moment the words left her lips, guilt twisted in her stomach.

Our wedding night. And I'm sneaking out like a thief.

She swallowed hard, pulse racing as she met his gaze. The warmth of his hand still lingered on her waist from their first dance.

With a shaky breath, she stepped back, the satin of her gown whispering against the marble. "Let's... save the rest for next time."

Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and fled, the train of her dress fluttering behind her like a startled dove.

She didn't dare look back.

But Alexander heard. Every syllable. Every hitch in her breath.

Leaning against the grand piano, he watched his bride disappear through the gilded doors, a slow smile curving his lips.

The game had just become infinitely more interesting.

His fingers tightened around the whiskey glass as the realization struck him.

"From her words... she was actually anticipating that moment?"

The ice cubes clinked softly as Alexander set down his drink, his mind replaying Evelyn's flushed cheeks and the way her breath had hitched when he'd leaned in.

He'd assumed her hesitation meant reluctance.

But what if it had been something else entirely?

The memory of her parted lips sent heat coiling through him. That barely-there whisper of his name. The way her fingers had trembled against his chest before curling into his shirt.

Not pushing away.

Pulling closer.

A slow smirk curved his mouth as he reached for his phone. The screen illuminated his sharp features in the dim study.

This changed everything.

Next time, he wouldn't stop at almost.

Next time, he'd claim what she'd so clearly offered.

The whiskey burned his throat as he drained the glass, already imagining the ways he'd make her say his name without restraint.