The buttons on Julian Fairchild's collar had come undone a few, his perfectly shaped collarbone exuding a cold and abstinent aura under the moonlight.
He pulled Maeve Lane's hand over and slowly placed it on his chest, where she could feel the man's vigorous muscles and strong heartbeat beneath her palm.
"Keep your good luck for yourself," Julian said, holding her hand.
Maeve gripped his ring finger, where a ring encircled it, and she inexplicably felt her eyes well up with warmth.
Her soft body dove into the man's embrace.
Julian held her steadily, his tone exceedingly tender, "What's wrong?"
"I don't need any good luck; I want to give all my luck to you." Maeve, her eyes red at the corners, murmured, "Julian Fairchild, I want everything to go your way."
Thinking back, it seemed that all his grievances were caused by her.
Listening to Maeve's childish words, Julian's eyes were dark and deep, silently pulling her a bit closer.
"Mm."
