Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 127: Chapter 127
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 127: Chapter 127. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
Perched at the bedside, Elena began tracing the elegant lines of his face.
The pencil danced; within moments a sharply contoured profile appeared on the page.
Then Simon's long lashes fluttered, and Elena—startled—shoved the drawing beneath the covers.
Right on cue, Simon's eyes opened.
Simon stared at her. "What are you doing?"
Elena shook her head frantically and stammered, "N-nothing," sounding like someone caught in the act.
She leapt up to change the subject. "Why are you still here?"
Simon walked over, studied her face, and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.
"Your fever's gone. Why are you still so red?"
His words only made the heat crawl higher up her cheeks.
"I... had a fever last night?"
"Mmm. Do you feel any better now?"
Elena nodded, then, glancing down, suddenly realized her clothes had been changed.
So last night hadn't been a dream—he had wiped her down and dressed her.
She jerked her head up to look at him.
A faint knowing smile tugged at his lips.
"I changed you with my eyes closed."
Elena fell silent, at a loss for words.
Can someone really change clothes with his eyes shut?' she wondered.
Still, after he'd watched over her all night, how could she accuse him of peeking?
Flustered, she turned away. "Thank you... How about I make us breakfast?"
"Sure."
Elena bolted for the kitchen, practically in flight.
Lounging in the doorway, Simon watched her scurry about, nerves jangling yet feigning composure, like a headless chicken.
His amusement faded when he noticed the scars and half-healed chilblains on her hands; heart aching, he stepped inside.
"Can you even cook? If not, I'll teach you."
Startled, Elena spun around—only to collide squarely with his chest.
The bowl of water in her hands splashed across his shirt.
She sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry— it was an accident!"
Setting the bowl down, she grabbed a towel and dabbed at him, but it was soaked too; panicking, she tossed it aside and tried using her sleeve instead.
Simon caught her wrist, his dark eyes a calm, inescapable vortex.
Her pulse skittered. "Your shirt's wet—let me dry it."
His Adam's apple bobbed; his voice came out low and rough. "Okay."
He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a sculpted chest and a vivid leopard tattoo prowling across it.
Embarrassed, Elena lowered her gaze and asked, "Why a leopard?"
She kept her head down, stirring the porridge, too shy to meet his eyes.
Silence stretched between them.
Puzzled, she finally looked up. "What is it? Did I say something wrong?"
Simon's gaze had darkened; she sensed anger and a hint of wounded pride.
Apparently, she'd touched a nerve she shouldn't have.
"Does that tattoo have something to do with the woman who still lives in your heart—your first love?"
Simon narrowed his eyes. "First love?"
The pencil danced; within moments a sharply contoured profile appeared on the page.
Then Simon's long lashes fluttered, and Elena—startled—shoved the drawing beneath the covers.
Right on cue, Simon's eyes opened.
Simon stared at her. "What are you doing?"
Elena shook her head frantically and stammered, "N-nothing," sounding like someone caught in the act.
She leapt up to change the subject. "Why are you still here?"
Simon walked over, studied her face, and pressed the back of his hand to her forehead.
"Your fever's gone. Why are you still so red?"
His words only made the heat crawl higher up her cheeks.
"I... had a fever last night?"
"Mmm. Do you feel any better now?"
Elena nodded, then, glancing down, suddenly realized her clothes had been changed.
So last night hadn't been a dream—he had wiped her down and dressed her.
She jerked her head up to look at him.
A faint knowing smile tugged at his lips.
"I changed you with my eyes closed."
Elena fell silent, at a loss for words.
Can someone really change clothes with his eyes shut?' she wondered.
Still, after he'd watched over her all night, how could she accuse him of peeking?
Flustered, she turned away. "Thank you... How about I make us breakfast?"
"Sure."
Elena bolted for the kitchen, practically in flight.
Lounging in the doorway, Simon watched her scurry about, nerves jangling yet feigning composure, like a headless chicken.
His amusement faded when he noticed the scars and half-healed chilblains on her hands; heart aching, he stepped inside.
"Can you even cook? If not, I'll teach you."
Startled, Elena spun around—only to collide squarely with his chest.
The bowl of water in her hands splashed across his shirt.
She sucked in a breath. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry— it was an accident!"
Setting the bowl down, she grabbed a towel and dabbed at him, but it was soaked too; panicking, she tossed it aside and tried using her sleeve instead.
Simon caught her wrist, his dark eyes a calm, inescapable vortex.
Her pulse skittered. "Your shirt's wet—let me dry it."
His Adam's apple bobbed; his voice came out low and rough. "Okay."
He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a sculpted chest and a vivid leopard tattoo prowling across it.
Embarrassed, Elena lowered her gaze and asked, "Why a leopard?"
She kept her head down, stirring the porridge, too shy to meet his eyes.
Silence stretched between them.
Puzzled, she finally looked up. "What is it? Did I say something wrong?"
Simon's gaze had darkened; she sensed anger and a hint of wounded pride.
Apparently, she'd touched a nerve she shouldn't have.
"Does that tattoo have something to do with the woman who still lives in your heart—your first love?"
Simon narrowed his eyes. "First love?"
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 127. Continue reading Chapter 128 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.