He stared at the woman for two seconds, and before he could look away, he saw Eva Nightingale, wrapped in the quilt, fall off the bed.
She wasn't asleep…
She'd sensed him coming and had been pretending to sleep; with her eyes closed she could still feel his gaze, too cold and sharp, making her face prickle with discomfort!
Relying on a woman's sixth sense, she kept feeling that he was staring right at her.
This morning when she got up, she'd already decided that when she slept with him that night, she'd sleep on the floor beside the bed.
By eleven-thirty he still wasn't back; she thought he wouldn't come home, but who knew—she'd just finished her shower and hadn't been lying on the bed long when he actually showed up?
So, unable to bear his gaze, Eva Nightingale simply wrapped herself in the quilt and rolled right off the bed onto the floor…
The blue cicada-silk quilt was carved with vintage patterns; one look and you could tell she'd picked it out.
