The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 515

hapter 515 Sylas Seymour

Panting, she managed, “I… I’m still in the first trimester. We can’t…”

“I know,” he rasped, desire thick in every syllable. “I won’t go all the way. Just let me kiss you, hold you. I’ll handle the rest myself.”

“You-”

Her protest dissolved as Julius captured her mouth once more, swallowing every word she might have spoken.

Again and again, his lips returned, coaxing her own desire to rise and intertwine with his.

Only through this consuming closeness could he smother the jealousy burning in his chest.

He needed to monopolize her emotions–sympathy, worry, love–allowing no fragment to drift toward anyone else.

For that goal, he would exploit every advantage fate had granted him.

He intended to render himself so essential that Quinn could never imagine life without him.

Laura guided her sedan through the sparsely lit streets, tailing Harlan’s midnight–colored coupe with the patience of a shadow.

The chase stretched past neon storefronts, empty intersections, then farther, until an hour bled away and the riverfront finally swallowed both cars.

Harlan parked beneath weeping lamps, stepped out, and strolled to the railing. He struck a match, letting the flame paint his face before the cigarette claimed it.

He drove more than an hour just to stand here and smoke?

She sighed and walked toward him, telling herself that, as far as friendship went, she had already done more than most.

“Why the solitary smoke break, Harlan?” Laura asked, her voice light yet edged with concern.

“You’ve tailed me for over an hour. Aren’t you tired?” Harlan said, barely glancing her way.

“I am exhausted,” she shot back, a touch of irritation deliberately unmasked.

“If you’re that exhausted, why keep following?” he asked, eyes narrowing in something that was

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almost a smile.

“Couldn’t help worrying, okay? Chalk it up to my nosy nature,” she said, shrugging as though the gesture might deflect her anxiety.

With a short, amused grunt, he exhaled smoke. “So you’re standing here beside me because you think I might jump into the river?”

Laura released a brittle laugh; truth was, the idea had indeed crossed her mind.

“So are you planning to jump or not?” she countered, masking concern behind sarcasm.

Leaning lazily against the railing, Harlan blew a perfect ring into the mist. “I’m nowhere near the point of killing myself over love, so relax. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good. Quinn’s been worried about you, too, you know,” Laura added, relief softening her

voice.

“Believe me, I won’t let my feelings become her burden,” Harlan replied.

“That’s the spirit. Plenty of other beauties out there,” Laura said, giving his shoulder a playful

pat.

Brows knitting, Harlan shook his head. “Please don’t drag me to another blind date. I’m not interested.”

He had no intention of seeking a new emotional crutch. He had lived more than twenty years, had finally loved once, and doubted the universe would present another heart worth gambling on. Perhaps his entire romantic allotment had already been spent–over before it ever truly began.

“Fine by me,” Laura conceded, not pressing further.

Just then, Laura’s stomach rumbled loud enough to break the night’s hush. “Feel like grabbing a bite?” she asked, looking at Harlan.

“Not hungry. I want to stay here a little longer. Go eat without me,” Harlan said.

Laura spotted a street–side stall near the embankment and decided to just eat there. Even if Harlan wasn’t planning a midnight swim, his mood sat low, and she preferred to keep a watchful distance.

She paid for some pasta and had barely lifted the first bite when a drawling voice sounded behind her. “Well, no wonder you looked familiar. Turns out my heartless little sister is hiding here.”

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Laura’s body froze, fork suspended in mid–air as though an unseen hand had welded every joint shut.

That voice–low, rasping, unforgettable–was the soundtrack to her worst nightmares.

Slowly, almost against her will, she pivoted toward the sound, finding the man only a few paces

away.

Her father’s second marriage had saddled her with a stepbrother, Sylas Seymour, the very man she had helped send to prison years before.

And yet here he stood, already free.

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