Chapter 927

Lucian smirked at Rosalind. "Are you absolutely certain I was the one torturing you last night? Should I refresh your memory?"

Rosalind opened her mouth to protest. "I—"

But Lucian didn't let her finish. "Last night, someone kept complaining every time I touched her. She begged me to be gentle, demanded I change positions, and insisted she couldn't take anymore. Ring any bells?"

Rosalind's cheeks burned. She slapped a hand over his mouth before he could continue. Was he completely shameless?

"Stop pretending you're innocent!"

He arched a brow. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"I did protest last night, but did you listen? Not once!"

Lucian swallowed hard. His fingers brushed her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "If you ever piss me off again, I swear I'll keep you in bed until you can't walk. Understood?"

Rosalind's eyes widened. She didn't dare respond.

He studied her for a long moment before adding, "You say your protests didn't work, but if it weren't for them, do you really think I would've held back? I would've wrecked you."

The truth was, Lucian had planned to wreck her—until he saw the tears in her eyes, her pitiful expression. Against his original intentions, he'd softened.

By the end, he'd been drenched in sweat, so consumed by her that revenge was the last thing on his mind.

"Don't get any ideas," Rosalind said quickly.

Lucian lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Then behave, and I won't have to."

She yanked her hand back instinctively.

His gaze lingered. "Hungry?"

It was already six—dinnertime.

Rosalind wasn't in the mood to eat much, but her stomach betrayed her with a quiet growl. Pregnancy was cruel—she could feel ravenous yet have no appetite.

She nodded. "A little."

"Let's go, then."

Was he actually taking her out?

Before she could argue, Lucian stood, gripping her hand firmly as he led her out. Thirty minutes later, they arrived at an upscale restaurant.

The manager greeted them warmly at the entrance. "Mr. Graves, welcome! Right this way."

Lucian never released her hand, his fingers laced securely through hers.

They were seated by the window.

The manager smiled. "Is this table to your liking, Mr. Graves? Different from last night's reservation."

"Last night?" Rosalind turned to the manager. "He was here yesterday?"

The manager nodded. "Indeed. Mr. Graves made a reservation for dinner."

Rosalind stiffened. Last night, he'd had plans with Vivian. So this was where he'd intended to take her?

He brought Vivian here, and now her? What was the message?

The manager added, "Though Mr. Graves never actually dined here last night."

Rosalind blinked. "Why not?"

"Because the woman who arrived wasn't the one he was waiting for. He was furious the moment he saw her."

Wait—what? Hadn't he been meeting Vivian?

She glanced at Lucian, who remained focused on the menu, unbothered by the conversation.

"Then who was he waiting for?" Rosalind pressed.

The manager smiled knowingly. "You really don't know? Mr. Graves brought you here tonight. The person he wanted all along was you."