He won’t hit me.
Not now. Not after what we’d shared—even after I’d tried to push him away, we were still intrinsically linked. He’d proven that when he’d remained on my side in the solar.
Shit, this is too messed up.
Blinking away the residual sickness, I tried to change the subject. “Stop using my last name.”
He didn’t reply, his face unreadable.
Something shadowed his gaze. Was it regret or annoyance? I couldn’t tell. My heart lurched regardless. Sighing, I faced the true issue, hoping to grant him peace. “I’m sorry if I hurt you. I didn’t mean to.”
He let me go. “You thought I was going to hit you. Your fear…your loathing—you can’t hide the truth. One flinch and you proved what you thought of me. I’m a fucking idiot to believe there was anything more between us.”
Terror erupted in my stomach. Pushing him away was one thing. But having him push me away 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’s your initials 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 showerhead from 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.”
He shook his head, a few renegade droplets sliding down the locks of salt and pepper hair. His forearms were wide and powerful as he moved to cup my cheek. “It’s too late for that.”
“It’s never too late for the truth.”
Bowing his head, he pressed his forehead against mine. “You’re right. It’s never too late for the truth.”
The way he said it sent my soul scattering for the nearest exit. What is he hiding from me? “If you say I belong to you, then, by rights, your secrets belong to me. They’d be safe with me.”
He sucked in a breath, his eyes trained on my lips. “I know what you’re asking.”
“What am I asking?”
He smiled sadly. “You want to know why I am the way I am. You want to know where I disappear to when I need space and you want to know how to use my weakness for you against my family.”