Chapter 1292:
Sensing the tension, Gerald rushed to reassure him. “It’s nothing worth worrying about. Cowan doesn’t need to be troubled over a little cough.”
Wesley’s voice turned steely. “If you don’t need a doctor, fire him. We don’t keep people around who aren’t needed.”
Seeing his grandson’s growing frustration, Gerald relented. “All right, all right. I’ll have Cowan stop by for a check-up tomorrow.”
Wesley nodded toward the butler. “Take my grandpa upstairs and make sure he’s comfortable.”
Unable to argue, Gerald allowed himself to be led away, but he shot a parting reminder over his shoulder. “Don’t forget to bring Elena around for dinner soon.”
“You have my word,” Wesley replied.
After Gerald retired for the night, the butler quietly approached Wesley.
A thin stream of smoke curled above Wesley as he drew on his cigarette, his gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the walls. “While I was out, who had visited?” His voice was quiet but cold as steel.
The butler answered promptly. “Miss Spencer came often, always dining with your grandpa and playing chess. Mr. Joseph Spencer visited twice and met with your grandpa in the study, though I don’t know what they discussed. No other visitors.”
Stubbing out his cigarette, Wesley straightened and headed for the door. Darkness cloaked the night as he stepped outside, his black suit melting into the shadows, moving toward the place where Elena waited for him.
Returning home, Wesley found Elena sprawled across his bed, her quiet breathing and gentle expression softening something inside him.
Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and settled beside her. His arm slipped around her, drawing her close with deliberate tenderness.
Elena burrowed in, then wrinkled her nose and shifted away, clearly bothered by a faint hint of smoke clinging to him.
Stunned, Wesley caught the scent himself. A quick sniff confirmed it—the remnants of his earlier cigarette still lingered in his shirt.
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Without hesitation, he rose and headed for the bathroom, fingers working at the buttons. By the time he reached the door, he had tossed the shirt into the trash. The cold shower came next, water splashing over his face, trailing down his neck, and tracing the lines of his chest and abs.
Fitness had always been a priority for Wesley—broad shoulders and a trim waist made even simple clothes look tailored, while long, toned legs and sculpted muscle never failed to make Elena swoon.
After the shower, water still beaded across his skin as he slipped into a bathrobe and wandered to the window.
An old habit surfaced. He reached for his lighter, paused, then tossed it away, silently promising himself he was done.
Once his skin had dried and the air lost its damp chill, Wesley returned to the bed and drew the covers back.
This time, when he gathered Elena in his arms, she melted against him without resistance.
.
.
.