Oops I Banged the CEO novel Chapter 10

Yvonne stared at his cool, serious face, her rain-chilled hand clasped in his. Despite the cold, his grip made her feel safe, as if nothing could touch her.

Suddenly, the wind howled even louder, tearing the battered bus stop sign from its post. It crashed toward them, metal shrieking through the storm.

Marico reacted instantly, pulling Yvonne into his arms.

He shielded her with his broad frame, strong as a mountain. She barely had time to register the impact before she felt him shudder, followed by a muffled gasp of pain.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Yvonne’s voice trembled with worry.

“I’m fine.” Marico’s brows drew together in a scowl. Without glancing at the arm that had taken the brunt of the blow, he kept his body between her and the storm and led her toward the car.

When he’d loaded her suitcase, both of them were soaked to the skin. Marico climbed into the driver’s seat, shutting the door behind them. Instantly, the world outside became distant, the car a warm, fragile haven against the chaos beyond.

“Are you hurt?” Yvonne ignored the rain streaming down her own face. She’d heard the sickening clang of metal as it hit.

“Let’s go home.” Marico offered no further explanation, just turned the key and steered them out into the rain.

Yvonne clutched the seatbelt, hardly daring to breathe, unwilling to disturb the tense quiet between them.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Marico’s sharp profile, unable to shake the sense that none of this could possibly be real.

After forty minutes, the car finally pulled into the underground garage of Marico’s villa.

“We’re here.” Marico unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out, retrieving her battered, one-wheeled suitcase from the trunk.

Yvonne followed him out. After so long in the rain, shivering with cold and her nose stuffy, her voice came out thick: “Mr. Hamilton, can we talk?”

She stood by the car door, eyes red-rimmed, gazing at the man’s impassive face.

She finished, but didn’t dare meet his eyes, feeling small and powerless.

“You said you’d take responsibility…” Her voice was barely a whisper, aware that she had no leverage here.

“I can agree to the first three. As for divorce, we’ll discuss it later. Now, what do you mean by separate bedrooms?” Marico reached out, tilting her chin up so she had no choice but to look at him.

Yvonne’s face tipped up, her damp hair dripping onto her shoulders, lips parted, lashes fluttering with nerves. “I just… I want my own room. If you… if you…”

She faltered, cheeks burning, unable to finish her sentence. Her gaze fled from his.

Marico’s lips curved in a faint, unreadable smile. With wet hair clinging to his forehead, he radiated a wild, untamed masculinity, a kind of primal magnetism that made the air seem thicker.

“And if I want something from you, I just come to your room, is that it?” His voice was low and rough, the words curling around her like a dare.