The CEO's Midnight Remedy novel Chapter 160

Chapter 160

Inside his apartment, he turned to me, eyes asking a silent question. I answered by stepping closer, tilting my face up to his.

“Your injuries,” he murmured, his breath warm against my lips. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” I assured him, though my heart raced at this unexpected consideration.

His kiss was gentle, almost reverent, his left hand cradling my face while his right hovered near my waist, careful not to press against my injured ribs. I leaned into him, seeking more contact, and he responded by deepening the kiss while maintaining his careful touch.

In the bedroom, Devon was methodical and attentive. He helped me undress with surprising tenderness, his fingers working buttons and zippers with practiced ease, stopping whenever I winced or caught my breath from pain rather than pleasure.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he instructed, his voice husky but controlled.

He arranged pillows to support my injured side, positioning me so my splinted wrist could rest comfortably. When he joined me on the bed, he kept his weight off my body, hovering above me with powerful arms braced on either side.

“Is this okay?” he asked, watching my face with unusual intensity, searching for any sign of discomfort.

I nodded, moved by his care. He learned quickly what movements caused me pain and adjusted accordingly. When I gasped from a twinge in my ribs, he immediately shifted his approach, finding ways to give pleasure without causing discomfort.

After, as we lay together in the darkness, I felt strangely vulnerable–not just physically, with my injuries exposed, but emotionally.

I lay awake beside him, studying his sleeping face. The perpetual crease between his brows had smoothed out, his breathing deep and even. For someone plagued by insomnia, Devon slept with remarkable peace. In sleep, his face lost its hard edges, appearing younger, almost vulnerable.

I reached out with my uninjured hand, lightly touching his cheek, surprised when his fingers unconsciously caught mine, holding it against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady beneath my palm.

My own heart stuttered in response. This wasn’t supposed to happen–this moment of genuine intimacy

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that had nothing to do with our arrangement. I wasn’t supposed to care how peaceful he looked in sleep, or feel this strange protective tenderness watching him rest.

I tried to gently withdraw my hand, but his fingers tightened, keeping me anchored to him even in sleep. Giving in, I settled closer, careful of my tender ribs as I found a comfortable position against him, letting his warmth lull me toward sleep, trying not to think about what it meant that I found such comfort in his

unconscious embrace.

Morning came with harsh clarity. Devon was already gone from the bed when I awoke, though I could hear him moving around the penthouse. I eased myself up carefully, testing the stiffness in my side before attempting to stand.

I found him in the dining room, scrolling through emails on his tablet while coffee steamed beside him. He wore a charcoal suit, perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders, hair still slightly damp from the shower. He looked completely composed, as if last night’s tenderness had been erased with the morning light.

“Good morning,” I ventured, wrapping my borrowed robe tighter around myself with my good hand.

He looked up, his eyes immediately assessing my movements, noting how I favored my right side. “There’s pain medication on the counter,” he said matter–of–factly, though something flickered briefly in his eyes before he masked it.

“You have five minutes to tell me what you want,” he continued, setting down his tablet.

I blinked, taken aback by his abruptness after the gentleness we’d shared hours before. “Excuse me?”

“Last night, you said you needed my help with something. What is it?” His tone was all business now, as if reminding me of the transactional nature of our relationship.

“Oh, right.” I gathered my thoughts, considering how to ask him if he intended to cooperate with the Harper Group.

Before I could begin, the doorbell chimed. Devon’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a muscle working in

his cheek.

“Mr. Kane,” his housekeeper called,. “Miss Stevens is here to see you.”

“Send her in,” he replied, then turned back to me with cool impatience. “Your request?”

My question died on my lips as a female voice called from the entryway, the sound of confident footsteps approaching.

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Chapter 160

“Devon!”