And Then It Rained (Sequel to Rain Again; Stand Alone Book) (Completed)

Chapter Thirty-three: The Remedy

There were soft feathery breaths brushing on Victoria's forehead. A warm hand snaked around her upper body.

Victoria opened her eyes, fluttering her eyelids against the bright light coming through the glass of the window. 

The blinds weren't closed last night.

Last night!

Suddenly, memories began to come back to her, and she snapped up her face to see a chin—a chin with light stubble followed by a handsome face with tousled hair. She recalled messing up and clutching those locks of hair last night in unbelievable throes of passion.

Her eyes widened.

She moved her body as her core tingled. And under the covers, she realized her feet were tangled with his. It made him move. His eyes opened—those beautiful brown eyes that she often found herself mesmerized in.

His hand around her body now rubbed her bare back sensually. It kick-started the things that had made her lose herself last night.

"Good morning, my Ria," his hoarse, bed-voice greeted her. His smile hit her heart.

"How do you know the nickname my mother gave me?" she queried, staring with unmasked questions in her eyes. She was truly curious.

The slight, momentary scrunch of his eyebrows made her realize that he didn't know. 

"Really?" he asked. "Your mother called you that?"

It was a coincidence that he called her with the same nickname. Or perhaps, it was a mystical sign.

She nodded. 

And he kept kissing her ever so lightly on her forehead, her cheeks, her nose—all over her face. She must have drifted off for a short while by his coaxing treatment upon her, for when she opened her eyes next, he was not in the bed next to her. 

For a second, she thought he had left. But then, she heard the shower running from her bathroom. 

Thankfully, she had a spare towel in there. 

Sighing, she crawled up to her pillow and pressed her face into it. She had just one pillow upon which he had rested her head while she had rested hers on his arm. Now, her pillow smelled like him.

Alone in bed, her mind started to recover to its normal state.

He told her that he loved her and not Kate. 

Yet, how could she disbelieve her own eyes and all that she had sensed while watching them?

Was it possible that Victor had come to fetch her in fear of her father? 

Suddenly feeling a little suffocated, she sprang to a sitting position. Her usual messier hair—now a storm-stricken bird nest.

It was a fact that he had gone as far as to marry the person he hated back then because of her father's threats. 

"Stop—"

She jumped and clutched the sheets on her chest. 

She hadn't heard when he had come out of the bathroom wrapped in that spare towel. And goodness—the sight he provided of his glistening body with droplets of water in most places—on the forehead, on the shoulders, his chest. Some trailing down in search of a delicious presence inside the towel.

Sucking in a breath, she removed her eyes from him and squeezed them close. 

"Stop what?"

"Overthinking," his voice coming closer. And truly, when she opened her eyes, he stood next to her bed, holding the wooden side frame. His sinuous face looked up at her indulgently, demandingly.