Page 150 of Those Who Are Bound

Jonah

Jonahlevitatedoffthemattress about a foot when Elliott screamed.

Shescreamed, scaring the shit out of him. It happened when the alarm went off. He was so startled he wasn’t sure what to attend first.

Her; always her. He rolled toward her, trying not to laugh, his heart rate still at a high gallop. She snuggled into him, her complaint accompanied by crocodile tears. “Nooo! Too early.”

Groping behind him, he slammed off the alarm, then gathered her to him, which had her cooing in drowsy contentment. He whispered into her messy hair, “You need to wake up.”

Vigorous shake of her head. Adorable; she really wasn’t a morning person. “Yes. I’ll go make coffee.”

“Stay here and keep me warm,” she pouted and wiggled against him.

The gesture was tempting; she had no idea. He didn’t know if the shimmy of her naked body against his was enticement or if she was trying to settle back to sleep. His cock was sure it was an invitation. But they needed to be somewhere, and people were waiting for them. “We have plenty of mornings for that,” he assured her.

She stiffened in his embrace and tilted her head back to look up at him. He frowned down at her, wondering at the response. Was she mad that he was making her get up? He’d warned her that she would be, but he hadn’t been entirely serious about it. She didn’t look angry, though, simply…sad?

Dropping her gaze, she sighed. “Okay.”

He kissed her and echoed, “Okay.” But the look had been disquieting; it reminded him of her expression when he was loading up the bikes at Brush Creek. She’d been contemplative and sad. Like now.

Getting out of bed, he grabbed his clothes and dressed as he made his way down the darkened hallway. It’d been a later night than he’d planned—he’d intended to have dinner, shower, and go to sleep—but he underestimated them both.

He understood his need for her, especially after her attempt to break things off with him, but her need seemed just as urgent. As… frantic. There was a melancholy hanging around her.

He gritted his teeth in frustration. Maybe she was still hesitant about his occupation, concerned that he would change his mind aboutheror demand a devotion that she wasn’t going to give. He wouldn’t. His beliefs were his own, and it would be wrong of him to give her that type of ultimatum.

But she was waiting for it. Silently daring.

They were wading through murky waters, but at least they were still in the water together; she was hanging in there with him. He understood this was a new experience for her—a relationship—and he wanted to teach her that she could question him without it meaning they had to end.

He heard her sleepy shuffle down the hallway, and he smiled to himself. He’d have thought he’d be impatient with a woman who didn’t match his up-at-dawn energy, but he found her endlessly endearing. When she stumbled into view, rubbing an eye, her face scrunched in protest, his smile widened. It took all of his impulse control not to grab her up and carry her back into the bedroom.

And not so she could go back to sleep.

A fierce frown marring her brow, she made her way around the bar to him. He opened his arms, and she easily fit against him with another sound of protest.

This felt so good, so right, her burrowing into him. He kissed the top of her head. “The coffee’s ready.”

She, however, was not. She’d only donned another T-shirt.

“I don’t like mornings,” she mumbled against his neck.

“I know you don’t. I’m beginning to wonder how you managed in a military household.”

She made a noncommittal noise before answering, “I can get up. I just don’t like it. And these days, I would prefer to avoid it.” Another sleepy sigh escaped her, and she followed up with, as though it was an afterthought, “I found Gage in the morning.”

Jonah blinked, tightening his arms around her, wishing he could protect her from what had already happened. The photograph of her grief speared across his memory. “Elliott.”

Lifting her head, she looked around as though she’d just now blinked awake. “The coffee’s ready? Did you pour me a cup?”

“Elliott,” he prompted, trying to redirect her attention to him. It was a provocative statement to make to shut down afterward.

Pulling out of his embrace, she went to the cabinets and opened one, withdrawing two mugs. “How long is the ride down again?”

She knew how long it was; they’d discussed it. But he told her again. “Almost three hours.” He’d like to say he stared at her profile, but the hem of the shirt where it rose as she reached for the cups, giving him a glimpse of her round ass, is where he concentrated.

No underwear. Sweet Jesus, this woman was both a gift and a curse. He saw a future of continuous internal battles keeping himself out of her bed; out of her. Not following her home on Sunday had been something his cock had hated him for.

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