His voice was a whisper, audible only to her.
The hot breath he exhaled brushed against her cheek like a feather.
He was deliberately teasing her.
Holly's eyes widened, and she glared at him.
But the more she glared, the more audacious he became.
As if certain she wouldn't dare make a sound, he kissed her while his hands began to wander.
Holly tried to push him away, to resist, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them behind her back.
Now she was completely immobilized.
She was burning with shame and indignation, her eyes turning red with anger.
"You're not the Eldest Miss Sinclair anymore. You're married now; you can't be so willful."
Outside the door, Isabella Sinclair was still droning on. "A man like Tristan is one in a million. You need to learn to be content... Holly, are you even listening?"
Getting no response, Isabella's tone grew annoyed.
Holly didn't want to answer.
Because deep down, she didn't agree with her aunt at all.
'I'm not being willful!'
