Chapter 204: Chapter 204: Claire, Are You Muddled From Sleep?

Old Master Quincy beamed and said, "Go on, go on. Head back now."

Adrian Quincy gave a slight nod, then suddenly swept the girl up into his arms and strode away.

Claire Sinclair couldn’t help but be suspicious. ’The timing of Grandpa’s severe illness seems a little too convenient...’

...

Back in the car, Adrian Quincy immediately told Aiden Howkins to head back.

Claire Sinclair remembered she hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. Plus, she hadn’t told Teacher Hartwell she was checking out, so she was about to ask if they could go back to the hotel.

But before she could speak, Adrian Quincy captured her lips, determined to finish the kiss they had started in the hospital.

This might have been the longest kiss of her life...

It lasted all the way from the hospital to Quincy Manor without a single break.

By the time they arrived at Quincy Manor, Claire Sinclair was already a wreck—or, to be more precise, she’d been kissed senseless by a certain someone and had momentarily forgotten where she was.

She didn’t even think to resist as he carried her upstairs...

In the end, she was powerless to escape her fate of being utterly devoured.

...

Claire Sinclair was jolted awake by a sharp pang of hunger. Finding herself draped across a certain someone’s chest, her face instantly flushed, and she scrambled to sit up.

Her movement woke a soundly sleeping Adrian Quincy. He sat up with her, his hands gently wrapping around her slender waist. "You’re awake?"

"I starved awake!" Claire Sinclair reminded him pitifully.

"I’m sorry. That was my fault."

"You... you forgot about *that* again!" Claire Sinclair suddenly remembered something even more important, a look of concern flashing in her eyes.

’It’s over, it’s over. We went so overboard today, I might have actually gotten pregnant!’

Adrian Quincy frowned. "Claire, are you still muddled from sleep?"

"What?"

"What’s that?" Adrian Quincy asked, pointing to the trash can.

Claire Sinclair glanced over, and a second later, her face felt hot enough to explode.

’Oh my god, that’s just... excessive.’

"I... I’m going to go shower..." She decided she hadn’t seen a thing and knew nothing at all; a shower was the most important thing.

Claire Sinclair moved to get out of bed, but the moment her feet touched the floor, a sudden soreness and weakness caused her to tumble to the ground.

Adrian Quincy’s heart seized. He scrambled off the bed and scooped her up. "Claire, are you hurt?"

"No, I... my legs are sore..." ’They’ve never been this sore before!’

Thinking her old ailment was acting up, Adrian Quincy thoughtfully carried her into the bathroom and ran a hot bath for her.

Sitting in the bathtub, Claire Sinclair blushed and said, "Don’t you have to work today? Don’t worry about me, hurry up and get to it."

’She really didn’t want to be a femme fatale...’

Adrian Quincy toyed with a strand of her hair that dangled in the water, his voice gentle. "I want your answer first."

"What answer?"

"Are you still divorcing me?"

"Let me think about it for a few more days."

The corners of Adrian Quincy’s mouth lifted slightly. He leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Tell me when you’ve decided. I’m going downstairs now. Don’t forget to come down for something to eat later."

"Oh..." Claire Sinclair murmured, watching the man leave.

Her heart felt a little empty.

’Does this mean we’ve made up?’

’But then again, will his mother ever apologize?’

...

Ever since witnessing Claire Sinclair’s heart stop for ten minutes, Adrian Quincy had abandoned the idea of putting her through intense physical training, even making her rest at home for two days.

The weekend arrived in a flash. With nothing to do, Claire Sinclair wondered if she should ask Teacher Hartwell for some tasks.

Just as she was about to call Teacher Hartwell, she suddenly received a WeChat message from a certain someone.

Adrian Quincy: Claire, come downstairs for a second.

’In the past, whenever he needed her, he would have Aiden Howkins or Nancy Lockwood pass on the message. He was usually so busy he couldn’t even squeeze out enough time to type a WeChat message.’

’But he’d messaged her himself this time. Was he finally done with his work?’