His Housewife Had Secret Identities novel Chapter 640

640 /724

“Mr. Thomas, please get in…” Prescott opened the car door for Jonathan.

He could smell the strong scent of alcohol on Jonathan as well.

Jonathan carefully eased Niamh into the car first, then slid in beside her. Niamh was limp as a ragdoll, completely wasted, so Jonathan gently laid her down, letting her rest her head on his lap.

He remembered a time when Marina had drugged him. Desperate to stay lucid, he had shattered a glass with his bare hand, only to be misunderstood and struck by Michael. Afterward, as Michael drove, he and Niamh had sat in the back. She had let him rest his head on her lap, just like this, only their positions were now reversed.

Looking down at the unconscious Niamh, Jonathan felt an incredible warmth spread through his chest. Was this all it took to make him feel so happy, just letting her sleep with her head on his lap?

The light in Jonathan’s eyes flickered.

Prescott drove to Trinity Lane. Jonathan scooped Niamh up bridal style and carried her into the house—her house.

Niamh was a wealthy woman now, a far cry from her former self, yet her old house remained as simple as ever. Jonathan lived next door, but his place was far more luxurious. Yet, standing here, Jonathan felt Niamh's place was warmer, more like a real home. No matter how lavishly his own house was decorated, it offered him nothing but loneliness and cold silence.

Jonathan carried Niamh to the bedroom, laid her on the bed, helped her out of her clothes, and pulled the covers over her.

She was sound asleep. Her sleeping face had a certain childlike quality, her lips pouted slightly as if she were displeased about something. Jonathan couldn't help but wonder if he was the object of her displeasure.

There had been countless days and nights when he could have opened his eyes and seen this same sleeping face. But he hadn't looked. Or maybe he had, but he didn't remember. Because he hadn't paid attention. Because he hadn't cared.

Jonathan felt a sharp pain in his chest as his heart pounded.

He rose and moved closer to Niamh, his gaze landing on her lips, the heat in his eyes intensifying. He slowly threaded his hand through her thick, dark hair. Then, he gently tilted her face up and pressed a kiss to her moist lips.

So sweet… He had tasted these lips many times before, yet each time they offered a different kind of sweetness. Like honey, they were addictive.

Jonathan had only meant for it to be a fleeting, butterfly kiss, but as he lingered, his body began to betray him. He wanted to deepen the kiss, to deepen the connection between them.