Reborn Heiress: Escaping My Contract Marriage with the Cold CEO Chapter 67: Stolen Kisses

ELIZABETH HERALD

The mont Blake shut the door behind him, my mind snapped awake.

I don’t want to share you.

His words played on a loop in my head, each repetition sending a fresh wave of buzzing heat through . I rolled onto my side, burying my face in the pillow, which slled faintly of his cologne—spice and cedar and undeniably male.

My skin prickled, rembering the way his fingers had lingered on my collarbone, the way his gaze had darkened when he caught in nothing but that towel.

I’d like to catch him in a towel. Wait. No. Wait. Yes.

I groaned, kicking at the sheets. I need to get the hell out of this mansion before Blake Remington could unravel any further.

And yet.

I sat up, rubbing my temples. The room swayed slightly, the sedative still doing its damnedest to keep sluggish. The pizza box sat on the nightstand, a single cold slice left inside. My stomach twisted, but not from hunger.

What the hell are you doing, Elizabeth?

I needed air. Needed to move. Needed to stop thinking about the way Blake’s jaw had tightened when I’d called him out for staring.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, testing my balance before standing. The hardwood floor was cool under my bare feet. I rolled up the oversized sweatpants. Blake’s shirt slipped off one shoulder again, and I left it there, not bothering to adjust it.

I opened the door. The hallway beyond was dim, lit only by the soft glow of sconces along the walls. I hesitated, listening—downstairs, the muffled sounds of the dinner party still carried on, the occasional burst of laughter, the clink of glasses. But up here, it was quiet.

I tiptoed forward, not entirely sure where I was going. Blake’s room was at the end of the hall, but I wasn’t about to barge in there. Not when my pulse was already doing sorsaults at the re thought of him.

A door to my left stood slightly ajar. Curiosity got the better of . I nudged it open with my fingertips.

A library.

Not just any library—this was the kind of room that belonged in a Gothic romance novel. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a ladder on a rolling rail, a massive fireplace with an ornate mantel. And in the center, a deep leather armchair, bathed in the golden light of a single reading lamp.

And he was in it.

Blake sat with one leg crossed over the other, a book open in his lap, a glass of amber liquid dangling from his fingers. He hadn’t noticed yet. The flickering firelight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the furrow between his brows.

"Are you going to lurk in the doorway all night?"

Crap. Busted.

Blake didn’t look up from his book, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "You’re not that stealthy."

I stepped inside, crossing my arms. "I wasn’t sneaking around."

His gaze lifted, slow and deliberate, raking over from head to toe. The heat in his eyes was unmistakable. "That sounds like a confession."

I swallowed hard.

He closed the book with a soft thud and set it aside, then took a sip of his drink. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"You should rest."

"I can’t. I an, I want to, but..." I trailed off. How did I explain my longing for his presence kept from sleeping?

Blake set his glass down and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Co here."

"No," I said, backing up a step.

"I won’t eat you."

My mouth dropped open and heat suffused my face.

He laughed. "What are you thinking about, Elizabeth?"

"N-nothing."

"Liar." He stood, closing the distance between us in three strides. His fingers brushed my bare shoulder, tracing the line where his shirt had slipped. My skin burned under his touch. "Do you want to?"

I stared at him, my heart pounding in my chest. "Want to what?"

"Eat you."

"Blake!"

His thumb grazed my collarbone, sending a jolt straight to my core. "Tell to stop," he murmured.

I should have.

I didn’t.

His hand slid into my hair, fingers tangling. His other hand wrapped around my waist. He yanked fully into his embrace.

"Last chance, Elizabeth." His voice was rough. "Say no."

I didn’t.

His mouth crashed into mine.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It was claiming, all heat and tongues and desperation. I lted into him, my fingers gripping the front of his shirt, my body arching against his.

He backed against the nearest bookshelf, the wood digging into my spine, but I didn’t care. Not when his hands were everywhere—my waist, my hips, my thighs, hiking up until my legs wrapped around him.

"Blake—" I gasped as his lips trailed down my throat.

"Tell you want this," he growled against my skin.

"I—"

A sharp knock at the door shattered the mont.

We froze.

"Blake?" A woman’s voice. "Are you in there?"

His jaw clenched, his grip on tightening for a fraction of a second before he reluctantly set down. His eyes burned into mine, a silent promise.

This isn’t over.

Then he stepped back, adjusting his shirt before calling out, "Who is it?"

The door creaked open. Blake swung around and pressed my face into his chest. He looked over his shoulder. "Do you need sothing, Miss Herald?"

"I was looking for my sister. I wanted to check on her."

I scoffed, my breath puffing into Blake’s shirt.

"You don’t have to worry about her, Miss Herald. I will take care of Elizabeth."

"That’s very kind of you, Winston, but she’s ... problematic. I’m afraid she’ll cause you trouble."

"Oh?"

"She’s been in rehab for drug addiction. Not to ntion how many tis we’ve had to put her into a psychiatric facility. Her mother was crazy. She jumped off a cliff and dragged Bets with her. My sister’s lucky to have survived."

"I can’t tell if you’re expressing concern or warning away from your sister."

"I’m just telling you the truth, Winston."

"We’re not familiar with each other, Miss Herald. Certainly not at a level where you can be so casual with ."

"I’m sorry, Win--Mr. Carter."

I heard Blair’s footsteps as she dared to co closer. I don’t know what possessed (jealousy? nah), but I slipped my arms around his waist.

Blaire’s footsteps stopped. "Is soone in here with you?"

What a dumb question. Did she think Blake had grown four arms?

"I’m busy, yes." He leaned down and kissed the top of my head. "If you’ll excuse ..."

"W-who is that?"

"Why do you think you have the right to know?" he asked sharply. "Please excuse us, Miss Herald. As I said, I’m busy."

I heard Blair’s sound of frustration before her heels clacked away and the library door slamd behind her.

I let Blake go and wiggled out of his embrace.

Blake dragged a hand through his hair. "Elizabeth—"

"I should go."

He caught my wrist. "Don’t."

I t his gaze. "Don’t what?"

"Don’t run."

***|***|***|***|***

OLIVER KING

In front of the hospital, I took a long drag from my cigarette, the burn in my lungs a familiar comfort. I exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the night.

Kidnappings. Fires. Beatings.

Not to ntion Vanessa’s grandfather getting elder-snatched by his ex-girlfriend and ended up with a new grandson.

What the hell was going on in Ash City?

Annabeth Saint had been found half-dead in a burning warehouse. And so did Grace.

I go out of town for a week and the whole city went to hell.

I flicked ash onto the pavent, my fingers twitching with restless energy.

A white cargo van rolled past, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling. My skin prickled.

Then I saw him.

Leo Annison.

Tall, infuriatingly perfect, strutting like he owned the damn sidewalk. Blonde hair, cool blue eyes, a drool-worthy body. Too bad he was an asshole. He was also my mother’s number-one pick for my husband.

I scowled.

He was on the phone, his voice low and commanding—probably making so intern’s day miserable.

I rolled my eyes and took another drag.

Then—

The van screeched to a stop.

Two figures lunged out.

My cigarette slipped from my fingers.

No.

A hood yanked over Leo’s head. Arms twisted behind his back. A brutal knee to his ribs—I heard the impact, the choked gasp he made before they shoved him into the car.

The door slamd. Tires scread against asphalt.

And just like that—he was gone.

I stood there, frozen.

My pulse roared in my ears.

Leo. Taken. Right in front of .

For a second, my brain short-circuited. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him. Not like this.

Then the panic hit.

I took a step forward—useless, stupid, what the hell are you going to do, Ollie, chase the car?

I fumbled for my phone, my hands unsteady as I hit the first speed dial. Vanessa picked up on the second ring.

"Leonardo de Asshole was kidnapped right in front of !" I yelled.