How a Dying Woman Rewrote Her Epilogue

There would be more caution from now on.

And as it turned out, that was the right call.

Sprague truly was ruthless-he'd tried to use the Quinn family to get Jarrod killed, hoping that a corpse would be his ticket home.

If Jarrod had actually died out there, in that war-torn region, who would be held responsible?

With the Silverstein Group left leaderless, the second branch of the family would inevitably seize power. If Sprague rose to the top, Watts would profit alongside him.

It was all connected, one link after another.

Elodie had always known Jarrod to be a cautious man with a mind as deep as a well, but seeing just how far ahead he'd planned still left her quietly impressed.

Especially now, with Watts utterly defeated.

Because of her, Watts could never return home. Even Eaton Aldridge would think twice before letting Watts back into the country. If Watts were ever held to account, it would stain Eaton's political record-a scandal with far-reaching consequences.

Both Watts and Patricia had been thoroughly ruined.

From now on, both of them would be under Jarrod's control: one forever barred from returning home to fulfill his ambitions, the other trapped in a cage she'd never escape, so long as Jarrod willed it and Watts remained in exile.

It put an end to a whole host of future problems.

No room for error.

No lingering threats.

For the first time, Elodie finally felt a genuine sense of relief.

She let her thoughts drift for a moment, until suddenly she remembered Jarrod's injuries.

She turned at once, reaching for the collar of his shirt. "Let me see if you've healed up."

Jarrod immediately pressed his hand to his chest to stop her. "So sudden?"

Elodie shot him a look. "Quit covering up. Move your hand."

With a deliberate slowness, he let go.

She pulled his shirt aside to check. The wound on his back had closed up, and the scar on his chest had faded to a pale line. There was still some healing to do, but nothing serious remained.

After more than twenty days, he'd come a long way.

She let out a breath, reassured. She'd worried that Jarrod might have suffered other injuries during the ordeal.

She knew by now most of what had happened when Fleming went to rescue him.

She was just about to let go when Jarrod caught her by the wrist.

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Elodie looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close they were their

breaths mingling in the small

space between them, warm and ticklish on her skin.

She tried to pull back, but he tightened his grip and drew her in.

His gaze lingered on her face, tracing every inch, drifting from her lips to her eyes and back again.

Something unspoken crackled between them, weaving through every glance.

Elodie had never been able to handle that look of his-the way his eyes could tease and tempt without a word.

There was nothing crude about it, never too obvious-just the right amount of tension to make her heart race.

She would have blushed before.

But now...

Now she understood exactly what he wanted. So before Jarrod could make a move, Elodie leaned in, stopping just short of his lips.

Jarrod's eyes darkened, his Adam's apple bobbing with a silent swallow.

He didn't move. He wanted her to come to him, to close the distance on her own terms.

He was infinitely patient.

Elodie's hand slid up to his jaw, her eyes fixed on his mouth the way he'd watched hers.

That look—hungry, intent—nearly shattered Jarrod's composure.noveldrama

He fought the urge to pull her in and claim her mouth then and there.

The air between them grew thick with anticipation, every breath a silent invitation.

Elodie caught the spark in his eyes

and, with a sudden

mischusness, drew even

closer-just a hair's breadth

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away-before abruptly pulling back.

That was all it took to snap Jarrod's restraint. His brows came together, and in one swift movement, he cupped the back of her neck and pulled her in, crushing his lips to hers.