Bound by the Past, Locked by the Heart novel Chapter 218

It felt as though she had been transported back to their college days, back to the golden era of their romance.

Back then, he was exactly like this—sheathing all his sharp edges and hostility, offering her nothing but endless patience and tenderness.

But deep down, she knew this time was different.

His love was no longer pure. The shattered trust and deep wounds between them had merely been papered over.

The surface appeared calm, but underneath, everything was utterly devastated.

Their relationship had rotted from the inside out, leaving behind a hollow shell of self-deception.

She couldn't tell how much genuine affection remained in his heart, but physical instincts never lied.

That night, Willa stepped out of the bathroom wearing only a silk nightgown.

Randal was leaning against the headboard, reviewing documents. At the sound of her footsteps, he glanced up. His gaze landed on her flush, steam-kissed cheeks, then slowly trailed down the silhouette barely concealed by her gown.

His eyes darkened instantly, his Adam's apple bobbing out of control.

Willa froze midway through drying her hair, immediately recognizing the blazing lust in his eyes.

They hadn't shared any physical intimacy for over a month.

Being able to look but not touch only made a man crave it more desperately.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. She could vividly hear his increasingly heavy breathing.

That familiar, predatory aura instantly enveloped her.

Willa went rigid. She subconsciously took half a step back, her knuckles turning white around the towel.

Randal's gaze was locked dead on her, his eyes swirling with dark, agonizing conflict. There was raw hunger, but also a vicious internal battle.

Willa's heart leaped into her throat. She was terrified he would just pin her down regardless of the consequences, like he used to.

She was out of excuses to reject him.

But after a long, agonizing standoff, Randal remained rooted to his spot.

He abruptly tore his gaze away and took a deep breath, his voice gravelly. "Dry your hair so you don't catch a cold."

Willa jolted, nearly dropping the heavy machine to the floor.

The residual heat of his palm seeped through her skin, burning a path straight to her core.

"Let me," he murmured.

Without waiting for an answer, he took the dryer from her grip. His free hand gently combed through the damp hair at the nape of her neck with painstaking care.

Willa squeezed her eyes shut, every muscle in her body wound tight.

As he dried her hair, his fingers brushed against her bare skin, intentionally or not, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.

Willa could sense it... the swelling arousal returning beneath his towel.

Even with the space between them, its presence was so undeniably clear it made her dizzy.

She had no idea how much time passed before her hair was mostly dry. The roar of the hair dryer died abruptly.

A terrifying quiet crashed back into the room, leaving nothing but the sound of their ragged breaths mingling heavily in the air.