Chapter 884: Chloe Reed, You Made the First Move!

"Yes," the servant replied.

The master bedroom door clicked shut, plunging the space into immediate silence.

Walker Grant rose from the bed and inched his way to the sofa at the foot of it. He crouched down, reaching out to feel for her. His fingers brushed against her hand, and he immediately grasped it. Feeling the strong, steady pulse at her wrist, he gently rubbed the spot with his thumb before leaning down to press a kiss to her fingertips.

He lifted her onto his back and slowly carried her to the bathroom. He was already intimately familiar with this room. The exact placement of every piece of furniture, the direction the bathroom door opened—every detail was etched into his mind. Even without her, he realized, his life wouldn’t be completely unmanageable.

He stripped off her clothes and lowered her into the warm bathtub. Keeping a steadying hand on her so her limp body wouldn’t slip beneath the water, he began to wash her gently.

Chloe Reed felt someone touching her. There was no lust in the touch; rather, it felt as though she were being bathed. Frowning, she forced her heavy eyelids open.

Under the bright bathroom lights, she saw Walker. His eyes were wrapped in white gauze, his head bowed slightly, and his handsome face stripped of any excess emotion as he washed her.

She stared at him blankly for a long time. An image abruptly surfaced in her mind: Walker being held hostage by the mercenaries. Blinded, he had been forced to sit there in utter helplessness. The dark muzzle of a handgun had been pressed dangerously close to his temple. One slip of the mercenary’s finger, and his life would have been extinguished.

A sudden sting hit her eyes, accompanied by a sharp, rhythmic constriction in her chest. Reaching out, she cupped his face in her hands.

Walker paused, then turned his face toward her. "You’re awake? Then wash yourself. I can’t see, so it’s really not convenient for me." With that, he pulled his hands away and prepared to stand.

"Don’t go..." Chloe called out to stop him. Her voice was hoarse, thick with tears and nasal congestion.

Walker’s body went rigid. He squatted back down, reaching out to trace the contours of her face. "What’s wrong?" He wondered if she had been crying. Who had upset her?

"Don’t go."

Chloe didn’t answer his question. Instead, she grabbed his collar, pulling him closer. Her vision blurred once more. When he was close enough, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

Walker jolted, an unreadable undercurrent lacing his voice. "Chloe, do you know what you’re doing?"

Still, she offered no reply. Murmuring for him not to leave, she kissed him again.

Walker’s breathing instantly grew heavy. He tasted the lingering alcohol on her lips. She was drunk. No wonder.

A flash of bitterness swept through him. Then, as if yielding to a force beyond his control, he cupped the back of her head and deepened the kiss. Water sloshed over the rim of the bathtub. Hasty, tangled breaths filled the air, mingling with the clothes scattered haphazardly across the floor.

Eventually, Chloe reached up and tore the white gauze from his eyes. She kissed his closed eyelids, her voice choking with sobs. "Why aren’t you better yet? Please, get better soon."

Walker’s breathing hitched. He gathered her into his arms, pulling her flush against him.

"Chloe Reed, you started this," he warned. "Don’t try to pin the blame on me when you wake up tomorrow."

He bit down on her collarbone, his words fierce, yet his movements were exquisitely tender.

The bathroom floor was quickly soaked as the water level in the tub steadily dropped. Droplets smashed violently against the rim before tracing slow paths downward, only to be hit and forced back up by the surging waves before they could even reach the bottom.