Chapter 84
84:
“Mr. Scott, Miss Jones, are you both okay?” The driver’s sudden inquiry brought Christina and Dylan sharply back to the moment.
A flush of embarrassment colored Christina’s cheeks as she quickly disentangled herself from Dylan’s embrace, striving to appear composed. “I’m alright.”
“Apologies,” the driver continued. “A car swerved into our lane earlier. I had to dodge it, so…”
“No worries. As long as we’re safe,” Christina cut in gently, her voice steady and reassuring.
She turned her gaze toward Dylan, casually asking, “How about you? Are you doing alright?”
“Fine,” he replied tersely, his face straight. His ears tingled with heat, and a lingering warmth colored his face. Determined to hide it, he adopted an intentionally distant demeanor. He hated to admit it, but he felt oddly hollow when she pulled away.
“It’s a good thing the driver reacted so quickly. That was impressive,” Christina said sincerely.
The driver’s face reddened modestly. “You’re too gracious, Miss Jones.” The driver opened his mouth to speak further but fell silent when Dylan’s icy glance met his in the rearview mirror. The jolting maneuver earlier hadn’t disturbed Dylan, but now an unmistakable irritation shadowed his expression. Could jealousy be simmering beneath his composed exterior because of Christina’s praise? Sensing the tension mounting, the driver wisely chose silence, focusing intently on the road ahead.
Christina suddenly noticed a smudge of lipstick staining Dylan’s immaculate white shirt. “Oh no—your shirt! My lipstick got on it!” Dylan looked down. Sure enough, a faint red stain had bloomed on his crisp white shirt. His jaw tightened slightly. The image of Christina falling into him replayed in his mind—the softness of her lips brushing against his chest, the warmth of her body, the scent of her perfume. The moment had been brief, but it lingered like a whisper on his skin.
Christina pulled out a tissue from her bag, leaning in to grab his collar gently. “When we get back, give me the shirt—I’ll clean it for you and make sure it’s good as new,” she said, frowning in concentration as she reached out to clean the lipstick mark.
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Just then, Dylan’s hand unexpectedly closed around her wrist.
Stunned, Christina lifted her eyes to meet his, confusion flickering within. His grip was gentle, far from restrictive, and the warmth of his touch, combined with the subtle roughness of his skin, unexpectedly brought a comforting sensation.
“I’ll just dab it lightly so it won’t spread across your shirt,” she murmured.
“That’s alright,” Dylan responded in a flat, unemotional tone.
Christina blinked in surprise. “Huh? What did you say?”
“I said it’s alright,” he repeated calmly, his features unreadable.
After a brief pause, he added softly, “The mark doesn’t look bad on my shirt.”
Christina stared at him, momentarily speechless. Wait—what? She clearly remembered Chloe telling her how obsessed Dylan was with cleanliness. People with a cleanliness obsession usually couldn’t bear even the slightest blemish on their clothes. So why was he so composed—almost indifferent—about the lipstick mark?
While she was still trying to wrap her head around his bizarrely calm reaction, Dylan spoke up. “There’s no need for you to clean it. Someone at home handles that sort of thing.”
“Alright,” Christina replied quietly, her gaze drifting to his hand circling her wrist.
Following her eyes, Dylan noticed he had yet to release her. “Sorry,” he muttered, withdrawing his hand swiftly, though a subtle reluctance lingered in his motion. His hand dropped to his lap, fingers curling slightly as if trying to hold on to the trace of her warmth that still lingered in his palm.
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