A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 54 | perhaps it's contempt

For someone who was rumored to have gone through a mental struggle caused by a woman, Dwain was physically fit and in good shape, not the ramshackle mess, tossed around by infinite problems that my subconscious mind skillfully painted with intricate details.

He possessed a remarkable set of dazzling eyes, free of wrinkles, a rough jawline, and clean-shaven stubble which would halt most ladies in their tracks, and usher their thoughts to a street inhabited by sin as they stare at his beautiful gaze with an intense dose of lust

I wasn't proud of the shiver that ran past my spine down to my toes.

If self-control didn't tie a knot in my stomach, I would have skipped onto my feet at the threat in his husky voice, thrown my anxious arms around his neck, and squeezed every hard-earned breath out of his lungs till he reciprocated the hug.

Dwain stood on his feet, in shiny-black loafers, with a sturdy and composed demeanor.

"You keep staring." His brows didn't give off anything as he clicked his tongue. "You have been warned."

One could hardly believe that he was fronting a marital crisis with a peek at how he elegantly presented himself in a dark business suit and red tie, standing upright like someone ready to take a bold step on the red carpet for an international peace prize.

I wanted to dig my nails into his skin and rip off the grin on his lips.

"Arrgh..."

His face was flawless.

My lips moved, my mouth drooled and stuttered a bunch of words that didn't make sense while Dwain's chest protruded beneath his tight buttoned-down white shirt.

I was a mess, tied to his looks.

He snapped his fingers and raised two of them to his face. "My eyes are up here."

He must have caught me eyeballing his chest which was more muscular, firm, and unreasonably broad than how it should have been.

His workouts tailored muscles that fit him like a glove.

He was perfect to be touched in all inappropriate places.

I couldn't get enough of his accent, it hinted at dynamism.

"Let your focus not wander around unnecessarily."

"Should I also stop breathing because you are around, Mr. Horton?"

"Look at who is back!"

Brielle pushed past the quilt on the couch, jumped to the bright rug, and stalked toward Dwain's torso.

She was impatient.

Her braided hair whipped over her shoulders and flew down to her back as she snuggled deep into his arms.

"I've been up all day waiting for your call."

He let out a throaty groan. "You should have sent me a text message or an email. I'm busy you know."

His voice was docile and soft. "It would be nice if others cared about my well-being as you do, but too bad, they are concerned with getting me upset."

"If you are upset, why don't you address the matter directly?" I snapped my fingers together such that it echoed in the mansion. "Have you questioned yourself as to why others want to upset you, found a solution, and then, negotiated peace with a common understanding?"

He contributed to his demise by joking around with Elisabeth's feelings, yet he went out of character to play the victim.

Even though I didn't know his side of the story, I tried to sympathize with him, but he made matters worse by putting up an act in front of Brielle with his nasty arrogance.