Sorry, I'm the Final Boss Now novel Chapter 162

His breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling rapidly as a dark intensity filled his eyes.

If she really wanted to watch over him while he slept… should he say no?

“Of course I should say no! This is completely inappropriate.”

But an opportunity like this would probably never come again in his lifetime. And he wanted, so desperately, to be able to look at her all night long.

His mind was a mess, but he didn’t want to keep her waiting. He quickly threw his clothes back on and walked to the door, opening it.

The exquisite, radiant girl was standing there, her hair slightly disheveled. It looked like she’d been lying down for a bit; a cute little tuft of hair stood straight up on top of her head.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice a strained attempt at calm.

The moment he appeared, the fresh scent of lemon shower gel mingled with his own unique, cool fragrance. The top button of his gray pajama shirt was undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his elegant, pale collarbones and the firm muscles of his chest beneath. It was incredibly alluring.

Marguerite’s face flushed at the sight, her eyelashes fluttering. “Um, I was thinking I could watch over you tonight. I’m having trouble sleeping anyway, so I can just crash on the sofa.”

She spoke with such seriousness, but a stray thought suddenly popped into her head: “They say gray sweatpants are the most… revealing. I wonder if that’s true.”

Her eyes wanted to drift downward, but she didn’t dare.

God, it was hot. Who had been feeding her aphrodisiacs?

The girl’s peach-blossom eyes were so clear and bright, George found it impossible to refuse. She was being so good to him, treating him like a real friend. And how could he turn down a friend’s kind offer? He would control himself. He had to.

“Thank you,” George said, his voice gentle.

He turned and walked back into the room, and Marguerite followed with a sparkle in her eyes.

The gray pajama pants were, indeed, very revealing.

“And he has a great ass…”

Realizing what she was thinking, Marguerite secretly slapped her own cheek. “Are you a predator? The man is sick!”

The bedroom was spacious, with a sofa placed by the window, a comfortable distance from the bed.

“The sofa isn’t comfortable. You can have my bed,” George offered, looking at her. If only she would agree. Then he could fall asleep surrounded by her scent every night.

His intense gaze remained fixed on her in the darkness. He noticed she wasn’t lying down on the sofa, but was looking at her phone in the dark.

He frowned slightly. “That’s bad for your eyes,” he said. “You can turn on the small lamp over there. It won’t bother me.”

Marguerite looked up. “Alright.” She was always receptive to good advice; she needed her eyes to appreciate handsome men—no, to appreciate the world.

She turned on the small lamp, which cast a warm glow, and focused on her review problems for a while. Suddenly, she felt a wave of drowsiness and let out a yawn.

Marguerite blinked, puzzled. “Why am I getting sleepy?”

Could it be that she could fall asleep as long as she was in the same house? She had never tried sleeping in any of the other rooms, so she couldn't be sure.

She glanced over at the man in the bed. He was lying on his side, his eyes closed, perfectly still. He seemed to be asleep.

She reached out and turned off the small lamp, then lay down on the sofa herself. This sofa must have been expensive; it was incredibly comfortable. Other than being a bit small, it felt just like sleeping on a bed.

If she could sleep, she might as well. George would surely call for her if he needed anything. Besides, studying during the day was much more efficient.

The room was once again shrouded in complete darkness. A moment later, Marguerite suddenly heard George’s voice. “Marguerite, do you want to come sleep in the bed?”