Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 675

The moment Dylan got back to Palm Bay, he called a doctor to check on her.

Clara had barely hit the sheets before she started complaining about the heat, over and over.

The doctor’s verdict matched what that stranger had warned them—it was just a nasty side effect from the illegal drugs. Nothing to be done.

Dylan’s face darkened for a second. He had someone fill a tub with cold water and gently lowered her in.

But Clara barely noticed the chill. Sweat kept trickling down her forehead, her whole body burning like she was on fire.

“Babe, I’m still so hot,” she mumbled.

Dylan wasn’t in his wheelchair this time. He crouched beside the tub, forcing himself to look away from the lost, hazy look in her eyes.

He couldn’t forget what she’d said before—how she felt dirty.

He barely dared to touch her. His fingers tightened on the edge of the tub, lashes lowered. “Just soak a bit longer. You’ll cool down soon.”

Clara’s cheeks were red, and she sneezed. “I’m hot and cold at the same time. Can’t I just hold you?”

She tried to wrap her arms around his neck, but he dodged her gentle hug.

Her face fell. She sank a little deeper into the water, hugging herself.

Dylan stood up, grabbed a bathrobe, and headed to the guest room to take a cold shower.

When he came back, Clara was still soaking in the cold water.

His heart ached for her—he hated seeing her like this—but there was nothing else he could do.

He paused by the bathroom door just as she got out of the tub, one hand against the wall, her cheeks still flushed.

He moved to help her, but before he could, she hurried over, cupped his face, and kissed him.

She wasn’t wearing anything, and for a second, he had no idea where to put his hands.

Clara seemed clear-headed, her voice puzzled. “Why can’t I kiss you?”

Now, seeing Dylan looking a bit better, she finally relaxed.

But when she noticed the marks on his collarbone beneath his white shirt, she slammed her hand on the table.

“Unbelievable! Absolutely ridiculous! Your body’s already in this state, and you’re still chasing after women? You’re going to be the death of me!”

She’d rushed over the moment she heard Clara had been found. Dylan’s condition these past few days had her so worried she couldn’t eat or sleep, terrified she’d wake up and find she was too late.

Dylan was her handpicked successor—no matter how tough she acted, there was no way she could just stand by and let him die.

When he came downstairs, he wore a crisp white shirt and black pants. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. He sat straight in his wheelchair, radiating a youthful energy—if it weren’t for the aura he carried, he could’ve passed for a college student.

He didn’t respond to her outburst, just asked, “Mother, is there something you need?”

Mrs. Ferguson took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Now that Clara’s back, please stop with all that reckless talk. You need to pay attention to your health. As for the Warren family, I’ll lower myself and talk to them. Dylan, you have to think about the bigger picture. Don’t act on impulse again.”

Dylan just replied with a quiet “Okay,” his calm attitude only making her more frustrated.