He placed it beside his discarded suit jacket, then leaned back against the couch, rolling his cuffs halfway up his forearms.
The quiet authority he carried even in this relaxed posture made Tang Fei’s pulse trip unexpectedly.
"You can have a drink," he said suddenly, glancing toward the bar cabinet at the far end of the room. "Just one."
Her brows lifted slightly. "You’re allowing ?" She was surprised that he was letting her have a drink after banning her.
"I’m not allowing," he corrected mildly, eting her gaze with that calm, unreadable look. "I’m indulging you. There’s a difference." He knew how she behaved when drunk, thus, she could drink in his presence alone.
She let out a soft scoff but crossed to the bar anyway.
The bottles were lined neatly on the glass shelves, labels gleaming in the golden light.
She hesitated, then reached for a red wine, rich and full-bodied, the kind that lingered on the tongue.
When she returned, bottle and two glasses in hand, he had already shed the last of his formal edges.
His jacket lay beside him, tie discarded, and the top two buttons of his shirt undone.
He looked up when she approached, that subtle trace of warmth flickering behind the ice of his composure.
"Red?" he asked.
"Of course," she replied, pouring for them both.
The wine shimred like rubies in the fading sunlight.
Tang Fei handed him his glass and sat on the opposite end of the couch.
For a while, they said nothing, the only sounds were the soft clink of glass and the whisper of the sea beyond the balcony.
He watched her take a slow sip, the faint color rising to her cheeks after the first taste.
He knew that look, the one that ca before her guard slipped, when she stopped asuring every word and every glance.
He leaned back, one arm resting along the back of the couch. "You always drink faster when you’re trying not to think," he remarked quietly.
Her hand paused midair. "And you always notice," she countered, her tone edged with a small smile.
"I notice everything about you," he said simply.
The words weren’t ant to sound intimate, but they were.
For a heartbeat, Tang Fei didn’t know where to look.
The sound of the waves filled the silence between them, steady and endless, until she took another sip, pretending not to feel his gaze trace her every small movent.
The only light was a single lamp, its soft glow carving out a pool of warmth in the dark.
Their shadows fell long and still across the floor, a quiet symtry, two people bound by storms, now suspended in a rare and private stillness.
As the first glass emptied, then the second, Tang Fei felt the familiar warmth of wine spreading through her veins.
Not drunk, not quite, but loosened.
The edges of her carefully maintained control are beginning to blur.
She poured herself another glass, ignoring the slight raise of Huo Ting Cheng’s eyebrow.
"That’s three," he observed.
"I can count," she replied, taking a deliberately slow sip. What was the matter with him? Why should he let her drink and then start counting?
"Can you also walk?" There was amusent in his tone now, warm and almost teasing.
"We’ll find out soon, don’t worry," she said, her own lips curving into a smile that was becoming less guarded with each passing mont.
The quiet hum of the villa deepened as Huo Ting Cheng eventually rose from the couch, sleeves still rolled up, movents precise but unhurried.
He made his way to the open kitchen, and Tang Fei watched through half-lidded eyes as he opened the refrigerator and retrieved ingredients, vegetables, a cut of fresh fish, and a handful of lemon slices.
The soft rhythm of the knife against the cutting board, the gentle sizzle of oil heating in the pan, it was a rare sight, seeing him like this.
Unguarded, grounded, quietly at peace.
From the living room, Tang Fei had gone quiet.
When he looked over his shoulder, she was still sitting on the couch, the now nearly empty wine bottle beside her, the faintest flush painting her cheeks.
Her eyes were fixed on him with an intensity that made sothing tighten in his chest.
Tang Fei was checking him out, from top to bottom, there’s nothing he hadn’t seen about him but damn! This man was truly handso, God took his ti in creating him. His entire body was proportionate... If n like these exist, why did she even stick with Huo Yang? Because he wasn’t even a quarter of this man.
Her eyes had turned lustful, and she wished to pin him down for so exercises... Just imagine making him groan for you....
Before he could say anything, she pushed herself to her feet, steady but deliberate, her gaze never leaving him.
She picked up the wine bottle and her glass, more for sothing to hold than anything else, and crossed to the kitchen.
Without a word, she set them down on the marble counter with a soft sound that made him pause mid-cut.
"Another glass?" His tone was calm, almost amused, though the corner of his mouth hinted at sothing warr.
Tang Fei didn’t answer.
Instead, she stepped closer until she was behind him, her hands slipping around his waist, arms circling him in a slow, deliberate embrace.
For a mont, he didn’t move, the knife paused midair, and then his hand stilled completely.
"Tang Fei," he murmured, his voice low, touched with restrained amusent, "you’re hugging while I’m holding a knife. You gotta be careful my dear..."
"Then put it down," she whispered against his back, her voice soft, her cheek pressing against the fabric of his shirt.
The scent of him, clean soap, subtle cologne, and sothing uniquely him, filled her senses. "You shouldn’t cook when I’m here like this."
She let her hands wander around; his cologne was really enticing, and what she wanted to do was tease him around.
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