She Flash-Married To His Rival novel Chapter 222

Out of the blue, a sudden "darling" caught the attention of most of the crowd at the party.

Moira immediately regretted her exclamation as she watched Barclay approach her through the crowd. She wished she could vanish!

Barclay strode up to Moira and took her hand. "Been waiting long?"

His gaze shifted to the cup she held. "Having a drink?"

Feeling embarrassed, Moira muttered softly, "It's not alcohol, just juice."

Delicious juice.

A subtle flicker crossed Barclay's dark eyes, but he didn't reveal the truth. "Alright."

"Shall we head back?"

"Yeah, let's go."

They retraced their steps.

She'd feel like a spectacle at the circus if they stayed longer.

And those two women who embarrassed her earlier had already vanished before Barclay arrived.

Moira couldn't be bothered to care anymore. She couldn't bear shouting Barclay as "darling" so loudly in front of everyone.

"Is there gold on the floor?" Barclay asked casually as he descended from upstairs.

Moira, still looking down, finally glanced up at him. "No."

"Really? I thought there must be gold on the floor. Otherwise, Mrs. Covington wouldn't be staring down so intently."

As Moira was about to lower her head again, Barclay said, "Mr. Covington had quite a knack for being sarcastic."

She pressed her lips together, keeping her gaze forward, not daring to lower her head again.

As they reached the door, Moira remembered something. "Oops, I forgot to tell Ms. Hurst we're leaving!"

"I took care of it."

He hadn't.

Moira rose from her seat, confident that someone would inform Cynthia.

What else needed to be said?

"Alright," Moira responded softly, refraining from bringing it up again.

"Oh, uh, alright."

Moira awkwardly fastened her seatbelt, then looked at him pleadingly. "Mr. Covington, let's head home. I'm feeling a bit weary."

A beam of light from an approaching car illuminated the cabin, and Barclay Covington's Adam's apple bobbed. "Alright."

He averted his gaze, gripping the steering wheel as he drove home.

Moira leaned against the seat, pretending to sleep.

The car fell into silence, with Barclay focused on driving, seemingly not intending to engage in idle chatter.

After pretending to sleep for what seemed an eternity, Moira couldn't resist any longer. She slowly opened her eyes, her gaze trailing upward, skimming over his hands on the wheel, then tracing his lips, moving up to his nose, and lingering at his brow.

"Mr. Covington, I'm feeling rather warm," she said, her hand reaching up to touch her cheek.

Indeed, it was warm.

Barclay glanced at her and adjusted the air conditioning slightly.

Moira thanked him and wisely refrained from disturbing him further, though her gaze couldn't help but steal occasional glances toward him.

There's no denying it—serious men are irresistible, and Barclay, driving so earnestly, was particularly captivating.