Nathan Moore quickly leaned over to unbuckle the seatbelt across Titus Zane’s body, carefully raised the seat, then got out of the car, walked around to the passenger door, opened it, and carried Titus Zane in his arms toward the elevator.
It was in Nathan Moore’s embrace that Titus Zane awoke.
It was a rare, sound sleep, free from insomnia.
Maybe it was the effect of alcohol.
Once, she’d relied on alcohol to sleep, to the point that it later energized her instead, leaving her utterly sleepless.
The curtains of the floor-to-ceiling window were not fully drawn, intentionally left ajar, it seemed.
Morning light slipped through the gap, stinging Titus Zane’s eyes into a squint.
She lifted her hand to block the light falling on her face and looked around in a daze.
The room was unfamiliar, yet somewhat recognizable.
Only belatedly did she notice a weight around her waist.
Her gaze returned, and that’s when Titus Zane saw the man sleeping opposite her.
Nathan Moore was in deep slumber, his breath even and his handsome face serene.
One arm extended under Titus Zane’s neck, serving as her pillow, and the other rested on her waist—natural and intimate gestures, as if done countless times before.
Suddenly, Titus Zane remembered that this was Nathan Moore’s room, the bridal chamber she once helped him and Olivia Zane keep.
But after so many years, the room’s decor had not changed at all, still the same style, even the curtains were the original design, albeit in a different color.
This was the first time Titus Zane looked at Nathan Moore up close.
His hair quality was excellent, thick and lustrous, black and shiny, with naturally fallen strands in the front that made him look much younger.
Titus Zane couldn’t help but begrudge the partiality of the heavens, as they were the same age, she only older by a few months, yet after three years, he hadn’t changed a bit, not even a fine line at the corners of his eyes.
His forehead was still full, his eyebrows like ink, and his curly eyelashes made her somewhat envious.
The proud bridge of his nose stood firm, his thin lips perfectly outlined as if by a brushstroke, and then there was his chin, neither overly pointed nor squarely cut, just the perfect contour.
If it weren’t for the grudge between them, Titus Zane truly wished she could find a brush to capture this moment.
Such a perfect image, it would be a pity not to record it.
Yawning unconsciously, it was only when Titus Zane raised her hand to her mouth that she realized—she was wearing pajamas, the same ones she used to change into when she stayed here.
The material was silk, the bubble bath’s style, light blue, and the belt around the waist was tied just right. Only—
It seems to be vacuum-packed inside!
Subconsciously, she sniffed at a strand of her long hair brought to her nose—it smelled nice, a foreign scent of shampoo. Could it be... he bathed her?
Titus Zane was startled internally, she tried to get up, but the large hand on her waist restrained her movements.
Looking at Nathan Moore’s still peaceful sleeping face, a smile curved on Titus Zane’s lips as she lay back down, facing Nathan Moore, and even edged a little closer to him.
Above her head, the man with eyes closed in sleep curved a smile at the corner of his mouth, the hand on Titus Zane’s waist tightened, and the arm under her head drew back slightly.
With such movements, Titus Zane was compelled to snuggle closer to Nathan Moore, who wore a robe identical in style to Titus Zane’s, made of silver silk with loosely tied belt, exposing his robust and fair chest in full to the air.
Feeling the warmth of their pressed bodies against each other, Nathan Moore’s mind once again wandered.
Last night, he bathed her while enduring severe pain, and although he wanted to, he successfully restrained himself.
Titus Zane was deeply drunk, even asleep when placed in the bathtub, he washed her hair, applied bath foam, and meticulously cleaned every part of her body.