Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Norman pressed his foot to the gas, his expression cooling just a little.

"Yeah, Mitch knows. Big brother asked me to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't pull anything stupid. In a month, Dylan's heading to North America, and you're going back too. So just keep your head down for the next month, okay? No trouble."

"Got it."

Charles hung up, and a few minutes later, rolled up to Palm Bay.

Clara was already at the front door of the main house, unlocking it with her fingerprint. She slipped off her shoes at the entry, moving with practiced ease- just as Dylan came down the stairs.

He was dressed in a dark suit. When he saw her, he paused for a second or two, then dropped his gaze and headed for the couch.

Clara had just been through a brush with death, but she still looked as calm as

ever.

After changing her shoes, she walked over to him. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask -how's your leg? You haven't used the wheelchair in days. Does it still hurt?"

"It's fine."

His voice was quiet and even. He looked at her, saw that she was drenched, and automatically reached for a tissue, as if to help dry her off.

But honestly, she was soaked through.

Clara glanced back at the wet footprints she'd left. "I'm gonna go upstairs and change. Have you had breakfast yet? If not, I'll come down and make you something."

She zipped up the stairs, quick as a bird coming home.

Dylan held onto the tissues for a moment, watching her go, then slowly put them aside.

Upstairs, Clara had plenty of clothes-she hadn't had a chance to come back since Dylan woke up, so nothing had been thrown away.

She changed fast and came back down. Dylan was still on the couch.

The house staff spotted her and looked a little uneasy. "Ma'am..."

Clara could guess what they were thinking-that she and Dylan had fought.

"Ma'am, did you and the mister-?"

Neither of them had been home for days.

She took a breath, forcing a smile. "No, it's nothing like that. Go on with your work.

I'll handle his meals from now on."

"Of course. If you need anything, just let us know."

Clara made a beeline for the kitchen, wanting to whip up a quick breakfast so Dylan wouldn't skip another meal.

bet

Halfway through cooking, she felt eyes on her. She turned-and there was Dylan, standing in the doorway, s face calm, gaze fixed on her.

"Need any help?" he asked, almost too serious.

It was kind of funny. She remembered how Charles had tried to help once and

nearly set the kitchen on fire.

She was about to say no, but then

I'll

if he's in here too, maybe

chance to hold his hand,

brush his face...

So she grinned. "Sure."

He actually came in and slid the door shut behind him.

The kitchen was big, but with him there, every move felt close and a little clumsy.

Clara glanced down and handed him a simple task. "Can you wash the veggies?" He reached for the faucet, but she caught his hand.noveldrama

He froze.

"Take your jacket off first and roll up your sleeves, or you'll get water everywhere," she told him.

He didn't pull his hand away-just looked at her quietly.

She let his hand go and tugged at his suit jacket, hinting for him to take it off.

He lowered his eyes and slipped it off.

Clara tossed the jacket over a couch outside and came back to find him-tall and just a bit awkward-standing at the sink.

She had to bite back a smile. She'd never seen Dylan like this before.

She walked over and rolled his sleeves up for him, all the way to his forearms, then let go.

"All right, now you can wash."

"Okay."

He bent over the sink, carefully washing the vegetables.

As Clara chopped, she watched him from the corner of her eye. His long, elegant fingers separated the lettuce leaves so gently, it was like he was working on a piece of art.

Such beautiful hands, she thought. What a shame to use them for washing vegetables.