Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run

Chapter 90

Clara heard those words and let out a weary laugh. She was beyond exhausted, too drained to explain anything. Blood was still trickling from the fresh scratch on her cheek. Everyone in town thought she couldn't survive without Simon, even Dylan believed that. Oh, the crazy things she'd done in the past.

She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. Before long, she sensed someone near her, and then something soft was gently poking her cheek. She cracked her eyes open and found herself face-to-face with Dylan, who was intently cleaning her wound with a cotton swab.

Clara felt a shock run down her spine, and instinctively wanted to sit up straight. But instead, she ended up even closer to Dylan. His face was strikingly handsome; not a single pore was visible even at this distance, and his long lashes, slightly lowered, gave him an air of mystique.

For a moment, she was completely captivated, and Dylan didn't pull away, as he continued to clean her wound with care. He tossed aside the used swab and picked up another, dabbing it with antiseptic for the next cut. Clara's cheeks burned with a sudden blush, and she wanted to pull away.

Dylan's hand was quicker, gently holding the back of her head. The gentleness turned into a more assertive touch. "Don't move."

She stayed still until he finished disinfecting her cheek. Then, he unwrapped a bandage and placed it over her wound. Seeing him close the antiseptic bottle, Clara breathed a sigh of relief. Their proximity had been a bit overwhelming, and Dylan's commanding presence was impossible to ignore.

Just when she thought it was over, his fingers brushed against her ankle, gently lifting her foot onto her knee. "Mr. Dylan!" she nearly yelped, gripping the armrest for support. Dylan lowered his head, quietly pressing on her swollen ankle. "Does it hurt?" he asked.

Honestly, she was more flustered by their position than any pain she felt. Her leg was resting on Dylan's lap! "Mr. Dylan, you can put my leg down. I'll just use some ointment when I get home."

"Hold still." He poured it into his palm and massaged it into her ankle. Clara didn't feel any pain, but her cheeks flushed with warmth, and she avoided his gaze, looking

feelings for her. He was at the top of the social ladder, and she, with her tarnished

foot down. The swelling had gone down significantly, and she felt a sheen of sweat on

her gaze. Clara quickly stepped out, turned back, and thanked

and elegant, like a practiced art form. His fingers were strikingly attractive. Those refined hands had

closeness of their earlier interaction, his response was cool. The car door

apartment, spotting Megan waiting under a tree with a pile of

"Clara, I knocked on your door, but you weren't home. I was

asked, "Did you come to

so I bought some snacks and

was the first person who'd helped her when she lost her memory. Clara smiled warmly. "Come on, let's

car in the distance and followed Clara. As they walked, she

know him?"