Chapter 56 I Lost Control
Bianca rested her head against Terrence's shoulder, her breath still uneven, fingers idly tracing slow circles against his chest.
The image she had seen earlier through the glass replayed in her mind—Hestia leaning in, their heads almost touching, her gaze dripping with unmasked longing. It wasn't a sharp pain, more like a fine splinter lodged in her chest… small, but impossible to ignore.
She knew she had done it on purpose.
Walking in without knocking. Kissing him. Declaring her claim in front of Hestia.
But even that deliberate kiss hadn't completely washed away the faint sting inside her.
Terrence felt her silence. It wasn't like her usual post-affection warmth. She was still curled against him, but there was a subtle stiffness in her body, and the circles her fingers drew were distracted, absent.
"Bianca?" His voice was low, his arm tightening slightly around her waist. His other hand lifted, finding her face with practiced ease.
"What's wrong?"
His fingertips were warm, calloused in places.
Bianca turned her cheek into his palm, brushing against it lightly, but didn't answer right away.
The quiet stretched for several seconds.
A small frown tugged at Terrence's brow. He was acutely attuned to her shifts in mood, and a shadow of concern settled over him.
"Is this about Hestia?"
Her lashes lifted; she looked at him. The sunglasses hid his eyes.
She bit her lip, finally speaking, her voice muffled, carrying a hint of unrecognized hurt. "She was too close to you."
She admitted it—she was jealous. It felt petty, maybe even childish.
But she minded. She minded any woman, for any reason, crossing the line with her husband.
Terrence's breath eased almost imperceptibly. So that was it.
His thumb moved gently against her cheek, his tone patient in a way he rarely allowed himself. "I've already told Barry to handle it. From now on, all Sharp family project files will go through a designated liaison."
Bianca's fingers caught on one of the buttons of his shirt. "But she still came. And the way she looked at you…"
"Bianca." His voice was firm.
"My eyes—now, and always—see only you. What others do means nothing to me. They don't touch my mind, let alone my heart."
His tone deepened. "If you don't want it, the Anderson Group's cooperation with the Sharp family is far from irreplaceable."
What mattered more to him was her mood right now.
Her heart gave a small, involuntary tremor, her grip on the button loosening.
She knew he meant it. The lessons of their past were proof enough of how unwavering his feelings were.
Knowing was one thing. Watching another woman covet him was something else entirely.
"No need," she murmured.
She burrowed deeper into the curve of his neck, breathing in the clean, addictive scent of him, as if it could dissolve the restless edge inside her.
Terrence felt the warmth of her breath against his throat, his Adam's apple moving involuntarily.
His hand slid from her cheek, fingertips tracing down to the fine line of her collarbone.
"Still jealous?" His voice had dropped lower, rougher.
Bianca shivered faintly. She didn't confirm or deny, only made a small sound.
She was about to pull back when Terrence lowered his head, finding her lips with precision, kissing her again.
His mouth worked patiently against hers, tongue parting her lips, claiming her air with slow, deliberate hunger.
Bianca's breath faltered, her mind hazing; her hands climbed to his shoulders without conscious thought.
The remnants of her jealousy scattered in the deep, unhurried rhythm of the kiss.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard.
Terrence didn't stop. His lips trailed from the corner of her mouth down her jaw, settling at the sensitive curve of her neck, leaving a trail of heat.
His palm wandered from her waist upward, stroking the line of her back through the thin fabric.
"Terrence…" Bianca's voice was soft, breathless. "This is the office…"
"No one will dare come in," he murmured against her skin, already lingering at her collarbone, tasting her.
The mix of tingling and faint bite made her tilt her head back, fingers tightening instinctively.
His breathing grew heavier.
The kisses moved lower. One hand found the hidden zipper at the side of her dress and eased it down.
The fabric slipped from her shoulder, baring pale skin and the blush-pink lace edge beneath.
His mouth covered the curve of her breast, his palm following, heat searing through her.
Bianca trembled, clinging to him.
His hand slid lower, seeking the most private part of her.
Her body froze, clarity breaking through the haze.
"Don't…" The word was fragile, pleading, but without strength.
Terrence stopped instantly.
He breathed hard, resting his forehead against her bare shoulder, his body taut.
After a moment, he pulled back with deliberate control, lifting the fallen fabric and fastening her dress with care.
He held her close, their bodies pressed flush, the hard length of him pressing against her, undeniable.
"I'm sorry." His voice was hoarse, thick with unspent desire. "I lost control."
Bianca's cheeks burned. She shook her head against him.
She didn't blame him. Truthfully… she was just as stirred.
It was only the wrong place.
A knock came at the door. Barry's voice carried a note of discomfort. "Ms. Sharp has returned. She says she left in a hurry earlier and forgot a pen in your office—her grandfather's keepsake. She insists on retrieving it herself."
Terrence's brow furrowed sharply, irritation unmasked.
A pen? Left in his office? The excuse was laughable.
He was about to speak, his voice cold. "Tell her to check the lost-and-found, Barry. Send her—"
"Wait."
Bianca's hand pressed lightly over his, her gaze flicking toward the desk where a pen lay.
Terrence paused, turning his head toward her, confusion and lingering anger in his expression.
She met his questioning look, shaking her head. "Let her in."
His frown deepened. He clearly didn't agree. Her fingertip traced a soothing line across his palm.
She leaned close to his ear, her breath warm, carrying a sly edge. "I want to see for myself how far she's willing to go to get near you."
If she was going to do this… she'd do it all the way.
Terrence tilted his head toward her, the corner of his mouth curving faintly.
"Do as Bianca says," he called toward the door.
"Yes, sir," Barry replied.
Outside, Hestia heard the permission and felt a surge of satisfaction.
She adjusted her expression quickly, mixing urgency with a touch of vulnerability, and pushed the door open.
"Terrence—"
She didn't finish before Bianca's voice cut in. "Ms. Sharp, is this the pen?"
Bianca sat in a guest chair beside Terrence's desk, posture perfectly poised.
Terrence didn't look at Hestia at all. His head was turned toward Bianca, his thumb idly stroking the back of her hand—a gesture that excluded everyone else.
Compared to when Hestia had left earlier, the icy air around him had softened slightly. Or rather, it carried the languid edge of a man already satisfied.