The Simple Wild (Wild 1)

The curtain draws open behind me and Jonah steps in. Despite my dour mood, the sight of him naked stirs my blood instantly.

“Okay, fine.” I make to climb out.

He grabs hold of my shoulders, keeping me in place, his thumbs sliding over my slick skin, back and forth a few times, soothingly. And then his long, muscular arms are roping around my body and he’s pulling me backward against him.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, bowing down to nestle his face in the crook of my neck, his beard tickling my skin. “I wanted to tell you, but I also didn’t. Don’t hate me.”

I let my head tilt into his. “I don’t hate you.” Far from it. I don’t even think I’m angry at Jonah. I’m angry with my father, for the path he’s chosen. With life, for how unfair it can be.

But Jonah . . .

Reaching up, I let my nails skate over his biceps a few times before gripping his arms tightly, returning the embrace. “I’m glad you’re here,” I whisper. I can’t imagine facing this without him.

He folds in closer, tighter, until I’m cocooned within him, the hard press of his collarbone all the way to his thighs conforming to my body. I can feel him growing hard against my back, and yet he doesn’t make a move to try to satisfy that need.

I think he’s too busy satisfying another.

We simply stand there, holding each other until the water turns cold.

“This is so much easier when you’re conscious and sitting upright,” I murmur, slowly drawing the comb through Jonah’s beard, feeling his blue eyes intently studying my mouth.

“And I’ve actually consented to it.”

And I’m straddling your lap.

“Shhh. Don’t move,” I scold, frowning as my gaze shifts from side to side examining his jaw, making sure I’ve trimmed it evenly.

“How bad were your hands shaking that night?”

“I was fine while I was doing it. I was totally calm and in ­control.”

“And after?”

“Petrified. My dad said I was twitchy.”

Jonah’s head falls back into the couch as he laughs. It’s such a deep, beautiful sound and I’m momentarily lulled by it, admiring his thick throat, imagining my mouth pressed against it.

“You weren’t, seriously, were you?”

“I was scared that I’d gone too far, and you were going to hate me again,” I admit.

“What? I never hated you, Calla.”

I give him a high-browed knowing look.

“No. Even when I was annoyed as hell and chewing you out at Meyer’s that day, half of me wanted to see what you’d do if I just went ahead and kissed you.”

“Really?” I smooth my palm along his jawline, appreciating the perfection. What would I have done? Probably freaked out. He was just the angry yeti back then. He made me angry. And yet now that I’m getting to know Jonah, I don’t know how I ever wasn’t attracted to him, horrendous bushy beard and all.

His eyes twinkle as if he can read my thoughts.

I toss the scissors and comb to the coffee table, satisfied. “There. I’ve fixed you up, as requested. I knew you were secretly vain.”

“Did being your plaything for a bit make you happy?”

“Maybe,” I admit wryly.

“Good. Figured we could both use a distraction.”