Chapter 858

Rosalind wished the earth would crack open and devour her right then. Why did contraceptive aisles even require sales associates?

To make matters worse, she had absolutely no clue which type to choose.

"Um... Just something standard," Rosalind muttered, avoiding eye contact.

The associate held up a sleek box. "How about our classic range?"

Rosalind extended her hand. "Perfect."

But instead of handing it over, the associate continued, "What's your partner's size? We carry petite, regular, king, and..." She lowered her voice, "magnum."

Rosalind's fingers twitched.

Was this really necessary? "I-I'm not sure..."

"Where is he?"

Rosalind turned and gestured discreetly. "By the magazines."

The associate followed her line of sight and gasped. "Holy smokes. That's Lucian Graves?"

Under the pharmacy's fluorescent lights, Lucian stood like a GQ cover model—black tailored suit, sharp jawline, flipping through a medical journal with effortless elegance. His towering frame and predatory grace made nearby shoppers do double takes.

Rosalind stole another glance.

Yes, he was devastating. Always had been.

Even back when he was just "Everett," a scholarship student with threadbare sweaters, socialites had thrown themselves at him.

Now? The suit amplified everything—calculated, polished, lethally attractive.

The associate fanned herself. "Definitely a magnum."

Rosalind choked. How could this stranger possibly—

"One box enough?"

She gnawed her lip. "Better make it... three."

"Smart girl." The associate winked, bagging them.

Rosalind snatched the bag and practically sprinted back. "Got them."

Lucian's thumb brushed her flaming cheek. "You're blushing, darling."

A mirror confirmed it—her face matched the emergency exit signs.

"Overheating," she lied. "Checkout. Now."

His chuckle was pure sin. "Eager?"

She could strangle him. He lived for this torture.

At the register, she slammed down the boxes. "Just these."

Meanwhile, Lucian draped an arm around her, lips grazing her ear. "Three boxes? Ambitious."

Regret flooded her. What cosmic insanity made her say three?

His teeth scraped her earlobe. "Let's see if we need to restock by dawn."

She elbowed him hard.

"$24.50," the cashier droned.

Lucian tossed a fifty. "Keep it."

Bag in one hand, he laced their fingers together, leading her to the parking lot.

Rosalind moved toward the passenger door—

Lucian swung open the rear instead. "Backseat. Now."

Her pulse skyrocketed.

He drove until streetlights faded, stopping in a deserted overlook. When his door clicked open, her heart threatened to crack ribs.

Three years. Three years, and he still turned her into a breathless, trembling mess.