Terror erupted in my stomach. Pushinghimaway was one thing. But having him pushmeaway was entirely another.
Wait...fear and loathing?
He spoke as if he felt what I did. There was no way he could correctly feel my horror at what’d happened.
Glaring, I said, “What was I supposed to think? You raised your hand and expect me not to protect myself? You’ve told me time and time again to fear you.” I should stop, but I couldn’t contain the fire inside. “You should be happy you got your wish.”
Jethro’s jaw clenched. He stood so still, so regal, completely oblivious to the spurting showerhead by his feet. “I’m not happy with any of this, least of all you trying to provoke me.”
“I’m not trying to provoke you.”
He snorted. “Now who’s the liar, Ms. Weaver? First you lie about the reasons why you slept with me, and now this.” His lips twisted. “I’m beginning to think you are as lost as—”
His eyes flared, cutting himself off.
The words dangled between us. I throbbed to speak them. To see his reaction.
...as lost as me...
I was defiant and righteous, but I wasn’t cruel. Holding my tongue, I let the moment pass.
Jethro visibly shuddered, holding up his finger. My eyes fell to his perfectly formed digit and my core clenched thinking of him pushing it inside me and granting me a release.
He sighed. “I came here, not to watch you pleasure yourself or to summon you to get ready, but because I wanted to show you something.”
My attention flickered between his raised finger and his glowing eyes. “Show me what?”
He sighed. “It’syourinitials that I bear. Your mark. Your brand. I may be born a Hawk, but I’ve been captured by a Weaver.”
My heart exploded.
Jethro leaned closer, pressing his mouth against my damp ear. “You sewed a cage. You somehow managed to fabricate a web that I only seem to fall deeper into. And this mark is proof of that.”
My chest rose and fell. Was this a proclamation of his feelings for me? It was too strange, too forward for Jethro.
Slowly, I wrapped my fingers around his raised one, running my thumb over the tattoo. “Proof of what?”
Jethro closed his eyes briefly before murmuring, “Proof that no matter what happened on the moor, and no matter the grief you feel at my family’s treatment of you, we are in this together.”
Breaking my hold on him, he bent and gathered the showerheadfrom the floor. His hair tickled my lower belly, his mouth so close to my core. Standing straight, Jethro placed the showerhead back in its cradle and together we stood under a stream of droplets, drenching both of us and thawing out my frozen muscles.
Without a word, he reached for the tap and turned the water off.
Silence.
We didn’t move, dripping wet in a billow of steam. I was naked while Jethro’s powerful form beckoned me closer. His clothes clung to his body in ways that were utterly illegal. His cock was rock hard, his stomach etching his t-shirt with ridges and valleys of muscle.
I swallowed as my need to come bombarded me.
My eyes drifted down his front to the hard length in his jodhpurs. “You can’t keep playing games, Jethro.”
He ran a hand through his damp hair. “Where is the game or joke in any of this?”
“There isn’t any.”
“No, there isn’t.” Grabbing my hand, he pressed his fingertip against my own newly inked one. “This isn’t a game—not anymore. The debts bind us together as long as we’re alive. You’re mine and I told you before not to throw away that gift before knowing what it means.”
My heartbeat lived in my blood, stealing strength from my knees, making me wobbly. “I don’t want to belong to you.”
