Chapter 75 You're Playing with Fire
Timothy's fingers had just brushed against the buttons of her blouse when Elizabeth's phone rang, sharp and insistent in the quiet.
He reached to silence it, but she caught his wrist before he could.
"It's Mabel," she said after a glance at the screen.
Mabel was inviting her to the billiard hall.
What could possibly be more important than a close friend? Timothy could wait.
Elizabeth agreed without hesitation. After hanging up, she smiled with deliberate sweetness, coaxing the scowl off Timothy's face until he finally relented and left.
She slipped into a different dress, grabbed her keys, and drove toward the billiard hall to meet Mabel.
"Elizabeth, we've been waiting for you," Mabel called, waving her over.
The hall tonight was entirely theirs—Mabel had booked it out.
Men and women mingled, each dressed in luxury, accessories gleaming under the lights. These were the aristocrats.
Elizabeth's gaze swept the room. She recognized a few from banquets she had attended with Armando in the past.
What she didn't know was that the moment she arrived, both Timothy and Armando were informed—Timothy, who had been coaxed back to the Carlton Hotel, and Armando, somewhere else entirely.
Several noblewomen cast assessing looks her way.
Elizabeth was divorced now, yet still connected to Mabel. In their eyes, her current status was far beneath theirs.
She felt the weight of their condescension but remained unbothered. She wasn't here for them.
Matthew's smile lit up as he spotted her gliding in wearing a red slit dress. "Miss Penrose, good evening."
Elizabeth returned a nod and a curve of her lips.
"Elizabeth," Mabel said brightly, "care for a game? You against Matthew."
Elizabeth's smile deepened. "Sure."
Matthew arched a brow, handing her a cue. "Need me to go easy on you?"
Her brow lifted in reply. She dusted the tip of the cue with chalk. "No need."
"Elizabeth, win this one for me!" Mabel cheered, sipping juice.
She had lost to Matthew all night; he had shown no mercy.
"Consider your loss avenged," Elizabeth promised, and they slapped palms, laughing.
Elizabeth bent over the table, her red dress parting at the slit to reveal the graceful line of her leg.
Matthew rubbed his nose, trying not to stare.
A few onlookers gathered.
When Elizabeth played, her focus was absolute—on the cue, the ball, the shot.
Her movements were crisp, her gaze sharp, and there was something magnetic about her presence.
Some began to understand why she had once married the aloof Armando. Beauty was only part of it; her poise could be equally compelling.
"Your turn, Mr. Sutter," she said with a teasing smile.
Matthew had intended to play casually, but her energy drew him in. He bent over, his tall frame making several noblewomen blush, and sent the ball rolling. Laughter bubbled around them.
"Come on, Mr. Sutter, don't let us men down," someone called.
Matthew shot them a look. "Relax. I'm not losing."
Mabel scoffed. "Elizabeth isn't losing either!"
Timothy arrived at the hall in time to see Elizabeth laughing, immersed in the game. He didn't approach.
He stood at a distance, his eyes lingering on the curve of her back as she lined up another shot.
After a moment, he slipped outside to wait.
Across the street, a black sedan sat idle. Inside, Armando watched Timothy with a shadowed expression.
Time slid past until it was after one in the morning. Elizabeth stepped out of the hall, mindful that she had work the next day.
She spotted Timothy leaning against his car door.
He was dressed differently tonight—black short sleeves, black trousers. The inked black mamba curled along his arm.
He turned his head toward her.
Elizabeth's lips curved. "Mr. Robinson, you're not behaving yourself."
She had sent him back to the Carlton Hotel, yet here he was, waiting to pick her up.
The streetlight gilded her face in warm gold.
In the sedan, Armando's heart pounded. He turned away, voice low and rough as he told Kade, "Drive."
The car rolled past the hall's entrance.
Timothy hooked an arm under Elizabeth and lifted her onto his back. Her body pressed against his warmth, his shoulders broad beneath her.
Her breath brushed his ear.
He glanced sideways at her. "Home?"
Elizabeth's lips pouted. "Kiss me first."
A deep, rich chuckle slipped from his throat.
His hand tightened on her hip before loosening again. "Careful, woman… don't push me."
She covered her mouth, laughing. "Classic line."
They moved on, Knox's car trailing slowly behind.
"Am I heavy?" she teased.
Without missing a beat, he said, "Yes."
She raised her brows. "Then you can put me down."
Timothy stopped, turning his gaze to hers. "Relax. Even if your body changes someday, I'll still carry you."
She reached up, pinching his ear. "You're the one whose body will change!"
When she had finished teasing him, he set her down and opened the car door.
His ear was flushed red, but his expression remained as composed as ever.
Back at Faith Residence, the door shut behind them.
The lights stayed off.
Timothy pressed her against the door, his hands firm at her waist.
She tilted her head back as he leaned in.
Watching her bent over the billiard table earlier had stirred something in him—he had wanted her then.
A vibration buzzed from his pocket.
He pulled out his phone, reading the message: [Mr. Robinson, Armando was sitting in the sedan across from the billiard hall.]
Timothy's lips curved in a cold smile. Letting go only to take hold again… that depended on his consent.
He set the phone on the cabinet, lacing his fingers with hers.
"I'll take you to play billiards," he murmured, breath warm against her ear.
"What?" Her eyes widened. At this hour, surely he didn't mean now?
His low laugh was almost a growl as he turned her toward the door.
"Lean forward. Hands on the door."
The sound of the door opening interrupted them. Elizabeth pushed at him.
Mabel had been about to step inside, but the door shut from within.
Outside, Mabel frowned, pressing her ear to the door.
Nothing. The door was perfectly soundproof.
She shook her head with a sigh and decided to stay at a hotel for the night.
Inside, Elizabeth's eyes glistened, a flush coloring her cheeks as she glared at Timothy.
The next morning, the alarm rang.
Elizabeth reached out, half-asleep, to silence it—only for another hand to beat her to it.
Eyes still closed, she rolled over, burrowing into Timothy's arms.
"Get up," she murmured, nudging him with her forehead.
She didn't get up herself, instead poking his chest with her finger to make him rise.