Chapter 132

Is this punishment for him—or for herself?

Once again, she'd fallen into this man's clever trap.

Warm breath brushed her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

Isadora pressed her palm to his chest, her skin burning hot. She felt awkward, flustered, wanting to ignore him.

Victor reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. His touch was soft, almost reverent.

"What were you thinking about back then?" he asked quietly.

From the surveillance footage Director Lawson had sent over, the sequence was clear.

The truck driver took the corner full speed, never slowing down.

There was a brief moment, too, when Isadora lost focus at the wheel.

By the book, both drivers shared responsibility for the accident.

But Isadora's Mercedes was mangled, the damage far worse than the truck's.

And she'd been hurt more badly.

Plus, that scumbag of a man-how dare he frighten her like that?

A cold glint flashed in Victor's eyes as he recalled the scene.

damages. Someone like that didn't deserve to

her lips

she'd gotten distracted: she'd heard Victor's voice on the radio, that single, unforgettable

wasn't as if this was

would someone as free-spirited, rebellious as Victor Fitzgerald keep an old photograph sitting on his

realized something in

realization unsettled her,

another relationship, helpless to stop herself, only to end up broken all

right: keep it light, keep it simple. Enjoy the romance,

to the man standing in

chiseled, his brows arched, and those narrow, fox-like eyes, dark

not to be drawn

you a gift tonight,”

lit up, locking onto her

dropped, husky and low. "Oh? What made you decide to give me

Vaughan Galleria. I've been promoted to director,

dimmed

a moment, that

read too much

anyway-since when did Mr. Fitzgerald need to beg

her tightly to his chest, his chin resting in her hair. "Miss Vaughan, you

secure; the crisp, woodsy scent

let herself fall just

her head against

could hear his heartbeat-steady, strong, as if

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