The Sleeper's Wrath and His Wife's Strike novel Chapter 66

Lindsay couldn’t help but laugh at her own words. So, the mighty CEO of the Quigley Group was actually afraid his wife might run off?

If that ever got out, wouldn’t the whole world die laughing?

“Well then, you’d better be good to me. I’m a fast runner—you’d never catch me,” she teased.

But suddenly, Lindsay’s smile faltered. Her gaze dropped instinctively to Yves' legs, and she realized, too late, what she’d just said.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I don’t accept apologies that are just words,” Yves replied, feigning annoyance, though he truly didn’t care about her slip.

He’d come back from a coma, for heaven’s sake—did she really think he’d be worried about being stuck with a limp forever? He knew he’d walk again, sooner or later. For now, maybe playing the invalid wasn’t such a bad thing; it meant his wife would dote on him a little more.

Why rush out of that role?

“So what kind of compensation do you want?” Lindsay asked, following his lead.

“I’m a man. What do you think I want most?”

Lindsay’s cheeks colored. Her hands twisted together nervously. How did their conversation go off the rails like this again?

“Forget it. I won’t force you,” Yves sighed, putting on a show of wounded disappointment.

Guilt from her past life pricked at Lindsay. She hated seeing Yves look so down.

The next second, she leaned in and kissed him. She meant it as a quick, gentle peck, but just as she started to pull away, a strong hand pressed against the back of her head, deepening the kiss.

Lindsay, a total novice at this, could only stand there and accept Yves' passionate embrace, stunned.

After a long while, Yves finally let her go, his eyes dark and unsatisfied, still tinged with mock hurt. “Sometimes I just want to devour you whole.”

“Pervert!” Lindsay’s face turned scarlet. She muttered the insult under her breath, puffed out her cheeks, and stomped away, pretending to be angry.

As far as she remembered, neither of their husbands had a romantic bone in their bodies. For other women, maybe—but certainly not for their own wives.

Bertha and Helen shot her a look and responded in unison, “Your husband sent them!”

Unbelievable. Lindsay was clearly fishing for compliments, probably trying to make them jealous.

Lindsay blinked, taken aback. “Yves sent these to me?”

“Who else?” Helen huffed, practically gnashing her teeth with envy. “These are the Hermes of roses—each one costs hundreds of dollars.”

That settled it! She’d have to make her own husband send her flowers, just to even the score with Lindsay.

Lindsay couldn’t help but grin, her heart fluttering with happiness. It was her first time receiving flowers, let alone such an extravagant bouquet. But how on earth was she supposed to get all these upstairs?

“Where’s Yves?” She glanced around the hall, not finding him, and turned back to Bertha.