Chapter 68 His Woman, I Want to Taste
Scarlett's instincts screamed the moment the water touched her lips. Something was wrong. Her gaze snapped to Ulysses, and of course—he was already watching her. That knowing look in his eyes said everything.
What the hell was he playing at?
"Cat got your tongue?" Ulysses waited, all patience and predatory calm.
Heat crawled up Scarlett's spine, but she kept her voice steady. "So this is your idea of a job offer, Mr. Mitchell? Drugging potential employees?"
"If I played fair, would you even consider joining the Mitchell Group?" His tone stayed maddeningly casual.
"You're disgusting."
Scarlett shot to her feet, making a beeline for the door. She barely made it three steps before Ulysses moved—fast—and suddenly his arms locked around her waist.
She thrashed against his grip, but her limbs felt like jelly. Whatever he'd slipped her was kicking in hard. Before she could land a decent hit, he'd swept her up and headed straight for the couch.
"Let me go! Ambrose has people right outside that door." The threat came out weaker than she intended.
Wrong move. Ulysses's expression darkened at the mention of Ambrose's name.
"Let's see how much Ambrose's people can really do." His voice dripped venom as he lowered his head, his tongue trailing across her cheek.
Revulsion rolled through her stomach. She twisted away, but he was already tossing her onto the leather cushions, his body caging hers.
That's when the bathroom door clicked open.
Wesley stepped out, adjusting his cuffs.
"Mr. Mitchell."
Ulysses froze mid-motion, head snapping toward the interruption. "Get. Out."
Scarlett scrambled backward on the couch, her eyes narrowing at Wesley. So he was in on this too?
Her security detail still hadn't burst through the door. Ulysses's people must've blocked them.
"Mr. Mitchell, we can't touch her yet." Wesley's voice cut through the tension. "We need the gallery project first. Get her signature, then you can do whatever you want."
Ulysses's jaw tightened.
"And how exactly do you propose we do that?"
Wesley ignored the question, his gaze sliding to Scarlett as she inched toward the door. "Let me talk to her."
"What, feeling protective of your ex-wife, Mr. Ross?" Ulysses's tone mocked.
"Hardly. I'm on your side." Wesley's voice stayed eerily neutral. "I know how she thinks. The more you push, the harder she'll fight. Let me handle this."
Several seconds of silence ticked by before Ulysses stood. "Fine. Get me that signature, Mr. Ross."
The moment Ulysses moved away, Scarlett made her break for the door. But drugged limbs couldn't outrun him. His hand clamped around her arm mid-escape, and his breath hit her ear like poison.
"Run again, and I'll take you right here on this floor."
He dragged her back to the couch.
The drug coursed through Scarlett's veins like wildfire. Her struggles only made it worse—every movement sent another wave of heat crashing through her system. She had nothing left when he shoved her back down.
"Stop fighting this. Sign the contract, and he won't hurt you." Wesley crouched beside the couch, his voice sickeningly reasonable.
So Ambrose had called it. Wesley wanted to use her as his golden ticket into Ulysses's good graces, offering her up to save his failing company.
Scarlett glared up at him. "Drop dead. I'll never sign anything for him. And he can't touch me."
"I'm trying to help you. Look around—can Ambrose's people even get through that door?" Wesley's question landed like a slap.
"Silverlight City belongs to the Mitchell family now. Ambrose can't protect you forever. One day he'll cut you loose."
"Never. I won't work for the Mitchell Group." Her voice came out hoarse.
Ulysses, who'd been watching their back-and-forth, slowly removed his glasses. "Then we're done talking."
He stood and moved toward them with deliberate steps.
"Don't be stupid," Wesley tried one last time. "If you want Mr. Mitchell to force himself on you, keep this up."
Ice crystallized in Scarlett's eyes. "Nice try."
"I'm giving you an out here. Don't say I didn't warn you." Wesley rose, turning to face the approaching Ulysses.
"Save the fake concern. I know exactly what you're doing—using me to secure your position with him. Dream on."
Ulysses reached the couch. Scarlett curled into herself, her face flushed crimson, as she watched him approach without his glasses. Terror seized her. She pressed back until the armrest dug into her spine.
Nowhere left to run.
A ghost of a smile played at Ulysses's lips as he sat down beside her, reaching out. "Last chance, Ms. Mellon. Sure, you won't join the Mitchell Group?"
When he grabbed her, she swung. The slap connected but had zero force behind it—more like a kitten's paw.
Ulysses actually laughed.
"Cute. But resistance is pointless." His arms locked around her waist as he pulled her onto his lap, glancing at Wesley. "Unless Mr. Ross wants to watch?"
Wesley set something on the table and headed for the exit without a word.
Alone now, Scarlett shoved at Ulysses's chest. "This is beneath you, Mr. Mitchell."
"I don't care." Without his glasses, his eyes glinted with undisguised hunger.
Nausea twisted her gut. She pushed harder, but he didn't budge—his grip was iron.
"I've known about you for a long time, Scarlett. You just never noticed me." His voice dropped lower. "Be with me instead. I'll treat you better than Ambrose ever could."
"Go to hell!" The words ripped from her throat.
"You think he's better than me?" Ulysses chuckled darkly. "In a few minutes, I'll prove you wrong. You'll be begging for more."
He leaned down to kiss her. Scarlett jerked her head away and raised her hand to strike—but he caught her wrist mid-swing.
"I like your fire, but I won't let you hit me twice."
"Touch me, and Ambrose will destroy you." Her breath came in ragged gasps.
"Let him try. I'm taking what's his, and there's nothing he can do about it."
He pinned her wrists and moved in for the kiss.
Scarlett fought like her life depended on it. Maybe sensing her desperation, Ulysses suddenly went still.
"What if I told you I have evidence that could exonerate your father?"
Scarlett stopped struggling and stared at him fixedly. At that moment, a loud bang rang out.
The door exploded inward, slamming against the floor with a deafening bang.
A figure burst through the wreckage like lightning, charging straight for them.