Chapter 23 He Bent Down to Meet Her
Timothy was tall, easily six-foot-two. Elizabeth, at five-foot-seven, had to rise onto her toes and loop her slender arms around his neck.
He arched a brow, perhaps amused by the sight of her stretching for him. With a faint smirk, he bent down, meeting her halfway. His dark, fathomless gaze locked onto hers.
"Mr. Robinson... are you asking to be my secret lover, darling?" Her breath brushed against his skin, lips hovering close but never touching. The distance between them was charged, her eyes soft yet intent, her voice a gentle murmur.
Timothy let out a low, derisive laugh. Only she would dare to tease him and then try to pull back.
In one swift motion, he pinned her against the wall, his hands locking around her wrists. The air between them turned sharp, almost electric. The warm amber light overhead caught in her narrowed eyes as she tilted her head back, fingers clutching desperately at the knot of his towel.
"Say it again... darling. Go on." His voice was velvet over steel. "Unless you want to be too sore to get out of bed tomorrow, you'd better behave."
When Timothy turned on the charm, every inch of him radiated raw, predatory energy.
Elizabeth chuckled lightly. "I'm on my period."
The words landed like a full stop. His gaze dropped to her delicate hands, and after a moment's thought, he let go.
With a sudden, almost feral motion, he scooped her up, carried her to the bed, and pulled the blanket over her until she was cocooned like a caterpillar.
Elizabeth lay still, smiling. "I haven't showered yet. How am I supposed to wash like this?"
Her eyes flicked over his unashamed display of a body honed to perfection.
Timothy, utterly unfazed, said, "I'll have a smoke while you shower. That shadow under your eyes... women shouldn't stay up too late. It messes with your hormones."
The warmth in her chest dropped into mild exasperation. She rolled once, breaking free from the blanket, and headed to the bathroom.
"I've got something to do later," she called out over the sound of the hair dryer, leaning out of the doorway.
By then, Timothy's desire had cooled. He was dressed again, his expression composed, a faint crease between his brows.
"I'm leaving," he said from the doorway.
Elizabeth studied his calm face for a moment longer. The hair dryer's hum was irritating, but she caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes before the door shut behind him.
Timothy returned to his own room. Matthew glanced at his watch. "That was fast."
Unbuttoning his shirt, Timothy peeled off the clothes with an ease that revealed a body so perfectly proportioned Matthew couldn't help but whistle. "Good thing I'm straight."
Timothy's smile was lazy, his gaze dropping in a way that made Matthew's skin prickle. "Dr. Robinson... I was kidding."
After a quick shower, Timothy emerged to find Matthew pouring him a drink. Passing it over, Matthew asked, "Just tell me one thing... is Ms. Penrose a fling or something serious?"
"A fling? You think I've got time for that?" Timothy poured himself water instead. "I've got surgery tomorrow. No alcohol."
The implication was clear—he was serious.
Matthew frowned. "She's married. You could have any woman you want. If it's just for fun, fine, but why—"
One look from Timothy shut him up. "Alright. You like her, that's all that matters."
"They're divorced," Timothy said flatly. The news wasn't public, but he had ways of knowing. Why Elizabeth and Armando kept it quiet was their business. He respected her choice, for now.
His eyes darkened, emotions hidden beneath the surface.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth went to see Armando. The door opened to reveal Sherry in her wheelchair, smiling warmly. "Ms. Penrose, please wait on the sofa. I'll get Armando."
"Thank you," Elizabeth replied coolly.
When Armando and Elizabeth connected with Bronte over video, Sherry sat on another sofa, out of frame, listening quietly.
"Armando, Elizabeth... you've both worked hard. Have the victims' families been taken care of?" Bronte's voice carried concern.
The Azure Dream Union factory fire in Oceancrest City had rattled the Johnson Group's stock, though it hadn't completely tanked.
"They've all agreed to sign and accept compensation," Armando said, glancing at Elizabeth. "But one family's situation is complicated."
Elizabeth added, "Jagger's wife, Kaia, may be in poor health, and their relatives aren't reliable. If Kaia passes too, with that much compensation at stake, their daughter Pippa could be in trouble."
The media had been circling Kaia and Pippa for weeks. A misstep by the Johnson Group could be costly.
"Rest well, grandmother," Armando said. "I'll handle it."
"You two should rest too. You've done enough for now."
When the call ended, Elizabeth left quietly. It was late—no point in intruding on their domestic bliss.
"Elizabeth." Armando's voice stopped her. He studied her tired face. "Tomorrow I'm coming with you to the hospital."
Relief flickered through her. Visiting the severely injured patients in Armando's name had sometimes drawn hostility from their families. His presence would help.
None of them expected trouble at the hospital.
One elderly woman, seated close to Armando, suddenly hurled a white porcelain bowl at his head. The movement was so fast that Elizabeth, standing behind him, instinctively reached out. The bowl smashed against her arm.
She gasped in pain.
Security rushed in, shielding them, while relatives tried to calm the woman.
"It's your fault!" she screamed. "If it weren't for your damned factory, my grandson wouldn't be suffering! His life is ruined!"
Her voice was thick with hate. Her grandson's injury had left him impotent—no children, no future. She collapsed to the floor, sobbing.
Armando pulled Elizabeth close, his expression cold. "Where's the surgeon?"
Elizabeth clutched her arm, tears spilling down her cheeks. The pain was sharp, blinding.
Later, in the hospital cafeteria, a group of nurses ate lunch while scrolling through their phones.
"Did you see the news? I was the one who bandaged Mrs. Johnson's hand today."
"Mrs. Johnson and Mr. Johnson... they're such a beautiful couple."
"She's brave. If she hadn't stepped in, Mr. Johnson might've been seriously hurt."
"You should've seen how worried he was."
It was the first time they'd seen nobility interact so tenderly with a wife, and curiosity kept them talking.
At the next table, Timothy sat with two senior surgeons. Hearing them speak about Armando and Elizabeth, his eyes narrowed. His fork paused midair.