Clara's cheeks burned as she scowled and shoved him away. "God, you're a disgraceful drunk!"
James ignored her protest, his arm locking around her shoulders as he steered them toward the villa.
What should've been a quick stroll turned into a slapstick routine—James weaved like a frat boy after last call, dragging Clara along helplessly. By the time they crashed through the doorway, she was panting, tiny pearls of sweat glistening on her nose.
Her gaze dropped to the twin rows of teeth marks on his skin, now dotted with crimson droplets. A pang of guilt twisted in her chest.
"Stop glaring! This is YOUR fault!" she snapped.
When Clara issued her warning, James recalled her scandalous phone conversation earlier. His lips brushed her ear as he murmured, "So you're the expert at pleasing
