Chapter 90
Larkin rose from his chair and turned toward Georgia, who stood by the door, her posture rigid and alert. His voice was teasing, almost casual, yet carried a pointed edge as he asked, “Aren’t you going to see me out?”
Georgia’s eyes flashed with sharp defiance. “No. Mr. Nash, please close the door when you leave,” she replied, her tone clipped and distant.
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Larkin smiled faintly, amusement flickering behind his gaze. “Isn’t it customary in your line of work to at least see your guests out? Or have I lost that privilege now that you’re off duty and tucked away in your dormitory? Maybe I should come to Vetro Club tomorrow–see you there instead. What do you think about that?”
Georgia’s jaw clenched, a bitter taste of indignation rising. Seriously? Is he threatening me again? How utterly
contemptible.
She ground her teeth, the familiar sting of irritation crawling beneath her skin. Every encounter with Larkin left her teeth aching from barely restrained anger.
“Mr. Nash,” she said carefully, forcing calm over the roiling storm inside, “you’re right. I shouldn’t neglect my guests just Jbecause I’m off the clock. Very well, let me see you out.”
As she stepped forward, her gaze sharpened, every fiber of her body vigilant. What’s wrong with him? He’s obsessed with kissing that damn scar on my forehead, acting like he’s healing it, but all it does is make me want to recoil.
Despite her revulsion, she masked it with a forced politeness.
Larkin’s voice softened, sincere in tone but heavy with something else. “Relax, Miss Cooper. I promise you, I’m exhausted tonight. I won’t touch that scar on your forehead.”
Georgia eyed him skeptically, searching for any hint of deceit. But he wore a genuine expression–no slyness, no falsehood, “Goodbye, Mr. Nash,” she breathed, a small wave of relief washing over her.
Before she could turn away, Larkin stepped fo
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riefly to her forehead.
Her patience snapped. “Mr. Nash! How can you break your word like that?”
Larkin cocked his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Did I say I wouldn’t touch the scar today? I didn’t say anything about right now.”
Georgia’s fingers instinctively stroked the wounded skin as she glared up at him. “You really expect me to believe that? Only fools trust such nonsense. Don’t you see why I’m so wary?”
He spread his hands in mock helplessness, an almost theatrical shrug. “You’re gullible, Miss Cooper. Don’t blame me for
your trust.”
The urge to shift, to bare her claws and scratch him where he stood, flared violently within her. If only she still had the wolf inside her, she thought fiercely.
“Alright then,” Larkin said suddenly, reaching out to pat her gently on the head with an almost paternal tenderness. “It’s late. Get some rest. See you tomorrow night.”
With that, he turned and left as effortlessly as he had come, his carefree swagger leaving a trail of unresolved tension.
A slow, triumphant grin spread across Larkin’s face. She’s starting to feel alive again. When we first met, she was like a corpse, barely breathing.
Over the following days, Georgia’s teeth clenched in frustration every time she saw Larkin waiting outside her dorm. Yet gradually, the burning sensitivity of her forehead’s wound dulled. The sting that once seared with every touch softened, until Larkin’s kisses there were no longer unbearable.
Larkin chuckled quietly. “Miss Cooper, how can you be so naïve? How do you fall for it every time?”
Georgia’s eyes widened, voice sharp. “You’re covered in blood! You said you were set up, that you were hurt–lying there,
Larkin narrowed his eyes at her, then proceeded to devour the dish under her watchful glare, sweat beading on his forehead as he swallowed each bite.
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