Chapter 118 Steamy Night
“Rebecca, why didn’t you tell me Alistair got involved with Vireon’s
owner?”
“I… I didn’t know she was-
The blow hit Nathaniel so hard that he could barely stay upright. He staggered.
It’s over. All of it.
He’d been banking on Vireon as a potential partner to help
Whitfield Group tap into new markets, explore fresh ventures.
That hope had just gone up in smoke.
Rebecca stood frozen beside him, overwhelmed by a swirl of
emotions.
For the first time, she realized just how out of her depth she was.
Caroline wasn’t someone she could compete with–not when she was young, smart, and already running a rising tech company.
Even her father was trying to win her over.
Rebecca’s fingers trembled at her sides. Winning Alistair back had just become ten times harder.
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Nathaniel’s disappointment only grew when she spoke, “Dad, it’s not like Vireon’s the only company in the world. So what if this one doesn’t work out? We can just find someone else to partner with.”
He looked at her, completely deflated. “You think partnerships grow on trees? That if one deal falls through, we just magically get another? Of all the people in the world to provoke, why her?”
Now he finally understood why he’d been stonewalled during talks with Vireon. It hadn’t been about timing or strategy. It was personal.
Tears rolled down Rebecca’s face, though she wasn’t sure if they came from days of frustration or from watching Alistair look at
another woman like she didn’t exist. “Dad, I didn’t even know who
she was. And even if I had was I supposed to just let her walk all
over me?”
She broke down. “She’s gone after me more than once! She even
pulled strings to keep Danny out of that private kindergarten! All
because the kids had a little argument. Now Danny’s stuck with
no school. How is that fair? She just wants to wipe us out, all
because… I was once Alistair’s wife.”
That last line stopped Nathaniel cold.
What he thought had been petty drama suddenly looked like a
much bigger storm brewing. And Vireon might not be the only
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thing he was about to lose.
**
“Babe, you really don’t have to worry so much,” Caroline said, tugging playfully at Alistair’s arm as he drove.
He was still fuming, the image of Nathaniel and Rebecca looping
in his mind. The way he’d stepped in front of Caroline, shielding
her with his entire body–he hadn’t even hesitated.
It had shaken her, in the best and worst ways. His protectiveness
made her heart swell. But his expression… That look in his eyes had been deadly.
Not the theatrical kind of rage–real, seething intent.
It had taken her forever to calm him down.
By the time they walked through the door, they were already in
each other’s arms, barely making it to the bedroom.
Usually they had to be more careful–doors closed, voices low.
Eloise was around, and the last thing they needed was for her to
see more than she should.
But tonight, the stars had aligned. Eloise had fallen head over heels for Mabel’s golden retriever, and when Mabel invited her to
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stay the night, she couldn’t have been happier. It was almost too perfectly timed.
Alistair held Caroline close, rubbing his cheek against her neck
with boyish affection. “You know, I have this weird feeling your
grandma set this whole thing up.”
That whole story about Eloise finding a stray dog? It might have
worked on a kid, but not on him.
That “stray dog” was a golden retriever–sweet and gentle, not
the kind of dog that showed up lost in the street. No, Mabel was
creating space for them, giving them a rare, uninterrupted night
together.
And honestly? He was grateful.
There was a time, the fake husband time, when he would’ve felt awkward being alone with Caroline. But now? Now he could call from the shower without a second thought.
“Babe, can you bring me a towel?” had become a perfectly
reasonable request.
Caroline walked to the bathroom, towel and clothes in hand.
The frosted glass door fogged up with steam, blurring the shape behind it. At first, he was just a silhouette, but as he moved closer,
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his form came into view–lean, strong, all clean lines and tight muscle, like something out of a magazine ad.
Despite everything they’d already shared, the sight still made her cheeks burn.
The door cracked open just enough for an arm to reach through, slick with water, muscles taut and glistening from the steam. The scent of soap and skin hit her like a wave.
Caroline handed over the clothes.
She thought that was the end of it.
But instead of grabbing them, Alistair’s hand brushed past and
then gripped her wrist.
“The clothes are-” she started.
The door swung wide. Caroline let out a startled gasp as she
was pulled into the steam–filled bathroom, straight into Alistair’s
soaking wet, ridiculously warm chest.
Her breath caught. The realization hit her all at once–she’d
walked right into his trap.
“Hey–what the hell?! You tricked me!”
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Alistair didn’t tighten his hold, just let her squirm against him until
she realized resistance was pointless. She let out a frustrated huff,
then dropped her head on his shoulder and bit down.
“Mmgh-” he groaned, startled.
Caroline blinked, instantly worried. “Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean
to–sorry, sorry. But you’re such a jerk.”
Her voice was breathless, a mix of guilt and heat and something she didn’t quite know how to name.
Alistair looked down at her, his eyes deep with something playful and wanting. His voice was low, almost pouty. “All I wanted was a little help in the shower. From my wife. Is that really so wrong?”
She knew it was total nonsense. But still–she sighed, giving in.
“Help, right? Then turn around. Let’s get it over with.”
She expected more teasing. Instead, Alistair gave a contented little “Mm,” and actually turned away.
His back was covered in patches of soap he hadn’t rinsed off. Water beaded across his skin, tracing every muscle and dip along his spine.
Caroline froze. She wasn’t a saint. With that view right in front of
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her, scrubbing was the last thing on her mind.
(***) 13 min left
Something wicked stirred. Before she knew it, her hand lifted on
its own–then landed with a firm smack on Alistair’s ass.
Alistair stilled.
She bit her lip.
One slap wasn’t enough. It was oddly satisfying. As she raised her
hand for another, he caught it.
His voice was low, thick with heat. “So… you don’t really want to help me wash up, huh?” He turned slowly, a wicked glint in his eye. “Good,” he whispered. “Because suddenly… I’m not in the mood to get clean either.”
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