Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 54: Chapter 54
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 54: Chapter 54. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
Once that happened, Sir Whitmore would have nothing to say.
Annabelle unfastened her buttons one by one, exposing the soft swell of her chest.
Victor looked up—and met her sultry gaze.
"Victor..." Annabelle guided his hand toward her breasts, moving with tantalizing slowness.
Victor Whitmore's brows knitted hard; at the very last second—just before his palm would have brushed her chest—he yanked his hand back as though scalded.
Annabelle Bennett flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Victor, I'm your fiancée. Isn't it perfectly normal for us to do this? Sooner or later I'll be yours, won't I?"
She rubbed her proud curves against him, throwing every ounce of seduction she possessed into the motion.
Victor closed his eyes, his voice low and unyielding. "Annie, this isn't the time."
He bowed his head, tugged her blouse back into place, and covered her properly; not a trace of desire flickered in his eyes.
She had gone this far, yet he remained unmoved—utterly indifferent.
Turning away, Victor said, "Your ankle's injured—get some rest. I'm going downstairs."
Without another word he strode out of the room, never once looking back.
Annabelle clenched her fists so tightly her nails nearly pierced her palms. So, he really is thinking about Elena!
Coming downstairs, Victor saw only Elena Bennett standing beside the grill, tending the coals alone.
He walked straight over, snatched up a random skewer, and slapped it onto the grate. "Well, well," he sneered, "your manipulation skills are sharper than I thought."
"I'm sorry, President Whitmore, but I have no idea what you're talking about."
Victor said, "Hmph, drop the act. You're using my grandfather. I'm letting it go because he likes you, but if you hurt him, I won't spare you."
Elena stared at him as though he were raving.
"President Whitmore, do you honestly think that after being locked up and abused for more than a year I'd still have the nerve to scheme about anything?"
Victor despised that frosty glare and cutting tone aimed at him.
He seized her wrist and yanked her close. "No nerve? You're fearless! Elena Bennett, what exactly are you after? You broke the engagement, and now you're using Grandpa to cause trouble!"
She braced a hand against his chest, forced a gap between them, and tore her wrist free.
Elena said, "President Whitmore, you must be mistaken. You never loved me, so my agreeing to end the engagement should have been a favor to you.
Your fiancée has sprained her ankle—you ought to be with her, not here arguing with me."
Victor snorted. "Playing hard to get suits you, Elena. Looks like that prison taught you a few tricks."
Elena's heart lurched; a chill swept through her chest.
Smiling coolly, she said, "Then should I thank you for the suggestion back then? Without you, how would I have mastered those tricks?"
Though she smiled, her eyes were ice-cold. Under the lights they shimmered with unshed tears, and that stubborn glimmer made his chest ache.
For over a year she had been beaten, fed swill, and forced to sleep in a doghouse—the darkest, most humiliating time of her life, yet he dared joke about it, sprinkling salt on her wounds.
Elena turned and walked away.
"Elena!" Victor caught her arm. "That's not what I meant."
Annabelle unfastened her buttons one by one, exposing the soft swell of her chest.
Victor looked up—and met her sultry gaze.
"Victor..." Annabelle guided his hand toward her breasts, moving with tantalizing slowness.
Victor Whitmore's brows knitted hard; at the very last second—just before his palm would have brushed her chest—he yanked his hand back as though scalded.
Annabelle Bennett flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Victor, I'm your fiancée. Isn't it perfectly normal for us to do this? Sooner or later I'll be yours, won't I?"
She rubbed her proud curves against him, throwing every ounce of seduction she possessed into the motion.
Victor closed his eyes, his voice low and unyielding. "Annie, this isn't the time."
He bowed his head, tugged her blouse back into place, and covered her properly; not a trace of desire flickered in his eyes.
She had gone this far, yet he remained unmoved—utterly indifferent.
Turning away, Victor said, "Your ankle's injured—get some rest. I'm going downstairs."
Without another word he strode out of the room, never once looking back.
Annabelle clenched her fists so tightly her nails nearly pierced her palms. So, he really is thinking about Elena!
Coming downstairs, Victor saw only Elena Bennett standing beside the grill, tending the coals alone.
He walked straight over, snatched up a random skewer, and slapped it onto the grate. "Well, well," he sneered, "your manipulation skills are sharper than I thought."
"I'm sorry, President Whitmore, but I have no idea what you're talking about."
Victor said, "Hmph, drop the act. You're using my grandfather. I'm letting it go because he likes you, but if you hurt him, I won't spare you."
Elena stared at him as though he were raving.
"President Whitmore, do you honestly think that after being locked up and abused for more than a year I'd still have the nerve to scheme about anything?"
Victor despised that frosty glare and cutting tone aimed at him.
He seized her wrist and yanked her close. "No nerve? You're fearless! Elena Bennett, what exactly are you after? You broke the engagement, and now you're using Grandpa to cause trouble!"
She braced a hand against his chest, forced a gap between them, and tore her wrist free.
Elena said, "President Whitmore, you must be mistaken. You never loved me, so my agreeing to end the engagement should have been a favor to you.
Your fiancée has sprained her ankle—you ought to be with her, not here arguing with me."
Victor snorted. "Playing hard to get suits you, Elena. Looks like that prison taught you a few tricks."
Elena's heart lurched; a chill swept through her chest.
Smiling coolly, she said, "Then should I thank you for the suggestion back then? Without you, how would I have mastered those tricks?"
Though she smiled, her eyes were ice-cold. Under the lights they shimmered with unshed tears, and that stubborn glimmer made his chest ache.
For over a year she had been beaten, fed swill, and forced to sleep in a doghouse—the darkest, most humiliating time of her life, yet he dared joke about it, sprinkling salt on her wounds.
Elena turned and walked away.
"Elena!" Victor caught her arm. "That's not what I meant."
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 54. Continue reading Chapter 55 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.