Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back - Chapter 62: Chapter 62
You are reading Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back, Chapter 62: Chapter 62. Read more chapters of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back.
As the curious guests drifted away, Sir Whitmore carefully tucked the Hundred Longevity Characters Scroll Elena had presented into a box and ordered it sent to the ancestral home for mounting.
Though the incident concluded with the cleaner's dismissal, the old man was no fool; he understood exactly what had happened. Annabelle, unwilling to waste any chance to curry favor, had just offered a gift and intended to strike while the iron was hot.
She trotted forward and said sweetly, "Grandpa, may I brew you a cup of Big Red Robe tea to taste?"
Sir Whitmore's face remained impassive; he ignored her entirely and walked away.
Color drained from Annabelle's face in an instant.
Victor quickly stepped in. "Grandpa, I've never even seen tea this precious. Since I'm benefiting from your celebration today, how about I make a pot and we sample it together?"
Sir Whitmore's expression softened a fraction. "Go on, then."
Annabelle bit her lip; even with Victor smoothing things over, she no longer dared force her presence on the old man.
In the restroom, Elena was rinsing her hands when she glanced up and, in the mirror, suddenly saw a sharply defined face appear behind her.
She drew a quick breath and murmured, "Young Master Simon."
After the hasty greeting she tried to leave, but the moment she turned, the man leaned in, bracing both palms on either side of the sink to cage her within his space.
Simon asked, "Am I that frightening to look at?"
Elena leaned back. "Did you need something from me, Young Master?"
Simon curled his shapely lips. "Still so ungrateful—after I helped you just now, you don't even offer a thank-you?"
Nerves stretched taut whenever he was near, Elena lowered her head and whispered, "Thank you, Young Master."
She waited a few seconds, yet he made no move to let her go, so she finally lifted her gaze to him.
Simon's inky, flirtatious eyes roamed her face, then drifted slowly downward to the swell of her chest.
The corner of his mouth quirked, and his voice dropped to a velvety murmur. "Bigger."
His teasing stare was too suggestive; Elena understood at once what he meant.
A faint blush raced across her cheeks. She folded her arms over her chest. "Young Master, we're hardly acquainted. Please don't make lewd jokes."
Simon's smile deepened, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat.
"I meant you've grown up," he breathed against the delicate shell of her ear, warm air skimming her skin and sending a shiver through her. "What did you think I was talking about, hmm?"
Elena Bennett's eyes flew wide, heat flooding her cheeks so fiercely it felt as though her brain were about to melt. A heartbeat later, the crisp staccato of high heels rang out in the corridor beyond the restroom door.
Elena's heart leapt to her throat; she shot Simon Whitmore a pleading look and whispered, "Someone's coming."
Simon's mouth curved into a roguish grin; he arched an eyebrow at her, the very picture of fearless amusement.
The footsteps drew closer, hammering like war drums against Elena's eardrums.
Panic overriding reason, she seized Simon's hand and dragged him into the neighboring stall, slammed the latch, then clamped her palm over his mouth to keep him from uttering a sound.
Simon lowered his gaze, mischief sparking in his dark eyes. Without warning, the tip of his tongue brushed across her palm—warm, damp, unmistakably intimate. Elena sucked in a breath and jerked her hand away, while he straightened his cuffs and regarded her with leisurely calm, as though he had done nothing at all.
A familiar voice sliced through the silence outside. Annabelle Bennett screeched, "That tramp Elena! She actually dared to flirt with Victor right in front of me!"
Though the incident concluded with the cleaner's dismissal, the old man was no fool; he understood exactly what had happened. Annabelle, unwilling to waste any chance to curry favor, had just offered a gift and intended to strike while the iron was hot.
She trotted forward and said sweetly, "Grandpa, may I brew you a cup of Big Red Robe tea to taste?"
Sir Whitmore's face remained impassive; he ignored her entirely and walked away.
Color drained from Annabelle's face in an instant.
Victor quickly stepped in. "Grandpa, I've never even seen tea this precious. Since I'm benefiting from your celebration today, how about I make a pot and we sample it together?"
Sir Whitmore's expression softened a fraction. "Go on, then."
Annabelle bit her lip; even with Victor smoothing things over, she no longer dared force her presence on the old man.
In the restroom, Elena was rinsing her hands when she glanced up and, in the mirror, suddenly saw a sharply defined face appear behind her.
She drew a quick breath and murmured, "Young Master Simon."
After the hasty greeting she tried to leave, but the moment she turned, the man leaned in, bracing both palms on either side of the sink to cage her within his space.
Simon asked, "Am I that frightening to look at?"
Elena leaned back. "Did you need something from me, Young Master?"
Simon curled his shapely lips. "Still so ungrateful—after I helped you just now, you don't even offer a thank-you?"
Nerves stretched taut whenever he was near, Elena lowered her head and whispered, "Thank you, Young Master."
She waited a few seconds, yet he made no move to let her go, so she finally lifted her gaze to him.
Simon's inky, flirtatious eyes roamed her face, then drifted slowly downward to the swell of her chest.
The corner of his mouth quirked, and his voice dropped to a velvety murmur. "Bigger."
His teasing stare was too suggestive; Elena understood at once what he meant.
A faint blush raced across her cheeks. She folded her arms over her chest. "Young Master, we're hardly acquainted. Please don't make lewd jokes."
Simon's smile deepened, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat.
"I meant you've grown up," he breathed against the delicate shell of her ear, warm air skimming her skin and sending a shiver through her. "What did you think I was talking about, hmm?"
Elena Bennett's eyes flew wide, heat flooding her cheeks so fiercely it felt as though her brain were about to melt. A heartbeat later, the crisp staccato of high heels rang out in the corridor beyond the restroom door.
Elena's heart leapt to her throat; she shot Simon Whitmore a pleading look and whispered, "Someone's coming."
Simon's mouth curved into a roguish grin; he arched an eyebrow at her, the very picture of fearless amusement.
The footsteps drew closer, hammering like war drums against Elena's eardrums.
Panic overriding reason, she seized Simon's hand and dragged him into the neighboring stall, slammed the latch, then clamped her palm over his mouth to keep him from uttering a sound.
Simon lowered his gaze, mischief sparking in his dark eyes. Without warning, the tip of his tongue brushed across her palm—warm, damp, unmistakably intimate. Elena sucked in a breath and jerked her hand away, while he straightened his cuffs and regarded her with leisurely calm, as though he had done nothing at all.
A familiar voice sliced through the silence outside. Annabelle Bennett screeched, "That tramp Elena! She actually dared to flirt with Victor right in front of me!"
End of Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back Chapter 62. Continue reading Chapter 63 or return to Your Regrets Won't Bring Me Back book page.