Chapter 89

Perhaps it was the warmth of the spiced cocoa or Alexander's deep voice, but Evelyn's face flushed crimson.

He stood just outside the lamplight's glow, his broad chest rising and falling with each steady breath.

The space between them was intimate—close enough for her to trace the outline of his toned muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt.

Lightning cracked across the sky once more.

Without warning, his arms encircled her, pulling her against him.

Evelyn melted into Alexander's embrace, her senses overwhelmed.

The faint aroma of aged whiskey clung to his dark sweater, intoxicating her.

His lips grazed her temple in a featherlight kiss, sending her pulse into a frenzy.

The storm raged beyond the windows, sealing them in their own private world.

In the dimly lit room, Alexander cradled the back of her head, guiding her onto his lap as their lips met in a searing kiss.

The mingling scents of whiskey and cinnamon filled the air as their breathing grew uneven.

His expert fingers traced patterns that made her knees buckle. The sensations were intoxicating, threatening to unravel her completely.

Her pulse raced wildly. She clung to Alexander like a drowning woman, with no hope of escape.

Occasionally, she caught glimpses of herself in the mirrored surface of the liquor cabinet.

The reflection startled her—she barely recognized the woman staring back.

But this was her husband. This was allowed. This was right.

Alexander guided her backward, his mouth never leaving hers, hands firm on her waist.

The soft mattress met her back as he lowered her gently onto the bed.

In the darkness, Evelyn heard the sharp click of a belt buckle. The sound jolted her upright like an electric shock.

The bedroom was swallowed in shadows, only a sliver of golden light creeping through the doorway from the living room.

Alexander's voice was rough with desire. "Nervous?"

She met his gaze but said nothing. Instead, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet hitting the cool hardwood.

Alexander arched an eyebrow, watching with amused curiosity as Evelyn dashed toward the liquor cabinet.

She snatched up a half-empty bottle of bourbon, uncorked it, and took a deep swig.

Her cheeks flushed instantly.

She was still untouched, after all. If she wanted this night to be unforgettable, liquid courage was her best ally.

"You have to stand out," Claire had whispered during their midnight call. "Countless women have thrown themselves at Alexander. Be different. Make sure he never forgets you."

Evelyn had hesitated, gripping her phone tighter. "How?"

Claire’s laughter had been mischievous. "Trust me. Just follow your instincts."

The memory alone made Evelyn bury her face in her hands, heat creeping up her neck.

Now, with the alcohol burning through her veins, she turned back toward the bedroom.

Alexander lounged against the headboard, one arm bent behind his head, his gaze dark and assessing.

The bourbon hit fast.

Her pulse thundered, but her mind stayed sharp.

She took a deliberate step forward.

Then another.

Her fingers curled into the hem of her shirt.

Alexander’s lips curved.

"Evelyn," he murmured, voice low. "What do you want to do?"

She exhaled shakily.

"Something unforgettable."

Her fingers curled around the silk tie, yanking it free with a sharp tug.

Alexander's lips curved into an amused smirk as Evelyn wound the fabric twice around his wrist, securing it with deliberate precision. The knot tightened, rendering his hands immobile—and she had the audacity to finish it with a neat bow.

"Mrs. Whitmore?" His voice held a mix of surprise and dark amusement.

The tip of his tongue pressed against his cheek, that infuriatingly knowing smile never fading.

"So this is your game?" His voice dropped to a husky murmur. "I never took you for the type to enjoy restraints."

Without the tie, his shirt gaped open, revealing the sharp lines of his collarbones. The sight of him—bound, sprawled across the bed with deceptive submission—shouldn’t have been so arresting.

Yet it was.

Evelyn’s pulse thrummed wildly, but there was no retreating now.

Her chilled fingertips traced the curve of his lips, her gaze clouded with something reckless.

Then she leaned in, her breath mingling with his.

"Hush."

The word was a whisper, a command, a plea—all at once.

The alcohol made Evelyn's head spin. She meant to press her lips against Alexander's, but her aim was off—her kiss landed on the strong curve of his throat instead.

She felt the hard swallow beneath her mouth, heard his ragged breath above her. When she lifted her gaze, his darkened eyes held hers with an intensity that made her pulse stutter.

"Now," she murmured, her words slow and deliberate from the champagne, "I can do anything I want to you."

Alexander's brow arched, a smirk playing at his lips. "Is that so, Mrs. Whitmore?" His voice dropped to a rough whisper. "Then tell me—exactly what are your intentions?"

The challenge in his tone sent a thrill down her spine.