Chapter 106
[ 536 words ]
Chapter 106:
But Jarrod’s reflexes were inhuman. He didn’t even flinch. His left arm shot out, the only limb capable of such speed. He caught her with a grunt of effort, the sudden strain pulling at the healing injury in his right shoulder, and hauled her flush against his chest before her knee could touch the carpet.
Caroline’s hands slammed against the lapels of his suit jacket. She gripped the expensive fabric like a lifeline. Her heart pounded frantically against his sternum. She tilted her head up and crashed straight into his dark, possessively burning eyes. She felt the tremor in his right arm where it pressed against her, a silent testament to the price of catching her.
Jarrod lowered his head. His mouth hovered a millimeter from her ear.
“If you cannot stand,” Jarrod whispered, his voice a dark, gravelly rumble that sent heat flooding straight to her core, “I have no problem carrying you through the entire estate.”
A furious blush exploded across Caroline’s cheeks. She bit her lower lip hard, tasting a faint hint of copper.
𝗜ո𝘀𝘵a𝗻t aс𝖼𝖾𝗌ѕ о𝘯 g𝖺𝗅𝗇o𝗏𝗲l𝘴.с𝘰𝘮
“I can walk,” she said stubbornly, pushing her hands against his chest.
Jarrod let out a low, vibrating laugh. He didn’t release her waist. Instead, his left arm tightened like a vice, forcing her to lean the majority of her body weight directly against his uninjured side.
He turned his head and looked at their reflection in the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror. His eyes turned ice-cold and razor-sharp.
“This is your debut as my wife,” Jarrod stated, his voice devoid of all warmth. “You do not step back. You do not flinch.”
Caroline stared at the mirror. She saw the ruthless commander, and she saw the woman standing beside him. Her operative instincts flared to life, burying the panic under a layer of pure ice.
She straightened her spine and wrapped her hand firmly around his left bicep, the solid one, the one that could still fight.
They turned and walked out of the studio, moving together like a king and queen marching directly into a warzone.
Three miles away from the quiet studio, the Romero Family Estate blazed with light. The massive, Victorian-style mansion sat on a sprawling hill in Georgetown, looking less like a home and more like a heavily fortified fortress built on pure, unadulterated wealth.
The long, winding driveway was choked with a line of black luxury sedans. Valet boys in crisp uniforms sprinted across the cobblestones, opening doors for the absolute elite of Washington’s political and military circles.
Inside the main living hall, a massive crystal chandelier cast a brilliant, blinding light over the crowd. A live string quartet played a flawless classical piece in the corner. The air was thick and suffocating, smelling of expensive champagne, roasted meats, and heavy, musky perfumes.
Cornelia Romero, the current matriarch of the family, glided through the crowd with practiced ease.
She wore a dark crimson haute couture gown that cost more than most people made in a decade. A flawless, completely fake smile was plastered across her face. Her sharp eyes scanned the room like a thermal radar, calculating the net worth and political usefulness of every single guest.
Cornelia smoothly excused herself from a group of defense contractors and walked toward a quiet, velvet-lined alcove near the side hall.
.
.
.
If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.