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

scrubbing her sleeve, she bit her lip. "Aren't you a

you? Do you really think

frustration and affection, but he didn't let go. Once

want to lose this moment to anger or frustration. After carefully rubbing the wet fabric between his fingers, he added, "Liz, do you really not understand, or are you just

carried a hint of suppressed

please call me

had taken her family's name back, becoming Lizetta Madden, after returning to the Madden family. Remington knew this, yet in his

again. "Too hard to switch now. Can I just call you

bother arguing about what he should

wrist, signaling for Remington to

off," he

to the hand dryer, the silk

sleeve, she

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