My Bossy CEO Husband by Symon Diller

Tilda cast a sidelong glance at Lyndon, who hovered at the periphery.

“You should go now.

I can manage on my own,” she said firmly.

Lyndon, with a subtle smile, advanced and began to undo the buttons of her loungewear.

Tilda, taken aback, swiftly intervened, her hand darting out to halt his movements.

“No, I’ve got this,” she protested, wincing as she inadvertently agitated her wound.

Lyndon’s expression softened, concern coloring his tone.

“Why must you always be so headstrong? We’ve been this close before.

There’s no need for modesty now,” he chided gently.

cheeks

before, but familiarity hadn’t

She was still embarrassed.

AngelasLibrary

amusement in his voice, “as a screenwriter who’s penned

”

Tilda got caught off-guard.

countless novels and scripts, but that

protest died on her lips as Lyndon’s hands resumed their work, peeling away the

her skin, sending

her

turned away abruptly, shielding her front from his

the subject rather than the observer,” she admonished, her voice a mix of irritation

by the soft lighting,

one want