Diana's heart felt like a trapped rabbit, thumping wildly against her ribs.
She suddenly crouched down, her slender back curving into a graceful arch as she yanked open the bottom drawer of the TV stand. Her fingertips brushed aimlessly through a chaotic jumble of remote controls and manuals, as if she were on a mission of utmost secrecy.
In reality, she was just trying to swallow down a heart that felt like it was about to leap out of her throat.
"Go ahead and shower first," she said, her back still turned, her voice carrying a tremor she couldn't quite hide. "My best friend, Penelope Reed, gave me a pair of handmade crystal flutes. I'm going to find them. When you're out, we'll open that red."
William Knight stood behind her, his long fingers never pausing as he undid his shirt buttons one by one. As the fabric fell away, a broad, lean chest was revealed, his pale skin glowing with the polished luster of fine porcelain under the dim lights.
"Fine. I'll head in first."
It wasn't until the tall silhouette vanished behind the frosted glass of the bathroom door that Diana collapsed onto the floor, letting out a heavy, shuddering breath.
She scolded herself inwardly: Diana Bell, get a grip. He hasn't even finished undressing yet, and you're already losing it.
Once her pulse settled into a dull roar, she fished out the translucent glasses and carried the wine back into the bedroom.
As she pushed the door open, the sound of the shower vibrating against the glass created an inadvertent, sultry hum in the air. Diana stared at the blurred figure through the steam, and a sudden thought derailed her brain: How is he going to come out?
There was only one spare towel in there.
He wouldn't just... walk out half-naked, would he?
The mental image took hold. For a high-society heir from the East City who lived a disciplined life, abs were surely standard equipment, right? Would his chest be rock hard? Looking at that shoulder-to-waist ratio, his power must be incredible.
She shook her head, laughing at her own "forbidden" train of thought. She was a hopeless sucker for a handsome face and a good physique, but this pace was a serious cardio workout for her heart.
Realizing that someone as prestigious as Mr. Knight might not appreciate a casual "towel-only" exit, Diana decided to find him something proper to wear.
She slipped into the next room where Noah Bell was hunched over his desk. The room was dim, lit only by a desk lamp, and the scratch of his pen against a practice exam filled the silence with the frantic energy of a high school senior.
Noah leaned back, turning with a look of mild annoyance. "Sis, it's the middle of the night. Are you trying to tear the house down?"
Diana didn't beat around the bush. "Do you have any clean pajamas? I need to borrow a set."
Noah rolled his eyes. "Please. It's summer. I prefer to sleep 'at one with nature' to stay cool. Who wears pajamas?"
Diana's lip twitched. "And you think Mr. Knight would share your... wild approach to sleep?"
Noah actually took a moment to visualize that. He shuddered. "True. He looks like the type who's 'elite' down to his marrow. Imagining him naked feels like a desecration of fine art."
"Precisely my thought," Diana agreed.
Noah grumbled as he stood up, reaching into the very back of his closet to pull out a never-opened set of deep blue silk pajamas. "Give these to our new Lord Knight. Someone gave them to me for New Year's, but they were way too pretentious for me. They're clean, guaranteed."
When Diana returned to the master bedroom, the water had just stopped.
She walked to the door, feeling a bit flushed, and gave it a soft knock. "Mr. Knight? I've left some clothes by the door. They're new."
The door cracked open, and a wave of thick, humid heat enveloped her. A pale, muscular arm reached out, the veins slightly prominent under the skin from the heat. Droplets of water traced the tight lines of his muscles, dripping with a raw, primal elegance.
As she handed him the clothes, her eyes couldn't help but catch a glimpse through the gap—the long, powerful line of his thigh, the muscle tensed and defined.
In that moment, only one phrase crossed her mind: Absolute animal magnetism.
William didn't take the clothes immediately. Instead, he reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist. His palm was searingly hot and damp with steam.
Diana's heart jolted. Was he... going to pull her in?
His thumb grazed slowly down her inner arm, the slight roughness of his skin acting like sandpaper against a delicate petal, sending a shiver through her. Only when he reached her palm did he finally take the pajamas, his voice dropping to a low rasp. "Thanks."
"Y-you're welcome." Diana snatched her hand back as if she'd been shocked, her entire arm tingling like she'd been touched by a live wire.
The door clicked shut again. Diana floated back to the bed, feeling like her soul had checked out before the wine was even poured.
She dove face-first into the soft silk duvet like a fish gasping for air. The position caused her nightgown to cling to her curves, accentuating the dip of her waist and the swell of her hips in the lamplight.
A moment later, the bathroom door opened. William stepped out, his gaze lingering on the lithe figure on the bed for a heartbeat, his eyes darkening.
He glanced at the untouched wine on the table and walked straight to the bedside.
As the mattress dipped under his weight, Diana looked up sharply to find him sitting right beside her. She was wearing a white, regency-style mesh nightgown—not overly revealing, but between her rolling and crawling, one snowy shoulder had slipped completely out of the wide neckline.
"Since you don't seem to want to drink," William said, his hand unexpectedly covering her rounded shoulder, his fingers applying a ghost of pressure. His low voice brushed against her ear, "Would you like to start from the front, or the back?"
Diana's face turned the color of an autumn maple. Even her toes curled in sheer embarrassment.
Who just... asks it straight out like that!
"I... I think we should have a drink first! For the atmosphere!" She scrambled up, practically fleeing toward the table.
William's hand slid down as she moved, his fingertips trailing over the small of her back before brushing past the hem of her gown.
Diana grabbed the bottle and poured herself a full glass, knocking it back like a soldier taking a final shot before a charge.
A bottle worth nearly $300,000, and she drank it like tap water. Aside from a burning sensation in her throat, she didn't taste a single note of the vintage.
William followed unhurriedly. He took the bottle and elegantly poured them both a half-glass. When he clinked his glass against hers, he purposely kept his rim lower, a classic sign of respect.
"Good wine is for savoring, Miss Bell, not for chugging."
Diana watched him take a sip. His beautifully shaped lips were stained a dark, haunting crimson by the liquid. As he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbed beneath a razor-sharp jawline. It was a visual crime.
Influenced by his poise, Diana calmed down and took a slow sip.
This time, she finally tasted the money—notes of black cherry mixed with smoky oak, a texture as smooth as heavy silk blooming on her tongue before leaving a lingering sweetness.
"Satisfied?" William set his glass down, his gaze searching.
Diana nodded obediently. "I don't think anyone could turn this down."
William arched an eyebrow. "I have plenty more like this in my cellar. If you like it, it's all yours from now on."
No one could resist that kind of effortless indulgence. Diana's lips quirked up into a smile, her face softening and coming alive with the glow of the alcohol and his words.
In the next heartbeat, a sudden force took hold.
William's powerful leg pressed between her knees, and his large hand gripped her waist, hoisting her directly onto the tabletop.
The sudden loss of gravity made her gasp, and she instinctively threw her arms around his neck.
William leaned in, burying his devastatingly handsome face into the crook of her neck. He wasn't in a rush. Like a man savoring a fine vintage, his lips—still warm from the wine—traced the sensitive skin of her throat with slow, deliberate pressure.
The scent of him—mature, crisp, and intensely masculine—seemed to seep into her pores and race through her veins, blurring her mind into a haze.
She knew exactly what was happening now. He was getting down to business...
A man that handsome had a certain magic; he could ignite a fire in an instant. Just looking at his face was enough to make her head spin.
And now, with his face pressed against her skin, his warm lips moving inch by inch down her neck...