Chapter 313 Late Night Intrusion
“And you truly believe,” his voice dropped to a husky baritone, “that my kissing you is ingratitude? His eyes, dark as midnight water, searched her face for an answer she couldn’t give.
Laura bit down on frustration so hard her molars ached. “Good looks aren’t a free pass, Weston. You don’t get to do whatever you please just because you won the genetic lottery.”
“So you admit it–you think I’m good–looking too?” he volleyed back, wicked grin in place.
The words caught in her throat, a betrayal of her own logic. I can mock him all I want, but I can’t pretend that face isn’t a masterpiece.
“All right, Weston. You show up at my door in the dead of night–what is it you really want?”
She had been curled on the couch with a blanket when the doorbell burst through the silence of her apartment.
The moment she cracked the door, Weston swept her into a bear hug, whispering in that gravel–soft voice, “Just hold me for a minute, it’ll be quick.”
Maybe it was the exhaustion woven into his words, or the way his head settled on her shoulder like a man finally allowed to rest; whatever the reason, she relented.
She didn’t expect him to hold her for ten minutes straight, refusing to leave and marching right inside as if the place had always been his, asking for at least a cup of coffee before leaving. Therefore, while she fielded Quinn’s call, he had the audacity to anchor his mouth to her neck, sucking and nibbling until her knees threatened mutiny.
“Does a boyfriend really need an excuse to check on his girlfriend?” he asked, as though the answer were self–evident.
“Bite my neck? Seriously? We’re not a real couple, Weston. I’m only helping you work through that mess in your head, remember?”
“And this is one of those therapeutic techniques. The doctor said a little physical closeness with my girlfriend would do wonders for the trauma.”
Laura’s eyes flashed with disbelief. “Oh, come on–that’s got to be a scam. What kind of doctor gives advice like that?”
“If you truly think it’s nonsense, I can give you the doctor’s number. Ask him yourself.” He unlocked his phone, scrolled through a long contact list, found the physician, then offered the glowing screen to Laura.
Laura let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “That… won’t be necessary.”
Weston withdrew the phone and slid it back into his pocket. “Any other questions?” he asked.
Leaning closer, Laura lowered her voice. “This ‘intimacy… How far are we talking? You don’t mean actual sex, do you?”
A glint stirred in Weston’s eyes. “And what about you–do you want to sleep with me?”
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Laura answered with an immediate shake of the head.
Absolutely not!
To Laura, Weston resembled the prettiest childhood candy–sweet, alluring, and dangerously easy to
crave.
But the deeper the craving, the more the withdrawal burned.
She had tasted that burn once before and had no intention of sampling it again.
Weston lowered his gaze, the flicker of disappointment veiled by his lashes.
He remembered clearly: this woman used to love sharing his bed.
Back then, even if he resisted, she would coax and laugh him all the way to the sheets until every defense collapsed.
Now she refused him with blade–sharp decisiveness.
Weston gathered himself. “Relax. I don’t believe in forcing anyone. Even with intimacy, I’ll ask for your consent. Hand–holding, a hug, maybe a kiss–only if you agree.”
“Kissing is off the table!” Laura burst out.
“Why not?” Weston countered.
“It’s… just too intimate,” she muttered.
Weston tilted his head. “Then why didn’t it feel too intimate when you night?”
Laura fell silent, words fizzing out before they could reach her lips.
kissed me at the club the other
Weston’s voice softened, patient yet relentless. “Laura, a kiss without feelings is nothing more than skin brushing skin. It’s no different from holding hands–unless you harbor feelings for me.”
“Of course I don’t have feelings for you!” she
“Great. In that case, what exactly is the obstacle?” Weston asked, perfectly composed.
A pulse of frustration throbbed at her temples. She’d forgotten–he was a lawyer. She didn’t stand a chance in a verbal sparring match.
By the next dawn’s first bright hour, Quinn and Harlan stepped through the glittering threshold of Regal Ace Casino.
To avoid drawing attention, they bought a modest stack of chips and wandered between roulette wheels and card tables, pausing now and then to place an unremarkable bet.
Earlier that morning, Quinn had opened her email to find Fabian’s attachment–a five–year personnel roster for Bayside Industrial Estate.
Each name came paired with a headshot, sparing her hours of cross–referencing.
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Chapter 313 Late Night Intrusion
+10 Free Coins
Thanks to the confidential dossier Julius had slipped into her hands, Quinn walked into the Regal Acc Casino with the rare advantage of recognition. Faces worn smooth by five long years under neon glare and drifting cigarette smoke floated up from the pages of those files and resolved themselves at the tables. Many of those workers had begun across the river at Bayside Industrial Estate–first as grunt labor, then transferred here as junior dealers, runners, even security. If Rowan really entered the industrial estate five years ago, one of these people had to know.
After losing a couple of polite hands, Quinn watched one of the women from her list rise and glide toward the restrooms at the far end of the floor. “I’m stepping out for the ladies‘ room,” she murmured to Harlan, already half turned to follow the woman.
“Got it,” Harlan replied, pushing a neat stack of chips toward the dealer without looking up.
Quinn trailed the employee at a measured distance, her heels whispering over the thick carpet. According to Julius‘ notes, the woman had spent six years inside this operation–four in the grim warehouses of Bayside Industrial Estate and the last two promoted to the casino floor. That made her the perfect loose thread to tug for secrets.
As the woman entered a side corridor, her steps faltered. She stopped dead, eyes widening at the group gathered around the elevator doors.
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