Chapter138 Her Little Schemes
For five straight days, Miranda stayed in the hospital, feeling time drag by slowly.
Two top-tier caregivers took turns looking after her. Three meals a day arrived according to a menu designed by an elite nutritionist.
During these days, the scrapes on her body had scabbed over, and the muscle soreness had subsided considerably. Though still somewhat weak, it no longer affected her normal activities.
"I'm checking out."
After the doctor's examination confirmed nothing serious, Miranda directly handled the discharge paperwork. She didn't want to spend another second in this place reeking of disinfectant.
She booked the next flight back home.
After more than ten hours of flying, she landed just as evening fell.
The city's neon lights were already glowing, traffic roaring on the streets.
The moment Miranda turned on her phone, a message popped up on the screen.
Sender: Harrison.
[Back in the country? Dinner tomorrow?]
The timing was impeccably precise.
Miranda stared at that line of text, her temples throbbing.
But a promise was a promise.
She moved her fingers and replied with one word: [Okay.]
After sending the message, she tossed her phone into her bag and leaned back in the car seat with her eyes closed.
Starting tomorrow, the countdown began. Thirty days.
The car sped along and finally stopped at the entrance to the Prescott villa.
Miranda dragged her exhausted body back to her room and took a quick shower.
Hot water washed over her body, taking away the hospital smell but unable to wash away the inexplicable emptiness and fatigue in her heart.
She didn't even have the energy to blow-dry her hair. After a casual toweling, she collapsed onto that soft, large bed.
The blanket carried a faint, crisp scent.
It was Clifton's usual body wash—fir mixed with a hint of tobacco. Not unpleasant at all. In fact, it made her feel unusually safe.
Miranda hugged the blanket and nuzzled into it, falling asleep almost instantly.
She slept deeply.
At some unknown hour, in her drowsy state, Miranda felt as if she'd been tucked into a huge furnace.
Hot.
A scalding heat source pressed against her back. A heavy arm crossed her waist, locking her firmly in an embrace.
It was a position both aggressively possessive and deeply protective.
Miranda's lashes trembled as she slowly opened her eyes.
The room's heavy blackout curtains were drawn, everything pitch black except for a weak sliver of light from under the door, barely outlining the person beside her.
The man lay on his side, breathing evenly and deeply, warm breath falling on the side of her neck, triggering tiny shivers.
Clifton?
Miranda froze for a moment, then her body relaxed.
In the dim light, she studied the face so close to hers.
Strong brows relaxed, a high nose bridge, thin lips slightly pressed together. Even in sleep, he radiated an aura that said "don't mess with me."
This was the person who had occupied her thoughts when she was buried underground, the one she desperately wanted to see one more time.
Though Harrison had ultimately saved her, that didn't change the fact that in her moment of despair, she'd longed for the security Clifton gave her.
On impulse, Miranda reached out.
Her fingertip, slightly cool, gently landed on the man's brow, then slid down along his high nose bridge.
His skin was somewhat rough, marked by years of wind and sun, with a wild texture.
Her finger traced past his nose and finally stopped at those cool, thin lips.
Soft.
Miranda felt a bit dazed.
Just then, the supposedly sleeping man suddenly moved.
A scorching large hand caught her wandering fingers with unerring precision.
"Mm..."
Miranda jumped, instinctively trying to pull her hand back.
But she found that large hand's grip was surprisingly strong, completely immovable.
"Had enough touching?"
The man's voice carried the hoarseness of just waking, low and magnetic, like an electric current running through Miranda's eardrums.
He slowly opened his eyes.
Those eyes shone startlingly bright in the darkness, without a trace of sleepiness. Instead, they held a hint of teasing and deep desire.
Caught red-handed.
Miranda's face heated. Fortunately, the dark room provided the best cover.
She cleared her throat lightly, forcing composure. "When did you wake up?"
Clifton's thumb gently rubbed the back of her hand, the rough pad causing a slight tickle.
"From the moment your hand touched me, I was awake."
As a special forces operative, vigilance was carved into his bones. He'd been aware from the moment she turned over, but craving this moment of warmth, he'd pretended to sleep until now.
He hadn't expected this woman to be so bold as to take liberties with him.
Miranda: "..."
So he'd been faking sleep on purpose?
Miranda felt embarrassed and tugged at her hand. "Let go."
"No."
Not only did Clifton not let go, but his arm tightened, pulling her closer until their bodies pressed seamlessly together.
Through the thin pajamas, each other's heartbeats were clearly audible.
"Thump, thump, thump."
Whose heartbeat it was, racing out of rhythm, was unclear.
"Is your mission over?" Miranda changed the subject, not wanting to sink too deep into this ambiguous atmosphere.
"Mm."
Clifton rested his chin on top of her head, breathing in the faint scent of shampoo from her hair. It was the same brand he used. This realization greatly improved his mood.
His mission had just ended today. He'd originally planned to take a charter flight abroad to find Miranda.
Before boarding, he'd called the hospital and learned she'd already been discharged and returned home.
He'd rushed home to find her already asleep in bed. He'd stared at her peaceful sleeping face for nearly half a minute before washing up and getting into bed.
Clifton's arm around her tightened, as if to confirm she was truly safe and sound in his embrace.
"You were sleeping so soundly when I got back. I didn't wake you."
Clifton offered a brief explanation. "I haven't been lying down long myself."
Actually, he'd been watching her beside the bed for quite a while.
Seeing her slightly pale complexion, heaven knew how much he'd wanted to destroy that mine when he learned about the collapse.
Thank goodness.
Thank goodness she was alright.
The room fell quiet, only their breathing intertwined.
Clifton suddenly remembered something. "By the way, are you free tomorrow?"
"Why?"
Clifton's tone carried a hint of helplessness. "The mission's over. The team is having a dinner tomorrow. I'd like to bring you."
Hearing the man's words, Miranda felt a little thrill of happiness.
After all, having experienced this brush with death, she'd gained new understanding of her feelings for Clifton.
She didn't reject him. In fact... she liked him a little.
But tomorrow.
Miranda thought of Harrison's text message. The light in her eyes dimmed. She bit her lower lip in the darkness, her voice slightly strained. "I'm afraid I can't tomorrow."
Clifton's hand rubbing her back paused. "Something come up?"
"Mm."
Miranda spoke slowly. "There's a pile of documents backed up at the company. Several projects need urgent attention. I have to work late and attend meetings tomorrow."
Clifton fell silent for two seconds.
"Alright."
"When you have time, I'll make it up to you."
"Okay." Miranda nodded lightly, her head bumping against the man's chest.
Only then did she realize how close their sleeping position was.
But Clifton didn't say anything, so she pretended not to notice. Because she found herself somewhat greedily attached to this warmth.