The two of them were unusually close, closer than they had ever been since growing up.
Arabella Vanderbilt's face was slightly pale; the recent accident left her still somewhat dazed.
Her heart was pounding rapidly, her breathing uneven and disordered.
Her shallow, warm breaths scattered onto Oliver Timmerman's neck. The light, fresh scent emanating from her, coupled with the gentle touch barely obscured by fabric, made Oliver slightly unfocused.
That delicate, graceful face was right in front of him, a few stray, disheveled strands of hair clinging to her features, giving her an unexpected softness.
As long as he thought about her being with other men...
The way she would let down her guard, shed her coldness and strength—what an irresistibly alluring sight it must have been...
"Arabella, Arabella..."
Oliver's scalp tingled; the desire to win her heart was growing madly within him.
