The Landlord’s Forbidden Hands - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading The Landlord’s Forbidden Hands, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of The Landlord’s Forbidden Hands.
Knock, knock, knock… Knock, knock, knock…
Just as I braced myself, sharp rapping shattered the silence at the door.
My heart lurched into my throat.
The boss froze mid-reach, panic flickering behind his eyes.
Beside me, my husband stirred, his voice thick with sleep. "Who’s there?" My mind went blank—pure terror locking me in place.
The boss yanked his shirt straight, jerking his chin toward the towel. Hands shaking, I clutched it tighter, forcing steel into my spine.
He marched to the door, sucked in a breath, and swung it open.
A waiter stood there, bowing slightly. "Sir, you’re needed downstairs."
The boss exhaled hard, shooting me a loaded glance before nodding. "Tell them I’m coming."
As the door clicked shut, his gaze raked over me—dark, starving, furious.
He leaned in, voice a graveled whisper. "Luck just bought you time. Next chance I get? You won’t slip away." Then he was gone.
My pulse didn’t slow.
I sagged against the wall, trembling like a leaf.
What was I thinking? One reckless moment from destroying everything.
My husband wasn’t perfect, but he was mine. How could I—?
My eyes caught on the burnt-out incense by the bed. The air turned leaden.
Lunch was a spread of rustic elegance—farm-fresh dishes artfully arranged.
The boss slid a steaming bowl toward us. "Consommé," he said, gaze lingering on me. "Good for sweating out fevers."
My stomach knotted under his stare. I focused on filling my husband’s bowl to the brim.
"Drink up, love," I murmured. "It’ll help."
I took a meager sip.
My husband gulped it down, oblivious. "Incredible hospitality!"
The meal ended in stiff silence. Back in our room, he yawned.
"Still feel rough, sweetheart. Let’s turn in early."
As drowsiness blurred my edges, familiar fingers traced my hip.
Just as I braced myself, sharp rapping shattered the silence at the door.
My heart lurched into my throat.
The boss froze mid-reach, panic flickering behind his eyes.
Beside me, my husband stirred, his voice thick with sleep. "Who’s there?" My mind went blank—pure terror locking me in place.
The boss yanked his shirt straight, jerking his chin toward the towel. Hands shaking, I clutched it tighter, forcing steel into my spine.
He marched to the door, sucked in a breath, and swung it open.
A waiter stood there, bowing slightly. "Sir, you’re needed downstairs."
The boss exhaled hard, shooting me a loaded glance before nodding. "Tell them I’m coming."
As the door clicked shut, his gaze raked over me—dark, starving, furious.
He leaned in, voice a graveled whisper. "Luck just bought you time. Next chance I get? You won’t slip away." Then he was gone.
My pulse didn’t slow.
I sagged against the wall, trembling like a leaf.
What was I thinking? One reckless moment from destroying everything.
My husband wasn’t perfect, but he was mine. How could I—?
My eyes caught on the burnt-out incense by the bed. The air turned leaden.
Lunch was a spread of rustic elegance—farm-fresh dishes artfully arranged.
The boss slid a steaming bowl toward us. "Consommé," he said, gaze lingering on me. "Good for sweating out fevers."
My stomach knotted under his stare. I focused on filling my husband’s bowl to the brim.
"Drink up, love," I murmured. "It’ll help."
I took a meager sip.
My husband gulped it down, oblivious. "Incredible hospitality!"
The meal ended in stiff silence. Back in our room, he yawned.
"Still feel rough, sweetheart. Let’s turn in early."
As drowsiness blurred my edges, familiar fingers traced my hip.
End of The Landlord’s Forbidden Hands Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to The Landlord’s Forbidden Hands book page.