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Chapter 539
Chapter 539:
Beneath his touch, the deep crease between June’s brows slowly smoothed away. Her breathing deepened and steadied. Gradually, the tension in her fingers softened, and her grip on his shirt went slack.
Easton took the opportunity. With painstaking care, he drew the fabric free from her hand.
He stood upright and took three slow, deliberate breaths of the cool air from the vents, forcing the heat back down into the darker corners of his mind where it belonged. He looked down at his chest. The custom-tailored shirt was thoroughly wrinkled where she had held him.
He shook his head, something fond and helpless in his expression.
He walked to the entryway and lifted his suit jacket from the bench. At the threshold, he turned and looked at June sleeping on the sofa one final time.
He knew he had to leave. If he stayed another minute, he would do something that would shatter the fragile trust he had spent months carefully building — and that was something he refused to risk.
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The heavy front door clicked shut behind him, soft and final.
Easton was gone, leaving all the dangerous, unspoken tension sealed inside the quiet penthouse.
The harsh Manhattan morning light came through the floor-to-ceiling windows like a blade, striking June directly across the face.
She groaned and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. Her head felt as though something inside it was trying to split its way out. Slowly, she pushed herself upright on the sofa. The heavy cashmere blanket slid from her shoulders. She looked down in a brief flash of panic, then relaxed — her beige loungewear was perfectly intact.
She rubbed her throbbing temples, swung her bare feet onto the rug, and made her way unsteadily toward the kitchen, desperate for cold water.
Sloane was already there, looking thoroughly refreshed in a luxurious silk robe, working the expensive espresso machine with practiced ease. She turned at the sound of footsteps, took one look at June’s wretched, hungover state, and a wicked smile spread slowly across her face.
“Good morning,” Sloane announced at full volume. She let the next words stretch with deliberate pleasure. “My dear cousin-in-law p>
June had just taken a long gulp of ice water. She choked violently, coughing as water spilled down her chin, her brain grinding to a complete halt.
“What did you just call me?” she gasped, staring at Sloane with wide, horrified eyes.
Sloane picked up two small ceramic espresso cups, crossed to June, and handed her one, eyes dancing with amusement.
“Don’t tell me you blacked out,” she teased. “Last night, right there on that sofa, you looked me dead in the eye and agreed to be my cousin-in-law. Easton looked like he was ready to drag you to City Hall on the spot p>
All the blood in June’s body seemed to rush directly to her face. Her cheeks burned with a fierce, humiliating heat.
Fragmented, blurry images from the night before flickered through her mind like a broken projector. Sloane whispering in her ear. Her own head nodding. And worst of all — the unmistakable memory of grabbing onto someone’s shirt and refusing to let go.