Breaking Mr. Cold (Giselle and Donovan) novel Chapter 689

Giselle happened to glance at Chris again and caught a clear view of the creases on his eyelids. She looked twice before she could stop herself.

"You had your eyelids done?" she asked, studying him with open curiosity.

He froze for a moment, then turned his face away. "No, I didn't. You're seeing things."

"Oh."

The moment the words left her mouth, she found herself amused. Why was she so intent on dissecting his features? Plenty of people had naturally defined double eyelids that looked as if they'd been surgically shaped.

Maybe he sensed her doubt. After a brief pause, Chris spoke quietly. "I did have plastic surgery."

"What?"

He added, "One year on the battlefield, I was badly injured. I took several bullets. My face was hit by an explosion. When they sent me back to the hospital, reconstruction was unavoidable."

Hearing that, Giselle studied the lower half of his face again. There were, indeed, faint traces of repair, though the work was remarkably natural. Anyone not looking closely would never notice.

The man in front of her had cold, deep-set eyes, a sharp, straight nose, and a lean, clean jawline. Gone was the rugged harshness of a hardened soldier, but his overall presence still carried a hard edge.

After a few more exchanges, she let the details go and returned to her work.

She stayed busy until after seven before finally leaving the office to head home.

Donovan immediately put out the cigarette he had barely started, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pulled her into his lap.

"Of course. I came home to check on my darling." His voice softened as his hand slipped to her still-flat stomach. "Any discomfort today? How's your appetite?"

"Not bad. I only threw up once."

"My poor baby." His tone was full of unfiltered tenderness. "If I could take the suffering for you, I would."

He didn't bother hiding the way he adored her. He buried his face in her thick, soft hair, breathing in the faint scent of it as he pressed slow, hungry kisses against the strands. His hands wandered, restless and intimate, and the air in the living room shifted, warm and charged, the atmosphere turning unmistakably suggestive.

Just then, Chris walked in from outside, having parked the car. He held Giselle's coat in his hand. The moment he looked up and saw the couple on the couch, close enough to blur the distance between them, he stopped short, frozen in place.