Liz stood there, the towering figure of Remington engulfing her from behind, his arms wrapped around her in an intimate embrace. The crisp, woody scent of his cologne invaded her senses, making her acutely aware of their proximity.

She shifted uncomfortably, attempting to pull away. "I can handle it myself."

"Stay still. You won't get it clean properly. Don't you find it gross?" Remington's voice was a deep murmur, his gaze softening as he looked down at her.

Indeed, Liz found the situation repulsive, which explained her delayed reaction and why she had allowed him to pull her close in the first place.

But was he taking too long?

However, the thought of not being thoroughly clean, especially knowing it was Stella's vomit, made Liz relent. After all, her silk blouse clung to her skin, leaving her no choice but to let Remington help.

He squeezed some soap onto her sleeve, his movements gentle, perhaps sensing her impatience. "Don't move; it'll be just a moment."

Liz, momentarily caught off guard, watched him from the mirror. His focus remained solely on the task at hand, his body barely touching hers, as if to reassure her of his intentions.

tension eased, and

she bit her lip. "Aren't you a germophobe? It doesn't

with a half-smile. "Ungrateful, aren't you? Do you really think

but he didn't let go. Once again, he had her close, using any excuse to hold

to anger or frustration. After carefully rubbing the wet fabric between his fingers, he added,

of suppressed

call me

Lizetta Madden, after returning to the Madden family. Remington knew this, yet in his frustration, heo reverted to using her first

at her through the mirror again. "Too hard to switch now. Can I just

he should call her. It was

for Remington to let go. He complied, turning off

it off,"

hand dryer, the silk fabric drying quickly

sleeve,

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