Too Late Mr. White! I'm Married To Your Rival Now novel Chapter 48

Aiden's POV

The air conditioning in the car was on full blast, yet Aria's cheeks grew redder by the minute,clearly affected by the alcohol.

When the car stopped at a red light, I noticed she hadn't spoken a word since we'd left the restaurant, and the silence in the car felt unusually oppressive.

For once, I found myself craving conversation.

I stole a glance at her.She was doing something strange—her left hand pressed against the window, making small grabbing motions at nothing.

When the light turned green and the car lurched forward, she lost her balance momentarily, her head bumping against the glass.

She winced, her hand flying to her forehead, rubbing the spot with clumsy fingers.

"Let me see," I said, reaching over to move her hand away. Her skin was warm beneath my touch—too warm.

Her eyes, those captivating eyes, were glazed over with alcohol and something else I couldn't quite name. "Aiden?" she whispered, her voice soft and uncertain.

There was no visible mark on her forehead, but her cheeks were flushed crimson. A strange impulse overtook me, and before I could think better of it, I pinched her cheek lightly between my fingers. "You're drunk, aren't you?"

"A little," she admitted, her words slightly slurred. Her hand reached up, fingers grazing my face as if trying to steady my image before her eyes.

The innocent touch sent an unexpected jolt through me. I caught her wrist, holding it firmly but gently. "What are you trying to do?"

"Aiden," she pouted, her brows furrowing in concentration, "can you please stop moving?"

I bit back a smile. She thought I was the one swaying. "Sit properly," I instructed, releasing her wrist.

To my amusement, she immediately straightened her posture like a schoolgirl, placing her hands primly on her knees.

Her eyes, bright and expectant, looked up at me. "I'm sitting properly now."

My throat tightened at the sight. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to pull her close. "Good girl,"I praised, my voice betraying me by softening.

I reached out to pat her head lightly, surprising myself with the affectionate gesture.

Drunk Aria, however, was still fixated on her earlier concern.

After a few seconds of perfect posture, she bit her lower lip—a habit I'd noticed she had when nervous or concentrating—and suddenly reached up with both hands to cup my face.

"Aiden, please stop moving," she pleaded, her small hands squishing my cheeks together. "If you keep moving like this, I'm going to be sick!"

Her touch was clumsy, her strength surprising as she compressed my face between her palms, undoubtedly distorting my features into something ridiculous.

I could feel my lips puckering involuntarily.

"Why won't you stop moving?" she asked, genuine distress in her voice. "Can't you just stay still?"

I nearly laughed despite myself. Instead, I took her hands in mine, removing them from my face and holding her wrists firmly. "Close your eyes and sleep," I commanded.

The city lights flashed through the windows, dancing across her face. She turned away, wincing. "Too bright! Too flashy!"

For a moment, she seemed distracted by the lights outside, but soon her brow furrowed again. "Why is everything swaying? Are we in a nightclub? Why are all these lights moving?"

Her persistent complaints about movement that wasn't happening amused me. Without thinking, I pulled her against my chest, one hand cradling the back of her head. "You're drunk. Sleep it off, and the swaying will stop."

She looked up at me with innocent confusion, completely unaware of the torture she was inflicting. "But I'm not comfortable," she protested, shifting again. "You're poking me."

I could take no more.

I reached for the privacy partition button, raising the divider between us and the driver. The last thing I needed was an audience for whatever was about to happen.

Once we were secluded, I captured her lips again, more demanding this time.

My hands slid down to cup her bottom, pulling her firmly against me so she could feel exactly what she was doing to me. She gasped into my mouth, her eyes widening with realization.

"Oh," she breathed, a small sound that nearly undid me.

I trailed kisses down her neck, reveling in the soft moans escaping her lips. My hand found the hem of her dress, fingers tracing patterns on the bare skin of her thigh. She shivered in response, her body arching into my touch.

"Aiden," she whispered, her voice a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

I paused, forcing myself to look at her flushed face. Her eyes were glassy with alcohol, her lips swollen from my kisses.

As much as I wanted her—and God, did I want her—she wasn't in a state to make decisions she might regret in the morning.

With monumental effort, I began to pull away, but she clutched at my shirt. "Don't stop," she pleaded.

"Aria," I said firmly, "you're drunk. This isn't the right time or place."

She pouted, and for a moment I thought she would argue. Instead, her expression suddenly changed. "I think I'm going to be sick," she murmured, her face paling dramatically.

The words were like ice water. I sighed, reluctantly pulling away from her. "Driver, pull over," I called, pressing the intercom button.