In some horrible way, I felt as if I’d consumed a part of him—giving him power over me.
That’s not possible. He didn’t give you that willingly.
I’d taken pleasure from him. I’d forced him to give into me, even though his intention all along was to make me repay.
I couldn’t stop my small smile this time.
Jethro muttered, “Smugness is not becoming on you, Ms. Weaver.”
I shot back, “No, but vulnerability is such a fetching result on you, Mr. Hawk.”
His eyes narrowed. In a whiplash, he grabbed my waist and hurled me up over his head. “Get on the fucking horse, before I lose my temper.”
Not being given a choice, I grabbed the pommel and swung my leg over the saddle. The horse was a solid mass between my legs, the polished smoothness of the saddle sticking to my bare knees.
Jethro grabbed the reins, placed his foot in the stirrup, and swung up behind me. His hard body wedged against mine.
There wasn’t enough room for both of us, but that didn’t seem to matter. Digging his heels into the poor creature, we shot forward as his right arm lassoed around my waist, pressing me tight against his chest.
The night silence became awash with dogs and thundering hooves as he carted me back toward the torturous existence at Hawksridge Hall.
* * * * *
Morning.
The sun shone through the lead light windows, highlighting the embossed leather walls and maroon brocade of my four-poster bed.
All around me rested stuffed birds. Swans and swallows. Finches and thrushes. I knew Jethro had chosen this room for me because of the beautiful creatures all shot, murdered, and stuffed by fellow man. I knew because he’d told me.
He also told me I slept in the bed my mother had and her ancestors before her. All carefully designed to tear away my strength and send me hurtling back to the woman I’d been when we first met.
Pity for him, I had no intention of ever being that woman again.
It was early. The sunshine was still new and tentatively shooing away the night. I’d slept—deep and dreamless and awoken full of energy. A night alone. A night warm and unmolested.
There was something to be said for finding solace in one’s company.
Shoving back the covers, I dashed to my suitcase that rested in the corner of the room. The bellhops of the Black Diamonds had been kind enough to deliver my belongings, including the maxi dress and jacket Jethro had confiscated from me in favour of the ridiculous maid’s uniform I wore to serve the brotherhood’s lunch.
I shivered, shoving away the memory of men and tongues.
Falling to my knees, I searched in the jacket pocket until my fingers found what I was after.
My phone.
I quickly located my charger in my suitcase and took both back to bed. Plugging the charger in, I allowed the wonder of electricity to grant new life to the dead machine.
As I waited for the phone to reboot, I smiled at the minor accomplishment I’d achieved last night.
The moment we’d arrived back at Hawksridge, Jethro had marched me to my room and thrown me inside.
Not a single word or lingering look.
The lock clicked into place, and he left me to shower in peace—to dress in a comfortable, baggy t-shirt and curl up beneath fine Egyptian cotton.
The time alone, coupled with the knowledge I’d stolen something from him in the forest, allowed me to relax for a few welcome hours.
Holding my phone—the link to the outside world—filled me with yet more strength. It was the key to finding a balance in this strange existence. My past wasn’t gone, just hidden.
