She didn't want to become a public spectacle, nor the subject of their idle gossip.
Evelyn Grant's expression softened. She tugged at the hem of his shirt and gave it a gentle shake. "Let's get out of here."
A white puff of air escaped her lips. Beneath her long lashes, her beautiful eyes were fixed on the man, glistening alluringly. There was a hint of coyness in her soft, clear voice. "It's so cold."
So petite, soft, and pliant in his arms.
It was dangerously easy to stir the base possessiveness deep in a man's heart.
Preston Keaton ruffled her hair, then unhurriedly wrapped the scarf around her neck. It covered the lower half of her small face, leaving only her eyes exposed. "Mm," he hummed.
He nonchalantly tapped her forehead with his finger, his tone steady and cool. "A true femme fatale."
