Chapter 734 Wait Until You're Better 1
Elliot turned his head toward her, his gaze deep and unreadable.
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, in a low, rough voice, "What about you? Why do you smoke?"
Molly's reply was barely above a whisper. "I won't anymore."
He didn't believe her. Maybe he didn't care. Since the day they crossed paths again, the only thing he had truly cared about was Molly herself.
Without another word, Elliot pressed his foot to the gas.
Molly thought he was taking her to a hotel. Instead, he pulled into the private garage of a penthouse near his company. The place was sprawling—easily two thousand square feet—and every inch screamed luxury.
She lingered in the doorway, hesitant to step inside.
Elliot changed his shoes, then turned to find her still standing there. His voice was calm, almost casual, "From now on, we'll meet here. Your soup was good. I had the housekeeper stock the kitchen. Make it again, and call me when it's ready."
That was when Molly understood.
This wasn't just any apartment—it was a place he had chosen for them. No more hotel rooms. No more walking in and ending up in bed right away. Here, it could be… something different.
In her heart, she couldn't help but think of it as theirs.
She looked around. The apartment was large but had only one bedroom, with a gym and a study attached. From the living room, she saw Elliot disappear into the bedroom, shrugging off his coat and sweater, then lying down in his shirt.
Was he exhausted?
Molly bit her lip. If he was so tired, why had he still come to see her? Why had he gone to the set just to watch her work? The thought made her quietly, selfishly happy.
She slipped off her coat and tied on a clean apron. Standing in the kitchen, she felt—just for a moment—like the woman of the house. She opened the fridge, took out the ingredients, and began making soup. Alongside the seafood broth, she started preparing a few other dishes.
Every movement was careful, quiet, so she wouldn't wake him.
No one would have guessed how happy she was in that moment. When the food was ready, she removed the apron, washed her face, and smoothed her hair before heading to the bedroom.
Elliot was still asleep. Earlier, he'd been in a shirt; now, the heat had gotten to him, and he'd stripped it off.
His body was lean and strong, muscle stretched over a long frame, the kind that only tightened when he moved. She had seen him like that before—sweat sliding down his skin in slow, hot drops.
His hair fell slightly over his eyes. Those eyes, when open, seemed to have no end.
Molly touched his shoulder gently, her voice soft. "Dinner's ready."
Instead of getting up, Elliot reached for her, pulling her down into the bed.
She startled the moment she touched him.
He was burning up.
She knelt beside him, pressing her palm to his forehead. He cracked his eyes open, voice hoarse, "It's not bad. I just need to sleep."
"I'll get you some medicine," she said, already reaching for her coat.
"Don't," he murmured, eyes closing again.
But she went anyway, returning with fever reducers and antibiotics. She poured a glass of water, broke the pills in half, and knelt by the bed, helping him sit up.
He leaned against the headboard, sweat beading across his chest, catching the light in a way that made her throat tighten. She avoided looking too long, holding the glass to his lips.
He swallowed obediently, but the moment the pills were gone, his hand closed around her wrist, pulling her into his arms.
And then his mouth was on hers—hard, consuming.
Her pulse jumped. She wanted him, wanted the heat of him, but she was afraid his body couldn't take it. She pushed lightly against his chest.
"Don't. Wait until you're better."
Elliot's eyes locked on hers, his voice low and dangerous, "Better for what?"
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