That morning, Morrison had devoted himself entirely to her, barely thinking of himself. His heart had softened, and he no longer resisted. Out of Lilian's sight, the bearded director gave him a subtle signal. Without a word, Morrison tilted his head and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Click—the camera captured it instantly.
Lilian's eyes shot wide with shock.
"What are you doing?!"
Morrison shrugged and casually shifted the blame.
"Ask him," he said, nodding toward the photographer.
And so Lilian's anger burned silently, unable to erupt. The rest of the shoot was relentless—Morrison took full advantage. He kissed her, held her close, wrapped his arms around her. Each moment left her both flustered and furious.
Finally, she thought it was over. But Morrison had other plans. He pulled her into his arms, one hand wrapping around her waist while the other lifted her chin. Without warning, his lips claimed hers—forceful, insistent, leaving her with nowhere to escape.
"Mm—"
