Lock You In My Heart novel Chapter 42

Gabrielle's voice wasn't particularly loud, but her every word rang clear in Westley's ears.

Silly girl. Here she was, lying in his arms with her eyes closed, yet she was thinking of another man. She even called out his name.

How could she miss Bryce then, when he was out having fun with Nellie?

Westley gritted his teeth and stifled the urge to throw her into the pond or the flower beds in front of the villa. Gingerly, he carried her inside.

"You're back, Mr. Morris," Neil remarked when he saw him. "What's wrong with Miss Jones?" Of course, the butler would be surprised to see him come back so early, and with Gabrielle in his arms to boot. More to the point, Neil was wondering why they hadn't even bothered to take a car.

Westley walked past the other man and strode over to the staircase.

"No one is allowed to come upstairs without my permission," he ordered in his usual cold manner before disappearing into the second floor landing.

Neil gaped after him, stunned. What on earth could have possibly happened? Westley looked furious, and he thought he had smelled alcohol wafting from the lady when they passed him. It was quite a worrying situation, so he hurriedly called Alvin.

"Tell me, Alvin, why has Mr. Morris returned with Miss Jones in his arms? Didn't you drive them back home?"

"Well, Miss Jones threw up in the car just before we reached the gates of Vineyard Villa. The car is sullied, believe me, and Mr. Morris is mad about it. I'm going to have it washed to get rid of the stench."

Even as he spoke, Alvin was opening all the windows and the overhead hatch of said vehicle. The foul odor was still there, and it was starting to disgust him.

"Is that really all? I mean, I can tell that Mr. Morris is indeed furious..."

But Neil didn't think that Westley would get so worked up over such a matter, especially given the man's temperament. The way he had looked earlier, it was as if he were about to flay her alive.

"Look, Neil. I advise you to stay out of Mr. Morris' personal affairs. Just pretend you haven't seen anything. He has a deep sense of propriety, you know." Alvin leaned back against the driver seat, wondering if he might as well drive the car into the nearby moat before getting it to an automobile service shop. If he didn't rinse this machine any time soon, he just might find himself suffocating in its odorous fume.

Gabrielle truly was a troublemaker.

"Are you absolutely sure that Mr. Morris is only angry at Miss Jones because she puked in his car?" Neil asked again, his voice laced with worry.

"Stop fretting, Neil. That's exactly how it is. Well, I need to hang up now. I have to get this car cleaned as soon as possible." Alvin hung up without waiting for a response. Now that he thought about it, the nearest 4S shop might be close now; it was the middle of the night after all. He sighed. He probably had to drive this stinky car back and give it a preliminary wash before bringing it to the professionals tomorrow.

He was a little relieved at that. 'It might appease Westley to some degree, and he wouldn't have to punish Gabrielle too severely.'

But then Neil was grossly mistaken about the reasons for Westley's rage. It was never about the car. It was because she was blatantly yearning for Bryce in his presence.

Which was why Westley practically threw her on the bed the moment he walked into his bedroom.

Gabrielle had been weak and out of sorts, but the impact somewhat sobered her. She looked around and saw the man looming over her from the side of the bed. He was glaring daggers at her, causing her to instinctively curl into herself.

This scene was achingly familiar to her.

"Westley, what are you doing?" she asked in a horrified voice.

Westley stood in place, silent and unmoving. After a few beats, he began to unbutton his shirt.

It had no effect whatsoever. If anything, he looked even more like an excited beast in front of its prey.

In the blink of an eye, he had pounced on her and pinned her down by her arms. She was unable to move.

"My darling Gabrielle. Should I remind you exactly whose wife you are right now?' Westley rasped, his face dark.

All the alcohol in her system seemed to disappear in an instant. Gabrielle turned stone cold sober.

"I know, okay? I'm your wife—your fake wife. And your go-to scapegoat. When Nellie comes back— Mmfh!"

Her words were interrupted as he swooped down and kissed her. She was effectively silenced after that.

Still, they were both conscious and within the realm of reason this time around, so she tried her best to resist him. Her struggles were futile as expected, since she was no match to Westley's strength.

For his part, he was rather enjoying getting hit by Gabrielle. Her punches were so weak it was almost cute.

In the end, she gave up and gave in, letting him have his way with her.

It was a totally different experience compared to when they had been suffering the effects of the drug. Everything was more pronounced this time, and they were able to draw out true, unadulterated pleasure from each other's bodies.

Much later, Gabrielle fell back against the pillows in exhausted slumber. Westley propped himself on one elbow and gazed down at her. They were both drenched in sweat. There were no traces of his anger anymore, but something uncertain still flickered in his eyes.

What had this woman done to him? How could she seduce him over and over again? The first two times he could blame on the drugs, but he had to take responsibility for tonight. He could have stopped any time; he had the power and the reason to do so. Instead he indulged himself and succumbed to pleasure.