"Morning..." In a single word, spoken in a low and husky voice, Titus Zane's body stiffened, dropping the ladle he was holding.
However, the hand wrapped around his waist reached forward, grabbed the handle of the spatula again, lifting it into her hand, then his slender fingers wrapped around her hand, gripping the spatula together, and flipped the fried egg in the skillet.
Throughout the process, Titus Zane was rigid, feeling the man's fiery chest pressed against his back, and that burning breath scattered over his ear and the side of his face...
When Wesley Foley grasped her hand to fry the egg together, she could distinctly feel his lips unintentionally brushing over her skin, ticklish, creating a flustered sensation.
In a bewildered moment, by his ear, Wesley Foley's warm voice rang out again, carrying a smile, seemingly intentionally lowered, very magnetic, "So virtuous..."
Titus Zane...
