Don’t Be a Tease, Mr. Blackwood - Chapter 21

21 Chapter 21: Pursuing a Wife Is Harder Than the Monk's Pilgrimage 21 Chapter 21: Pursuing a Wife Is Harder Than the Monk's Pilgrimage "Aren't you cold?" Alaric Blackwood paused, feeling the chill of the late autumn wind, and shivered. "You know, it actually is a little cold." As soon as the words left his mouth, Sophie Shaw felt a lightness on her shoulders. The man's hands, along with his coat, were pulled away. She watched, dumbfounded, as Alaric Blackwood, who had been trying to act cool just a second ago, took the coat he had draped over her and put it back on himself.

She couldn't help but let out a "Pfft." "What are you laughing at? Can't a man be afraid of the cold?" Alaric Blackwood had been afraid of the cold since he was a child, which was why he hated winter. Before Sophie Shaw could wipe the smile from her face, the man had already strode off toward the parking lot. He walked quickly, leaving her far behind. Sophie Shaw hurried after him for a few steps, but her high heel twisted. It was the same foot she had injured not long ago.

That sprain hadn't been serious; she had hidden in the breakroom and massaged it for a long time until the symptoms mostly subsided. This time, it was a real sprain. The pain was intense. Alaric Blackwood had just reached his Maybach and pulled open the driver's side door when, just as he was about to get in, he heard a THUD behind him. He looked toward the sound and saw Sophie Shaw slumped on the ground, one hand pressed hard against her right ankle, her face scrunched up in pain.

He walked back, bent down to look at her swollen ankle, and without another word, squatted in front of her, pulling her arm to drape over his shoulder. "Hold on to me." 10.50 16 < 21 Chapter 21: Pursuing a Wife Is Harder Than the Monk's Pilgrimage Alaric Blackwood's tone left no room for argument. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. The man tightened his grip on her waist, slid his other arm under the crook of her knees, and effortlessly lifted her into his arms. She wasn't exactly light.

At 1.7 meters tall and weighing just under sixty kilograms, she was a considerable weight, but Alaric Blackwood's face didn't flush, nor did his breathing quicken. He held her steadily and walked toward the Maybach. When they reached the car, he set her down, pulled open the door, and helped her inside. The car drove away from the private kitchen and headed to the nearest hospital. When they got out, the man reached out to carry her again, but she quickly stopped him. "You don't have to. Just give me a hand." In a crowded place like a hospital, she was afraid of dying from embarrassment.