His long legs, encased in tailored slacks, were visibly tense as he stood. In that moment of panic, I found myself staring at his chiseled features—his high nose bridge, sharp jawline, and lips that always seemed poised to mock. He really was born with a face that could ruin lives.
Without a word, he picked up a glass of water, walked toward the door, and—splash—poured it straight on me.
He did it on purpose.
He thought I was spying on him.
Arthur's gaze swept from my soaked hair down to my soaked chest, and he turned away with a flash of disgust. "Didn’t I tell you not to come into my study?"
Water trickled down my face, slid over my chest, and soaked through the white blouse I wore. I knew exactly what he was thinking—that I was trying to seduce him again. Fine. I gave him the satisfaction.
I wiped my face, undid the top two buttons of my shirt, and exposed the smooth line of my collarbone. "I was just worried my husband’s excessive desire might burn up his liver."
His eyes flinched toward the glimpse of skin before his face twisted. "Don’t think marriage gives you the right to dream. I will never fall in love with you."