No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 1507

Eleanor didn't say a word, simply letting him hold her hand. Perhaps it was the enchanting atmosphere, but she didn't have the heart to ruin his mood at that moment.

The heat of the man's skin seeped from his palm, carrying a searing, undeniable warmth.

Time seemed to freeze completely.

Two minutes later, Eleanor twitched her fingers and spoke softly. "I need to go draw Evelyn's bath."

Only then did Ian slowly release his grip. His fingertips brushed against the delicate skin of the back of her hand as if reluctant to let go. He gave a low chuckle. "Alright."

The two walked back into the living room one after the other. Evelyn knew it was getting late and stopped playing, waving at Ian. "Dad, Mommy and I are going upstairs now!"

"Go on," Ian smiled at her fondly, though a part of him selfishly wished he could stay in the living room just a little longer.

Eleanor gave her daughter a bath, then took a shower herself. By the time she climbed into bed, she realized Evelyn had already fallen fast asleep.

She slipped under the covers, pulled her daughter into her arms, and drifted off to sleep beside her.

The next morning.

Eleanor dressed her daughter in comfortable, casual clothes—a long-sleeved sun shirt and pants, her hair tied in a cute little ponytail. As soon as she was ready, Evelyn bounced out of the living room to find her grandmother.

Eleanor stood in the garden watching her, only turning back toward the house once Serena came out to greet the little girl.

Breakfast was scheduled to be delivered to the villa. Just as Eleanor was heading upstairs, the door to the second-floor guest room opened. Ian stepped out in a gray tracksuit, his hair slightly tousled, exuding a rugged, athletic energy.

"Evelyn went over to see her grandmother," Eleanor mentioned, about to keep walking.

Ian's reaction was lightning fast. His long arm snaked firmly around her waist, pulling her tightly against his chest and locking her securely in place.

Eleanor was pressed flush against him. Her cheek was so close she could feel the powerful, steady thumping of his heartbeat through his athletic shirt.

Her hands had unconsciously gripped the fabric at his waist so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

She held onto him like a terrified child clutching a parent's clothes.

Their posture was instantly, overwhelmingly intimate.

Ian looked down at her frightened, flustered face pressed against his chest. Her long eyelashes were trembling slightly. The arm he had wrapped around her waist tightened involuntarily. His Adam's apple bobbed in the heavy silence as he leaned down, his nose brushing against her hair, quietly breathing in the scent of her.