Undressed By His Arrogance Chapter 173: I Called Mr Winsford

"What are you still doing here?" she asked, panic lacing her voice.

"I called Mr. Winsford," Reese replied.

Her stomach dropped. "Crap!"

"Apparently," Reese continued with infuriating calm, "my presence is not needed. And he said Mr. Kane will not be needing his phone for the rest of the week."

"Fine!" Sylvia snapped, realizing there was no way out of the trap she’d cornered herself into. "I’ll just head back inside, alright?"

"I’ll walk you."

Her mouth fell open. "Reese, for fuck’s sake, I am just going inside the house!" She gestured wildly toward the front door, as if it could prove her innocence. "Do I look like I’m about to scale the fence?"

"I don’t trust you," Reese said finally.

He followed her, silent as a shadow.

The house lood ahead.

Then, as soon as she sensed he’d relaxed, she spun on her heel and bolted.

Her heart pounded as her flats slapped against the stone path. The gate was so close she could taste it — just a few more steps, and she’d be out.

But she didn’t make it.

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her clean off the ground. The world tilted as Reese hauled her up and over his shoulder in one smooth, infuriating motion. "Reese! Put the fuck down!" she shouted, pounding her fists against his back.

"Not a chance," he muttered, striding purposefully back toward the house.

She wriggled, kicked, cursed in every creative combination of words she could think of, but it only made his grip tighten. Her stomach brushed his shoulder, her hair spilling forward, her lips grazing the soft fabric of his shirt.

It was maddening — the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath, the solid weight of his body holding her in place.

"Reese, I swear to God, if you don’t—"

Her knee caught his chest, his balance faltered for a split second, and his instincts — soldier’s instincts — kicked in before thought could. His hand ca down in a sharp smack against her backside.

Sylvia froze mid-protest, a shocked gasp escaping her lips. The sting of it blood against her skin, sharp and startlingly intimate.

"Did you just... you... what?" Sylvia stamred, eyes wide as she twisted to glare at him from over her shoulder. Her hair, mussed from the struggle, fell into her face in a tumble of golden-brown waves, and her lips parted in disbelief.

The echo of that sudden, shocking slap still burned on her skin.

Reese adjusted his grip on her before setting her down, dropping her onto the nearest sofa in the sitting room. He raked a hand through his hair, muttering a quiet curse under his breath before saying,

"If you need to go sowhere, I will drive you. If you need to take a stroll, I will be behind you. Until Mr. Kane relieves of this particular duty, you’re stuck with ."

She looked up at him, still stunned. "You smacked my ass."

Reese’s brows lifted. "It was the only way to get you to calm down."

Sylvia’s mouth fell open. "Calm down? That’s your excuse? You— you assaulted into calmness?"

"Worked, didn’t it?" he said dryly.

She threw a pillow at him. He caught it midair without even looking. Of course he did. That only made her angrier.

Her cheeks burned, partly from humiliation.

Sylvia rubbed her temples and exhaled sharply. She really had to go. She had to see Evans.

She needed to know what he’d found out about Ivy — about the ss that had been swept under the rug. If Winn found out she’d gone to Evans directly, it would be chaos.

She glanced up at Reese again, who was still standing there — sentinel-still, arms crossed, watching her. The faintest bruise of amusent hovered at the corner of his lips.

"Fine," she said finally. "You win. I’ll make so coffee then."

Reese’s gaze softened slightly. "Good."

She flashed him a bright, sugary smile.

Then she turned on her heel, heading toward the kitchen — her heart thudding faster. She moved with deceptive calm, pulling out the coffee tin, reaching for the kettle, pretending to be preoccupied.

Reese hovered near the doorway, his presence heavy, distracting, irritatingly comforting.

She glanced over her shoulder. "How do you take your coffee, Mr. I-Don’t-Trust-You?"

"Black," he said.

"Cute," she muttered, turning her back to him — and then bolted.

Her shoes barely touched the tiles as she sprinted past the counter and made for the side door. It was reckless, impulsive. The adrenaline rushed through her veins.

She heard his exasperated sigh before the sound of his boots followed.

Reese caught her easily — one arm around her waist, the other braced against her side — halting her mid-sprint before she could even reach the door.

"Jesus Christ! Do you even blink?!" Sylvia snapped, twisting in his grip.

Her back pressed against his chest, the hard muscle under his shirt unyielding, steady. His breath ca slow and asured, brushing the side of her neck, and it infuriated her that he wasn’t even winded. anwhile, she was panting.

"Let go of !" she hissed, wriggling again.

"Is this how badly you want a drink at nine in the morning?"

Slowly, she turned in his arms until she was facing him, chin trembling. "How dare you?" she whispered.

"This is exactly the sa stunt you used to pull when you wanted to get drunk. You lie, and cheat, and manipulate everyone around you just for a drink."

Sylvia blinked rapidly. She’d heard it before — from Tom, from old friends, from rehab counselors. But coming from Reese — from him —

"You think you know , huh?" she said quietly. "You think you’ve got figured out just because Winn pays you to babysit ?"

Reese’s shoulders dropped, the anger lting from his face as quickly as it ca.

"I’m sorry, Miss Kane," he said finally. "I was out of line."

Sylvia turned away, brushing at her cheek, pretending it was just a stray lock of hair bothering her.

He took a hesitant step closer. "I know what I said was harsh," he continued. "You’ve been through hell, and I don’t get to throw that in your face. Just tell what you need. Where do you want to go?"