Chapter 965

Lucian's lips trailed from Rosalind's mouth to her flushed cheek, then down the elegant curve of her neck. His hands grew bolder, exploring.

Rosalind's eyes flew open. She shoved him back with surprising force.

Lucian's gaze burned crimson with hunger. "What's the matter?" His voice came out rough.

"Explain yourself," Rosalind demanded. "Weren't you the one who claimed we were finished? That you felt nothing for me?"

His jaw tightened. "I did say that. But you're the one playing with fire tonight. You started this."

"So if I tempt you, you simply can't resist? Is that it?"

Silence stretched between them. She already knew the answer—why force him to say it aloud? Perhaps she just needed to hear the words.

For Lucian, one glance from her was enough to make him lose all reason.

"Nothing to say?" Rosalind pressed.

In response, Lucian hauled her against him and captured her lips again.

She twisted away, refusing to yield.

With effortless strength, he spun her around, pressing her front against the wall as his mouth claimed hers with scorching intensity.

"Stop—" she gasped.

His hand slid up her thigh, beneath her skirt.

Rosalind stiffened. "I'm still carrying your child!"

That single word—"pregnant"—acted like ice water. Lucian buried his face in her hair, his breathing ragged.

"I'm only human. When you tease me like this, what did you expect would happen?"

"What if it were someone else?" she challenged. "If Isabella batted her lashes at you, would you cave just as easily?"

Lucian said nothing.

She turned in his arms. "Answer me! If your pretty little secretary came onto you, would you—"

Without warning, he seized her wrist and guided her hand downward.

Rosalind yanked free. "Absolutely not!"

Ignoring her protest, Lucian unfastened his belt with deliberate slowness.

Heat flooded Rosalind's cheeks. The man had no shame!

She averted her eyes, but Lucian caged her against the wall, kissing her until her knees buckled. He took what he needed without crossing certain lines—just his mouth on hers and his own hand working between them.

Yet the sheer intimacy of it left her trembling.

Lucian Graves was devastating—all sculpted muscle, old-money elegance, and barely leashed intensity. No woman could remain unaffected by that.

Her legs gave out. Before she could slide to the floor, Lucian caught her and carried her to the massive bed. He deposited her gently on the silken sheets.

Then he vanished into the bathroom. The shower hissed to life. A cold one, no doubt.

Rosalind burrowed under the covers, her skin still burning. Tonight had spiraled far beyond her control.

Minutes later, Lucian emerged, damp hair tousled, steam curling off his bare shoulders. He'd thrown on a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled to reveal corded forearms.

"Sleep," he ordered, voice low. "I'm leaving."

Rosalind studied him—the way his damp locks fell over his forehead, the way that shirt clung to his torso. His eyes held that dangerous mix of tenderness and barely restrained wildness.

Irresistible.

She nodded. "Drive safely."

Lucian tucked the duvet around her, then turned on his heel. The door clicked shut behind him.

Rosalind exhaled and let sleep claim her.

Dawn arrived with the shrill ring of her phone.

Julian's name flashed on the screen.