Chapter 156 - 155
The girl’s attempt to curry favor was simply too adorable. Her big eyes twinkled, and Simon Lockwood’s heart softened as if it were soaking in warm water. He tapped her temple gently with his fingertip. "Alright now, hurry up and get some rest."
"So, I’ll get to eat it tomorrow?" Joanna Kennedy pressed.
Simon Lockwood replied airily, "We’ll see how you behave."
Joanna Kennedy: "..." ’Simon Lockwood, you bastard.’
*
That night, the wind picked up, battering the windows and making a series of dull thuds. The darkness amplified one’s senses, and Owen Jennings felt like he could hear the girl’s sticky-sweet, coquettish voice from downstairs.
It was a side of her he had never heard before.
Owen Jennings smirked. He’d thought Joanna Kennedy only knew how to fire back at people like a machine gun.
’Maybe I’ll hear something even more explosive in a bit. I’ll record it for that perverted cousin of mine.’ As Owen Jennings thought this, a murky, obscure emotion flickered in his eyes.
CLICK. The sound of a door opening came from downstairs, and the voices grew clearer.
Owen Jennings’s eyes darted. He rolled out of bed, walked to the window, and froze.
In the light from a passing car, he could see them on the second-floor hallway. The tall man was bent over slightly, letting the girl in front of him tug at his collar.
He didn’t know what the man said, but the girl seemed to get angry and slammed the door shut with a SLAM.
Owen Jennings was watching, captivated, when he suddenly locked eyes with the man’s cold, emotionless black gaze. In that instant, a primal premonition of danger made his scalp tingle.
The man, however, only seemed to give him a casual glance before coldly looking away and walking toward the room at the end of the hall.
It wasn’t until the hallway was empty that Owen Jennings could finally relax. Realizing his reaction, he couldn’t help but tug his lips into a self-deprecating smirk.
The next day, the rain was still falling, though it was a little lighter than before. Seizing a moment when the downpour lessened, several bodyguards deftly reconnected the power lines that had been struck by lightning.
The director was dumbfounded. "Mr. Lockwood’s bodyguards know how to repair electrical circuits, too?"
Jack Warren flicked the raindrops from his sleeve, his smile maintaining its usual, unchanging curve. "They’re multi-talented professionals."
The director nodded as if he’d had an epiphany, though a trace of dazed confusion still lingered on his old face.
Half an hour later, he truly understood what Jack Warren meant by "multi-talented professionals."
Around the corner from the first-floor lobby was the kitchen they had been using to cook communal meals. But right now, it was occupied by several burly bodyguards in black.
A knife slid open several boxes. The contents had been kept fresh with advanced preservation techniques: vibrant green baby bok choy and all sorts of other fresh vegetables.
In another box, the ice at the bottom had yet to fully melt. It was piled high with neatly arranged rolls of sliced lamb and a whole case of palm-sized prawns.
Washing ingredients, peeling prawns to make shrimp paste, prepping vegetables, chopping an ear of corn into four sections... The expressionless, burly men in black, now wearing aprons, moved with practiced, professional skill, stunning the crowd watching from outside the kitchen.
’Are the requirements for being a bodyguard really that high these days?’
’Not only do you have to be a good fighter, but you also have to know how to fix circuits and cook?!’
"Ahem, we should go help," someone suggested.
The director snapped out of his stupor. "Yes, yes! We can’t just let Mr. Lockwood’s men do all the work. That would be too embarrassing."
The film crew was mostly made up of big guys, along with a few female assistants, but they couldn’t even get through the door before the bodyguards politely "escorted" them out.
And so, the crowd could only wait to be fed. As the aroma of cooking meat wafted from the kitchen, they couldn’t help but gulp, their eyes fixed hungrily on the doorway.
Ever since they’d arrived, they hadn’t had a decent meal. It was communal potluck almost every time, and the food had only gotten worse after the rain started. They never would have dreamed that someone would show up with boxes of fine ingredients to "rescue" them.
But everyone knew President Grant was just a pretext. A VIP like Simon Lockwood would only have come all the way out here for one reason: Joanna Kennedy.
’He must really be smitten to brave a storm and drive all the way from Aethelburg.’
"I don’t think Mr. Lockwood is as cold and ruthless as the rumors say," the assistant director couldn’t help but remark.
The director remained silent. He knew a little more than his assistant. The young man now at the helm of Southland Group had clawed his way out of the vicious, dog-eat-dog environment of Meridia in just a few short years. "Cold and ruthless" didn’t even begin to cover it.
Any sliver of warmth or consideration this powerful man showed was reserved for one specific person. But... that in itself was unbelievable enough.
It was still very early, and not many people were downstairs yet. So when the handsome, aloof man emerged from the room at the far end of the second-floor hall, the crew couldn’t help but feel surprised.
’Wait... did he really just come to check on her because he was worried? They didn’t... do anything else?!’
’Is this how a sugar daddy and his kept woman act?!’
Simon Lockwood emerged from his room, walked to the room in the middle of the second-floor hallway, and pushed the door open.
On the bed, a small lump protruded from under the soft duvet, only the top of a black-haired head visible. Her breathing was soft and shallow.
Perhaps she felt cold, as she had pulled the covers up tight. The part of her face that had been under the blanket was slightly flushed. When the man’s warm, dry hand touched her skin, she instinctively nuzzled against it, chasing the warmth.
Simon Lockwood’s fingers stiffened. His expression remained cold, but the tips of his ears turned red. He let her bury her small face in his palm.
Her shallow breaths tickled his palm, her soft lips brushing against his skin almost imperceptibly. The tips of Simon Lockwood’s ears grew even redder. Maintaining his noble, aloof expression, he seriously, deliberately pressed his palm more firmly against her lips.
Joanna Kennedy, still asleep, seemed to sense something. Her lips moved in discomfort, forming a motion that looked like a kiss.
Simon Lockwood froze for a second before abruptly standing up. His breath came in short gasps, his ears were bright red, and his gaze was fixed on the girl in the bed. His normally calm, dark eyes rippled with emotion.
His heartbeat fell out of rhythm.
One second...
Two seconds...
Simon Lockwood slowly sat back down on the edge of the bed. He reached out again, pressing his palm to her face. As soon as he was "kissed," he would snatch his hand back, ears flushing, only to press it against her again.
Once, twice, three times...
He repeated the motion, he didn’t know how many times. On the last try, he failed to control his strength and pressed down too hard. Finding it difficult to breathe, Joanna Kennedy was forced to slowly open her eyes.
Her moist, dazed eyes met the man’s dark, inscrutable gaze, which churned with a desire that seemed to cut to the bone.
Joanna Kennedy’s brain was still booting up; she hadn’t yet registered the "danger." Seeing a familiar face, she instinctively threw her arms around him and whined sweetly, "Simon Lockwood..."
Such unabashed dependence, such instinctive affection. Simon Lockwood squeezed his eyes shut, his Adam’s apple bobbing violently. He suppressed the filthy urge to "torment" her until she cried. Gripping her soft waist tightly, he answered in a hoarse voice, "Mmm... I’m here..."
From downstairs, the faint sounds of chatter mingled with the drumming of the rain. The air around her was filled with the man’s warm, pleasant scent.
Joanna Kennedy’s senses slowly returned to her. This wasn’t a dream. Simon Lockwood was really here.
"Are you hungry?" Simon Lockwood idly stroked her smooth black hair, his voice low. "Or do you want to sleep a little longer? Hmm?"
Joanna Kennedy buried her face in the crook of his neck, letting out a small yawn. Her voice was muffled as she said, "I don’t want to sleep anymore..."