Wren cried until she was exhausted and fell asleep in Jasper's arms.
The third floor of the restaurant had a private lounge reserved exclusively for Jasper. It was already past one in the morning, and he didn't want to move her unnecessarily, so he carried her straight to the lounge.
He laid her on the bed, helped her take off her shoes and socks, then her coat, and pulled the quilt over her.
Jasper sat on the edge of the bed, his deep, shadowed gaze slowly drinking in the sight of the woman before him.
In the dim yellow lamplight, Wren's cheeks, flushed from alcohol, carried a soft pink glow over her fair skin. Her earlobes were round and smooth like warm jade; her lips were bright and full, exuding an intoxicating, bewitching charm.
Jasper's Adam's apple bobbed. Driven by a foolish,
