Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

With that, Elijah Hawthorne walked over and offered the pool cue directly to Ivy Sherwood.

His eyes glinted with a playful yet aggressive light, but his expression gave none of his true intentions away.

Ivy Sherwood glanced down at the cue, but before she could react, someone intercepted it.

Quentin Blackwood’s hand pressed down on the cue. An air of dominance radiated from him as his eyes turned icy and grim.

"A match against you isn’t just for fun, Mr. Hawthorne. You can’t beat me."

Quentin Blackwood’s words were arguably even more arrogant than Elijah Hawthorne’s. Elijah replied, "Is that so?"

"Isn’t it? Eternal runner-up?"

Quentin Blackwood’s words made Elijah Hawthorne’s gaze darken. Eternal runner-up. He hated that name.

But who could he blame? They had gone to the same school, and no matter what, Quentin Blackwood was always number one, while he was always number two.

Even when it came to business projects, he could never beat Quentin Blackwood.

He had always felt Lady Luck was on his side, but in every bet against Quentin Blackwood, he had almost never won.

Quentin took a cue and proceeded to sink one ball after another. His masterful, high-difficulty shots even made Julian Grant gasp in amazement.

"Holy crap! If Quentin had these kinds of skills, why didn’t he use them earlier? Did he not want to save me?!"

If he’d played like this from the start, wouldn’t he have crushed Elijah Hawthorne ages ago?

Ivy Sherwood watched Quentin Blackwood with concern. Though she didn’t know anything about pool, she could tell he was an excellent player.

With the final ball pocketed, Elijah Hawthorne hadn’t even gotten a chance to take a single shot.

"We won! We won!" Julian Grant was more excited than anyone.

Quentin Blackwood’s victory meant his hand was safe, and so was the land.

His courage restored, Julian Grant became cocky again. "Weren’t you acting all high and mighty just now? And you still ended up losing to our Quentin! You said it yourself: if you lose, everything’s wiped clean, and you have to grant Quentin one request!"

Julian Grant was now calling him "Quentin" this and "Quentin" that, sweet as honey.

"A bet’s a bet. Name your condition," Elijah Hawthorne said. He wasn’t a sore loser.

"Like I said, I’ll let you owe me."

"Fine." Elijah Hawthorne nodded, but his gaze landed on Ivy Sherwood.

Having lost interest, Elijah Hawthorne left with his entourage.

Julian Grant raised a fist at Elijah’s departing back as if he wanted to punch him—of course, he only dared to make the gesture.

Once Elijah Hawthorne was gone, Julian Grant finally asked, "So if Ivy hadn’t shown up, were you just not going to try your best?"

He could tell that Quentin Blackwood’s ruthless, all-or-nothing approach later in the game was because Elijah Hawthorne had tried to drag Ivy Sherwood into it.

"You can’t even clean up your own mess, and you have the nerve to blame someone else?" Quentin Blackwood shot him a cold look.

He still hadn’t settled the score with Julian Grant for interrupting them.

"Okay, I was wrong! Why are you being so harsh?" Julian Grant was nothing if not flexible, and he was quick to beg for mercy.

’Anyone who didn’t know better would think I’d dragged Quentin away from his lover’s embrace!’

"If you two ever need anything from me, I’ll be there in a flash, I swear!" Julian Grant even made a vow.

"He’s not mad at you," Ivy Sherwood said, tugging on Quentin Blackwood’s sleeve. She knew he wasn’t actually angry with Julian Grant.

"Mr. Grant, President Sherwood, it’s getting late. Why don’t you go get some rest? You’ll need your energy to have fun tomorrow."

Graham Sherwood nodded. "In that case, I’ll take Julian Grant with me."

And so, Graham Sherwood dragged Julian Grant away, leaving Ivy Sherwood and Quentin Blackwood alone.

"I didn’t realize you were so good at pool, too," Ivy Sherwood said, her curiosity piqued. "So, is there anything you’re not good at?"

’Is there really anything in this world that Quentin Blackwood can’t do?’

Quentin Blackwood picked up a cue and handed it to Ivy Sherwood. "Want to learn? I can teach you."

"Okay!"

Ivy Sherwood took the cue. "But why teach me?"

"It never hurts to learn a new skill."

Ivy Sherwood had to admit Quentin Blackwood had a point. It couldn’t hurt to pick up another skill.

"In that case, I’ll be sure to pay close attention to Professor Blackwood’s lesson."

Quentin Blackwood racked the balls himself, pushing them into position as he began to explain the game to Ivy Sherwood.

’Why was he teaching Ivy? Of course, he had his own reasons.’

’If he didn’t teach her, was he supposed to just wait for someone else to do it?’

’What if she wanted to learn someday? What if she ran into another man like Elijah Hawthorne?’

Ivy Sherwood was an exceptionally quick study. She grasped Quentin Blackwood’s explanations right away, and even as a novice, she started getting the hang of it after just a few practice games. Practice makes perfect, after all.

"You could probably challenge Julian Grant to a game right now and not lose."

"Then I’ll use him for practice tomorrow."

If Julian Grant knew he had become a glorified practice partner, he would probably be miserable.

"It’s getting late. Let’s go, Mr. Blackwood. Time to get some rest."

"Mm."

Ivy Sherwood and Quentin Blackwood returned to their suite. Ivy had already showered and smelled sweet and clean.

She had put on makeup before going to find Quentin Blackwood, so the first thing she did upon returning was to wash it off.

’I was ready to sleep.’ ’That thing she and Quentin hadn’t finished... surely they wouldn’t continue it now... right?’

After washing her face, Ivy Sherwood emerged from the bathroom. With all her makeup removed, her fresh face was fair and soft, with a delicate rosy blush. Her exquisite features were a blend of seduction and tenderness; she truly embodied a fusion of innocence and allure, a fatal attraction in every gesture.

Ivy Sherwood saw Quentin Blackwood sitting on the sofa. Even on vacation, his attire was anything but casual: a dress shirt and slacks.

He sat there now, his long legs, sheathed in black trousers, crossed one over the other, exuding a restrained, ascetic appeal.

And between his thighs was the unmistakable pride of a man. Black was supposed to be slimming, but the bulge on Quentin Blackwood was still very prominent.

Even while sitting, its shape was already impressive.

Ivy Sherwood’s face instantly burned. She had to force herself not to stare at *that place*. ’I’m a respectable person, not some little pervert,’ she thought.

Her gaze traveled upward. His prominent Adam’s apple was lethally sexy. At some point, Quentin Blackwood had undone the top two buttons of his shirt, revealing his collarbones and the hint of a solid, muscular chest beneath.

He was holding a tablet, seemingly reading a message. Before Quentin Blackwood could notice her, Ivy quickly averted her eyes, but she couldn’t hide the blush spreading across her cheeks.

’Her mouth suddenly felt dry.’ ’It must be because it’s too hot in here!’

Ivy went to pour herself a glass of water. As she did, she asked Quentin if he wanted any.

However, Quentin Blackwood had already set down his tablet and was walking toward her.

The closer Quentin Blackwood came, the hotter the air around Ivy Sherwood seemed to get.

She quickly raised the glass to her lips, hoping the simple act of drinking could hide her fluster.

She had barely taken two sips before a large hand wrapped around her waist, pulling her forcefully into his arms.

Her body, burning hot, was pressed against his chest. At her height, her gaze fell directly on his bobbing Adam’s apple.

He was like a walking bundle of hormones. Ivy Sherwood’s mind went completely blank, aware of nothing but Quentin Blackwood’s masculine form.

At the same time, Quentin Blackwood’s voice purred in her ear, "You were sneaking glances for so long. What do you think... am I thirsty?"