Playboy

"No. I would rather talk to you." Arthur's voice deepened.

'Excuse me?'

When Violet glanced at him, his dark green eyes sparkled with mirth as their gazes met.

The implication of his unusual interest caused goosebumps to pop up all over her skin, making her tremble in her seat.

Before she could determine whether this was due to anxiety or worse...desire, Violet's eyes narrowed at his face to study him closely for any sign of deceit, but it wasn't there.

Until now, she still had no clue why this man kept pestering her in this limousine.

Was he, perhaps, feeling bored because he had no one to piss off except a sickly girl, who just got liberated from the mental asylum, hoping she could finally meet her father?

This silver tongued-devil must have considered her a fool---just a simple girl that was too easy for him to seduce with such false candor.

Didn't he care if she got the wrong idea with the words he uttered, thinking that he was attracted to her?

Oh, right.

She remembered.

This was how fine playboys lay their traps to catch their adoring victims before using them however they see fit.

These types of men couldn't care less about a girl's feelings.

Like the hundreds of romance series she spent her recent years streaming on the web, she knew better not to fall for it unlike the main character who was either dying to get her heart broken or just didn't know how to draw a boundary when it came to tall, handsome men who dressed well and who seemed to have it all.

"I didn't ask for your permission, Mr. Blackwell." Violet replied, flashing him a cold yet polite smile that she had perfected in front of the mirror reserved for men like Arthur.

It wasn't like she imagined she would be meeting high-fashion male models often once she got out of the mental hospital but at least a fitting scenario had emerged at the right time and her efforts weren't wasted.

Hopefully, addressing Arthur as 'Mr. Blackwell' would make him stop role-playing Casanova because there was no need to.

Arthur smiled back, but his almost showed all of his sparkling white teeth.

Violet frowned when she felt butterflies fluttering inside her stomach.

Did he have to look this attractive when he was just wearing a white, unbuttoned shirt that was snug and tight against his densely muscled arms and chest?

Violet had never been in the presence of someone as hot as him since birth and it was maddening to realize that Arthur's chiseled features would make every woman swoon and sigh.

She was too overwhelmed by his larger-than-life presence that it made her clutch her stomach.

The instant she felt tingles sweeping at the back of her neck and across her face, she turned her attention back to the dark TV monitor.

When his gaze dropped down to her hand clutching her stomach, she squirmed in her seat and Arthur sensed her discomfort.

After a few seconds of bearing his scrutiny, he looked away and she could finally breathe.

"Are you alright?" She heard ice cubes clinking against glass along with the rush of traffic outside the limousine. "You look agitated." Arthur commented as if her nervousness didn't involve him entirely. "Want a drink to relax yourself a bit?"

What?

So, he could get her drunk enough that she would lower her inhibitions?

Arthur was inhaling the bubblies earlier and now he just thought of offering alcohol at this moment?

Well, it wasn't like she would accept.

No thanks.

"I'd rather have a snack." She told him honestly.

"I have junk foods in here. Help yourself."

Violet winced.

Even if she was tempted to try just one unhealthy snack bag, Dr. Nicholls had warned her multiple times about the dangers of eating junk food increasing the chance of a stroke.

She wanted to live a little longer now that she had possessed this golden ticket of becoming the chairman's long lost daughter.

As she recalled the lifetime restriction, she suddenly felt irritated at the annoying lights bathing their faces.

"Don't you think it's too bright in this limo?" Violet pointed at the LED track lights, glowing neon at the ceiling. "These lights hurt my eyes."

Arthur pawed for the remote beside him and switched the lights dimmer.

"Women would always ask me to dim the lights if they want to make out." From Violet's peripheral vision, she could see Arthur sitting closer to her that that their legs almost touched. "Do you want to?"

His masculine scent smelled so good that her attraction to him felt suddenly threatening because she hadn't prepared herself for this.

She curled her shoulders forward so that she could use her messy, ginger hair to hide her face.

Arthur must not see her so flustered or he would flirt with her again to evoke the same reaction.

"Didn't you say I'm going to be your step mom?" She reminded him sarcastically. "The least you could do is stay a meter away from me."

It's called personal space, playboy.

"This is my father's car." Arthur complained like a disgruntled brat as he settled his head at the back of the passenger seat. "You're not married to him yet so you don't have the right to order me around."

Did he think she wouldn't notice the moment his fingers brush against the back of her hand?

Violet felt a tingling electrical jolt at the slight contact.

Hopefully, the misunderstanding that she nurtured herself wouldn't blow out of proportions.

Violet just wanted to tease him just like what he did.

If she became his father's fourth wife, which was impossible , because there was a chance that she could be his long-lost daughter, she would still found a way to make Arthur suffer for letting her deal with his stupid antics.

Does a step sister had the right to order him around if he was, indeed, her stepbrother?

"How about half-a- meter?" Arthur's voice was very soft.

Was the bastard seriously bargaining with her?

"Five meters. Take it or leave it."