His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 32

He was a man of immense wealth and status. Everything he wore, ate, and used was top-tier. There was no way he would lower himself to stay in a place like this.

Without another word, Whitley turned her back on him and walked straight into her small bedroom.

She collapsed onto the bed, physically and emotionally drained.

There was no sound from the living room. She figured Clive must have seen himself out. The fact that he had even shown up demanding she come home was baffling enough. Shouldn't he be thrilled she was gone?

As she lay there, her exhaustion caught up with her, and she began to drift into a hazy sleep.

Suddenly, the mattress dipped. A second later, a familiar, clean scent washed over her.

Whitley froze, her pupils dilating in shock. She hadn't actually expected him to stay.

Her bedroom was tiny and sparsely furnished, a world away from his sprawling, luxurious master suite. But he didn't seem to care. He had simply walked in, taken off his jacket, and gotten into bed.

Before she could even react, the man settled in beside her. He reached out with a long arm and pulled her firmly against his chest from behind.

His warm torso pressed against her thin back. Through the thin fabric of her shirt, she could feel the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart. His signature, cool scent instantly enveloped her.

Whitley went rigid. Like she had been electrocuted, she began to struggle frantically. "Clive, let go of me."

"Stop fighting it, Whitley."

His deep, magnetic voice rumbled right against her ear. He had always had a beautiful voice, the kind of smooth cadence that drew people in effortlessly.

There used to be times when Whitley loved simply listening to him speak. Her attraction to him had always been visceral. A man like Clive Sherwood—brilliant, powerful, oozing charm with every move—was impossible not to fall for.

But she was wide awake now. The more perfect a man like him seemed, the more ruthless he actually was. If he didn't love you, everything you did was utterly pointless.

Right now, Whitley was trapped. She pushed against his arm, but it was like trying to move a brick wall.

Whitley squeezed her eyes shut. "And if I say no?"

Clive didn't answer.

A suffocating silence filled the room.

He gripped her shoulders and forcibly turned her around so she had to face him. Trapped under the same blanket, enveloped entirely by his scent, she felt completely cornered.

Whitley's throat tightened. The difference in their physical strength was too vast; she couldn't break free, and she didn't have the energy to try. If Clive wanted to keep her pinned, she wasn't going anywhere. He had always been domineering and absolute. Why waste the effort fighting?

He forced her to meet his gaze.

His features were sharp and striking in the dim light, his dark eyes unreadable as always.

"Tell me," he murmured, his tone dangerously soft. "Why are you throwing such a tantrum this time? Hmm?"