Chapter 162: I thought you were going to spend the night in there

Chapter 162: Chapter 162: I thought you were going to spend the night in there

The sound of water stopped.

"...Y-You, what are you doing in here?"

Caroline Whitman jumped, startled by the sudden appearance of another person.

Looking at the man in front of her and remembering that she was completely naked, she quickly spun around.

Even though they had been intimate last night, this was different.

The unflattering light from the bathroom heater was shining down on her, her hair was freshly soaked... This lighting, this situation...

’How can he see me like this?’

"Shameless! You—get out, now!"

Caroline Whitman’s toes curled against the floor. She turned her head to glare at him, the base of her ears turning beet red in an instant.

Adrian Grant leaned against the sink, his gaze gliding from her bare shoulders down the gentle curve of her spine. His eyes darkened.

"I’ll help you wash."

Hearing his shameless offer, Caroline Whitman grew even more flustered and indignant. ’If he helps me wash,’ she thought, ’we’ll be in here all night and never actually get clean.’

She could only glare at Adrian Grant.

Thankfully, he didn’t press the issue and approach her, just smiled. "You’re sure?"

"I’m sure."

"Then I’ll wait outside," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of regret.

Caroline Whitman listened intently for a few seconds. Once she heard his footsteps fade into the distance, she slowly turned back to look at the now-empty space by the sink.

At the sight, she let out a sigh of relief. Her entire body relaxed from its tense state, and her shoulders slumped.

The sound of rushing water started up again.

Caroline took an especially long time in the shower, as if she were deliberately slowing down to give Adrian Grant time to forget the image he had just seen.

She rinsed and rinsed with hot water, shampooed twice by massaging it in slowly, and left the conditioner on her hair for several extra minutes. She dilly-dallied all the way until her hair was completely dry before she was done in the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror at her face, flushed from the steam, Caroline Whitman rubbed her cheeks, combed her hair, and finally walked out, wrapped in a bathrobe.

A single floor lamp was on in the room, casting a warm yellow light across half the wall.

Adrian Grant was leaning back on the sofa, his jacket draped nearby. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his forearms and his hands were folded in front of him. With his eyes closed, he looked as if he had fallen asleep.

Two paper bags sat on the coffee table; from the packaging, she could tell the clothes they had ordered had arrived.

Caroline Whitman tiptoed over and bent down to get the paper bags from the coffee table.

The instant her fingers touched the bag, the man resting with his eyes closed suddenly raised a hand, grabbing her wrist with perfect precision.

"...You weren’t asleep?" Caroline Whitman froze.

Adrian Grant opened his eyes. Behind his glasses, they were clear and bright, showing no signs of grogginess.

He didn’t answer, merely applying a little pressure and pulling her toward him.

Caught off guard, Caroline Whitman lost her balance and fell onto his lap.

The collar of her bathrobe came slightly loose with the movement. She subconsciously raised a hand to fix it, but her wrist was still held fast in his grip.

"Adrian Grant!" she hissed, the tips of her ears beginning to burn again.

Adrian Grant’s other hand naturally came to rest at her waist. The heat of his palm wasn’t scalding through the cotton bathrobe, but its presence was impossible to ignore.

He looked down at the woman in his arms. His gaze paused for a moment on the slightly open collar of her robe before returning to her face.

"You were in there for so long," he said, his voice a little hoarse from his rest, "I was starting to think you were planning to spend the night in there."

"..."

Caroline Whitman turned her head, avoiding his gaze. "I only took so long because of you."

"Because of me?" Adrian Grant repeated, his tone laced with feigned innocence.

Then, she heard his teasing voice by her ear. "Were you getting all clean just for me?"

"..."

’This man is definitely doing this on purpose.’

She couldn’t believe he had twisted her words to mean that.

Still, his words made the inexperienced Caroline Whitman’s face flush crimson. "What are you talking about? If you hadn’t come in, I wouldn’t have had to waste so much time in there."

Caroline Whitman turned her head to glare at him, but then she remembered she was sitting on his lap with his arm around her waist. A glare from this position had no threatening power whatsoever.

She pushed against his chest, but he didn’t budge. All she felt was the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her palm.

"Let me up. I need to change," she said, changing the subject.

Adrian Grant looked down at her. The hand at her waist didn’t loosen; instead, it tightened slightly.

She was fresh from the shower, carrying the faint scent of body wash. Her long, soft hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her bare face had lost some of its usual cool indifference, replaced by a gentle softness.

Gazing at her like this, he raised his other hand to cup the back of her head and brought his mouth down on her soft lips.

’Let her up?’

’Impossible.’

This kiss was different from his usual ones. There was no restraint, no gradual build-up. It was infused with all the patience he’d been holding onto since the bathroom—patience that had now been utterly exhausted.

Caroline Whitman instinctively raised her hands to brace against his shoulders. The moment her palms made contact, she could feel the taut lines of muscle beneath his shirt.

Adrian Grant’s lips moved passionately against hers for a moment before he pulled back slightly. Their noses touched, and their breaths intertwined.

The temperature in the air climbed silently.

"You can change later," he said, his voice low and husky as his thumb gently caressed her earlobe.

"..."

How could Caroline Whitman not understand what he meant by "change later"? Her hands, braced on his shoulders, tightened.

She suddenly realized something.

Adrian Grant hadn’t taken off his suit trousers, and his tie was still on; only his jacket had been set aside.

Right on cue, all sorts of fantasies involving men in suits flashed through Caroline Whitman’s mind, and her heart began to race.

Noticing her gaze fall on his tie, Adrian Grant glanced down at his own clothes, thinking she disliked that he hadn’t showered yet.

After all, President Whitman was a bit of a germaphobe.

"I’ll go shower first," Adrian Grant said, reaching for his tie.

The next second, a small hand covered his, stopping the movement.

At the same time, she heard Caroline Whitman whisper, "It’s fine like this. You don’t have to take it off."

Adrian Grant’s hand froze. He looked up at her, and understanding dawned on him in an instant. He let out a low, knowing chuckle. "So, you like it like this?"

Caroline Whitman said nothing.

But her silence said it all.

The warm, yellow light from the floor lamp spilled over them, hazily outlining their overlapping silhouettes on the sofa.

At some point, the belt of her bathrobe had come undone. It now dangled over the edge of the sofa, swaying gently with their movements.

He still had his shirt and trousers on, though they were now creased in several places.

...

When all was said and done...

Caroline Whitman had to take another shower.

Except this time, Adrian Grant finally got his wish and helped her with it.

As it turned out, the consequences of letting him help her shower were even more serious than she had anticipated.

...

By the time they were finished, she was completely exhausted.

She leaned against his shoulder, her body limp.

Adrian Grant carried her out of the bathroom and laid her on the bed. The moment her head hit the pillow, Caroline Whitman’s eyes fluttered shut.

Adrian Grant kissed her on the forehead, then turned to take a quick shower himself.

He came out with a bath towel wrapped around his waist and sat on the edge of the bed.

In her daze, Caroline Whitman felt the mattress dip beside her. She rolled over on reflex, pressing her face against his side as her breathing became deep and even.

He reached out to pull the corner of the blanket up over her shoulder, bent down to place a kiss on the crown of her head, and then turned off the light.