Quintessa''s lips curled into a yful smile, and her eyes twinkled with mischief as she said coolly,


    "Looking for an opportunity? Sure, why not."


    In the next instant, Tyrone''s hand swiftly snaked under the hem of Quintessa''s blouse, his fingers


    tracing the contours of her waist.


    Just as Tyrone was about to speak, Quintessa ced a finger on his lips; her gaze was sultry as she


    whispered with a raspy seduction, "You''ve got ten minutes. Quick and decisive, don''t hold up my


    shooting schedule."


    Tyrone, initially brimming with enthusiasm, instantly scowled; his mood turned as dark as the bottom of


    a burnt pan. Through clenched teeth, he retorted, "Ten minutes? Might as well give me one second."


    With her finger slowly outlining Tyrone''s lips, Quintessa teased, "After all, it''s been three years since


    you''ve had the chance. You''re not getting any younger. Perhaps you''ve joined the one-second club by


    now? Ten minutes is generous, really. But it''s your call-take it or leave it."


    Tyrone gave her a chilling look, his eyes concealing a dangerous edge, "ying games with me?"


    Wrapping her arms around his neck and tilting her head, Quintessa feigned innocence, "Not at all. I''m


    beingpletely serious. If you can''t handle it, no pressure. I won''tugh at you. Just don''t interfere


    with my work, okay?"


    Tyrone pinched her waist and bit down hard on her lip; his intensity almost drew blood immediately.


    The vibrant red of her now fuller lips seemed all the more enticing, which was a wicked temptation to


    him. He licked the wound with the tip of his tongue, and said with an icy voice, "Interfere with your


    work? I am the investor of this film. You belong to me. If I take you right here, let''s see who dares to


    object. I''ll show you how many ''seconds'' I''ve got."


    Quintessa was unfazed by the pain; her blood-stained lips resembled dew-kissed roses in the morning


    light, exuding an irresistible allure.


    Leaning back, she challenged, "Fine, since you put it that way, let''s get on with it. What are you waiting


    for? I''ve never really had much say in the presence of Mr. York, have I? Whenever you feel like ying,


    I''m at your disposal."


    Inside Tyrone, a proud and domineering streak of him refused to be subdued. A man like him was born


    to stand above the rest. The fact that he had entertained her this long was nothing short of a miracle.


    Yet, hearing his words, Quintessa couldn''t help but sneer internally. She was waiting for the day when


    Tyrone would fall hard for her.


    Waiting for the day she could crush him under her heel.


    Tyrone''s face, which was stunning and coldly beautiful, remained unbothered. "Your provocations have


    grown old; they won''t work this time, Quintessa. Let me tell you, if I hear one more rumor about you


    and Snow, I''ll show you who your man really is."


    Quintessaughed mockingly, "Quite the choice of location, a makeup room on set. No need for a hotel


    room, no room fees to pay. Talk about being thrifty."


    Unashamed, Tyrone retorted, "I''m broke, darling. You couldn''t even give me enough change to buy a


    bun, let alone a hotel room."


    Tyrone was determined to have Quintessa today. He was immune to her sarcastic jibes, and numb to


    any blow to his masculine pride. What mattered was having her in the end, and everything else was


    pointless chatter.


    He truly regretted wasting so much time chasing after Quintessa and ying her games.


    Bowing his head, Tyrone pressed his lips to the exposed curve of Quintessa''s corbone, leaving a trail


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