Tempted Trapped and Too Late to Run novel Chapter 722

The bathtub was big enough for both of them. He gathered her into his arms, and they just sat there, soaking in the warm water together.

Clara’s cheeks were bright red. From where he sat, he could see her lips slightly parted, a little sheen of sweat trickling down from her forehead.

He tightened his hold on her, thinking for a few seconds before slowly lowering his head, about to kiss her.

But she opened her eyes, staring up at him, catching him mid-move.

Realizing she was awake, he froze, suddenly hesitant.

Clara watched him for a few seconds, then her eyes fluttered closed for real this time, her head resting against his chest, only the side of her face visible.

Dylan pressed his lips together, letting out a rough, resigned sigh as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Stop torturing me,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

It felt like he was living with a sword hanging over his head, never knowing when it might fall.

After about fifteen minutes, he carefully washed her up, then carried her back to bed.

Clara seemed to sense how relaxed her body was—she tucked herself under the covers and fell asleep almost instantly.

Dylan dried himself off and came back to the bedside. Half her face was buried under the blanket, her breathing soft and peaceful.

He gently lifted the edge of the blanket and slipped in beside her.

As soon as he lay down, her hand instinctively reached out, wrapping around his waist.

He stiffened, barely daring to move.

He spent the whole night lying there, tense, while Clara shifted around—sometimes clutching his arm, sometimes curling up against his side, always clinging to him in her sleep.

Each time, he’d freeze up, worried she might suddenly wake.

But she slept soundly all the way until morning.

Still worried, he called the doctor to check on her. The doctor’s brows knit together with concern.

“She needs more rest,” the doctor said.

Dylan sat at her bedside and just nodded. “Okay.”

Dylan pressed his lips together and turned to leave.

But Clara quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “Dylan.”

He looked down, waiting for her to say something.

Clara hesitated, lowering her gaze, rubbing her forehead as if trying to piece something together. “That day, why did you say that to me? You said if I left you, you’d die. Do you remember?”

She was talking about the day she’d pressed a knife to her throat, threatening to make him let her go.

Clara’s head throbbed and she leaned back against the wall. “I want to know.”

Dylan didn’t answer right away. He saw all the questions and doubts swirling in her eyes.

He was just about to speak when Clara suddenly went pale, bracing herself against the wall, her breath coming short.

“Clara...”

He reached out to steady her, but she pulled away.