Wrong Flirt, Right Trouble: His Uncle Pulls Me Close

Chapter 76: Chapter 76: Bringing Ivy Sherwood Home, Spotted by the Blackwoods

"Is that so?" Quentin Blackwood strode closer, positioning his body directly in front of the broken bottle’s sharp edge.

"You..." Ivy Sherwood hadn’t expected the man to be completely unafraid.

Her grip on the bottle tightened. If he really tried anything, she would stab him.

But as the man drew near, a cool scent of fir drifted into Ivy Sherwood’s senses. Her body seemed particularly sensitive to this aroma.

It was a scent that seemed to belong only to Quentin Blackwood.

Thinking of Quentin Blackwood, Ivy Sherwood squinted, trying to get a better look. The man in front of her... he really did look a bit like Quentin Blackwood.

Her brain short-circuited, and her guard dropped. Quentin Blackwood’s hand shot out, easily snatching the bottle from her grasp.

’I must be drunk,’ she thought. ’Why else would I think I’m seeing him here?’

"Can you walk?" Quentin Blackwood’s voice was as crisp and cool as ever.

Ivy Sherwood shook her head. When she was drunk, she had a certain indescribable meekness about her. Her long lashes fluttered as she blinked, and she reached up to rub her flushed cheeks, trying to sober up.

"I can’t walk... I... I have to find Nina."

Ivy Sherwood took a step forward, but a powerful arm instantly wrapped around her waist from behind. The arm was strong, the muscles perfectly and sensually defined. With just that one arm, he lifted her clean off her feet.

"Weren’t you the one who called me here?"

Quentin Blackwood’s voice held a hard edge. ’Such a little vixen, playing hard to get.’

Ivy Sherwood recalled that she had, in fact, called for a driver.

"My friend is still over there," Ivy Sherwood said, pointing.

"I’ve already had Nina Scott sent home," Quentin Blackwood said, carrying Ivy Sherwood straight outside.

The suit and the school uniform, an ultimate symbol of the forbidden and the austere. Anyone who saw them would have their minds instantly filled with all sorts of scenarios.

Quentin Blackwood tossed Ivy Sherwood into the back seat of the car. He loosened his tie, feeling a little parched.

"Driver, to Century City, please," Ivy Sherwood slurred, giving the address of her apartment complex.

Quentin Blackwood was speechless.

She really thought he was the driver.

Quentin Blackwood had brought his own chauffeur, who, of course, only took orders from his boss. He looked at Quentin. "President Blackwood, are we going to Century City?"

Quentin Blackwood glanced at the woman in the car, a cold smirk playing on his lips.

’Send her home? In her dreams!’

"To Norhaven."

"Yes, sir."

Quentin Blackwood couldn’t wait to see the look on Ivy Sherwood’s face tomorrow morning when she woke up and realized where she was.

Quentin Blackwood got into the car as well, joining Ivy Sherwood in the back seat.

The luxury van was spacious, and he kept his distance from her.

The woman beside him had her eyes shut, her expression pained.

Being this drunk was miserable; she felt sick but couldn’t throw up. But as Ivy Sherwood caught that familiar scent of fir, she couldn’t resist the urge to move closer.

Finally, she snuggled up against a warm body. The fir scent enveloped her, as rich and intense as a forest in bloom. At last, Ivy Sherwood was content. A small smile graced her lips as she closed her eyes and drifted off to a comfortable sleep.

Quentin Blackwood watched the woman trying to burrow into his arms. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he narrowed his dangerous eyes.

He could have pushed her away with one hand, yet Quentin Blackwood remained perfectly still.

In that moment, his mysophobia, his aversion to being touched, and the reek of alcohol mixed with some other lingering scent—none of it seemed to matter.

Ivy Sherwood’s head rested on his thigh, her face turned toward his torso.

He could feel her hot breath even through the thin fabric of his shirt.

The parched feeling in his throat intensified, and a fire seemed to ignite within him.

The car moved along smoothly until it suddenly slammed on the brakes. Ivy Sherwood’s body pitched forward, and Quentin, with his quick reflexes, caught her just before she rolled onto the floor.

The sudden movement pressed Ivy Sherwood’s face intimately against his abdomen.

She let out a soft, uncomfortable whimper, and in that instant, Quentin’s blood seemed to boil.

"I’m sorry, President Blackwood! A car just shot out of nowhere," the driver apologized hurriedly. He could see in the rearview mirror that his boss’s face was as black as thunder.

"Slow down!"

"Yes, sir." The driver let out a sigh of relief.

For the rest of the drive, the chauffeur drove with extreme care.

Soon, they arrived at Norhaven. Ivy Sherwood seemed to be fast asleep. Quentin Blackwood took a moment to compose himself, waiting until the heat in his body subsided before getting out of the car and lifting Ivy Sherwood into his arms.

If anyone had told him before that a woman could have such a physical effect on him, Quentin Blackwood would never have believed them.

It wasn’t as if he’d never been around women. Powerful career women, innocent-looking ingenues, beautiful ones, plain ones, women who wanted him, women who used every trick in the book to get his attention, women who plotted against him—the list was endless.

Every time, Quentin Blackwood had only felt annoyed. Even after a simple handshake, he’d feel compelled to go wash his hands until they were spotless.

But with Ivy Sherwood, it was as if his mysophobia didn’t even exist.

What’s more, Ivy Sherwood seemed able to effortlessly ignite a fire within him.

Be it a fire of anger, or a fire of desire.

In Quentin Blackwood’s arms, Ivy Sherwood seemed so small. Now asleep, she was perfectly still, her clear, almond-shaped eyes shut tight, her breathing even and steady.

The moment Quentin Blackwood stepped out of the car, the butler hurried over. "Mr. Blackwood, you’re finally back. This is..."

The butler froze for a second when he saw the woman in Quentin’s arms. ’So, President Blackwood’s hasty departure earlier was for a woman?’

"What is it?"

The words had barely left Quentin Blackwood’s mouth when another car pulled up, stopping directly in front of him.

The doors opened, and two men stepped out.

"Third Brother." It was Silas Blackwood and Caleb Blackwood.

The butler had been about to say that members of the Blackwood family had just been there.

Caleb Blackwood and Silas Blackwood had arrived not long after Quentin had left.

The butler had told them Quentin wasn’t in, and Caleb Blackwood had said it was no problem. The butler had watched them drive away, so he hadn’t bothered calling Quentin. But clearly, the two hadn’t gone far at all; they must have seen a car returning and followed it back.

Having missed Quentin earlier, they had now come back to corner him.

Caleb Blackwood and Silas Blackwood were both taken aback when they saw Quentin holding a woman.

However, Caleb Blackwood knew Quentin had a woman here last time, so he recovered quickly. "My apologies, Third Brother. It seems Big Brother has come at an inopportune time and interrupted you again."

Caleb Blackwood tried to get a clear look at the woman’s face, but it was turned into Quentin’s chest, completely shielded from view.

After finding out last time that Quentin had a woman here, Caleb had considered sending one over himself. But he had tried, and Quentin’s furious reaction had warned him against acting so rashly again.

’Judging by her clothes, is she a college student?’

’Does Quentin like them young?’

’I wonder if this is the same woman as before. If she is, what is it about her? What charm does she possess to make even Quentin, of all people, stray from his path?’

Beside him, Silas Blackwood let out a disdainful scoff. ’So much for being "a holy prodigy" who shuns the company of women. Isn’t he bringing one home right now?’

’Father praises Quentin to the heavens, but in my eyes, he’s no different from me.’