Page 212 of Those Who Are Bound

“That’s misogyny. That’s patriarchy. A matter of mere weeks, and it’s notmethat’s the concern. One day, I’m seventeen: no go. The next day, I’m eighteen, and it’s a beautiful thing. Because themanno longer has the consequence. Nothing would have changed for me. Because I’m a woman, you don’t want to think that I would have had the power to seduce him. But I did. At seventeen, I would have, but I didn’t have the opportunity.”

“He should have stopped you regardless.”

Elliott challenged, giving him a sultry look. “Would you have?”

“Absolutely!”

“You’ve seen me naked.” A thrill ran through her when he examined her body with heat and longing. “Could you have walked away?”

Looking back at her, he paused. Then he breathed out, “God, I hope so.”

At the invocation of his deity, Elliott raised an eyebrow and sat back in her chair. “Here’s the thing. You don’t get to blame him.” She held up a hand when he looked ready to argue. “You don’t get to blame him any more than you blame me. To do otherwise would be to take away my power in that situation. And I do not consent to you doing that to me. Besides, I was of age. Becks would have thrown my ass out, too.”

Jonah blinked at her.

“It’s my body. How dare you put your man’s judgment—or your god’s—on how I should use it. But what should I expect from a man who holds the guidebook of misogyny?” A tad hypocritical, considering she wasn’t telling him the full truth of how she’d used her body.

“Low blow, and a convenient one. But I’m not judging you.”

“Too late. It’s done.” She looked around the place, at the normal people having their meals, living their normal midwestern lives.

“Damn it, Elliott. Don’t drag religion into the conversation now.”

“But it colors everything for you. The way you think, live your life—judge.”

Russ appeared with the pizza and set it between them. “The usual.” He’d obviously picked up on the tension, looking between the two of them. Elliot merely smiled back.

“If you need anything else, just holler.” He shot Jonah a sympathetic look and walked away.

Elliott resumed, “How can I trust it’s me you want? I’m afraid you see someone you think is broken and you want to swoop in and fix her, be her hero—save her. It’s a compulsion for you, for what you do—saving people. I don’t want that; I don’t want to be seen like that.”

“A compulsion for me. What I do,” he parroted. “Let me lay this out for you, because you haven’t been paying attention.”

Elliott lifted a slice of pizza as she side-eyed him.

Gripping her barstool, he ripped it around so she was facing him. She jumped, along with her pulse; she loved forceful Jonah. Feigning an air of nonchalance, she took a bite.

“The woman I see, the one I want, is the woman who gave me the evil eye when she thought I was hitting on her in front of my girlfriend. I don’t want to fix anything except whatever it is that has you pushing back, denying us what webothwant.” Jonah leaned over, capturing her undivided attention, as he growled, “You’re stunning to look at; the feel of you while I’m sliding into you is nirvana. I’m enchanted when you fall down a hill or out of a canoe and laugh; I’m enamored when you become irritated with litterbugs; and I’m addicted to your determination to take on any challenge. That’s just within a few weeks of knowing you, kitten. Imagine what I’ll become addicted to with more time.”

Elliott stared back at him, stunned, her pizza flopping between them ridiculouslyas her mouth gaped. Holy hell fire, every part of her combusted. It was a wonder she wasn’t sliding off her seat.

He glanced down at her food. “Finish your pizza.” And he sat up, turning away and resting his elbows on the bar, drinking his beer.

Dumbly, she stuck the pizza in her mouth and chewed, staring at his profile. Her irritating heart was slamming against her ribs, trying desperately to get her attention so it could argue with her to stop her battle.

Setting his beer down, he said quietly to the curved and polished wood of the bar top, “You’d told me about your worst day.”

Elliott watched him. She was incapable of words at this point.

Ducking his head to look back at her, he said, “I never told you mine. But I have a new one. My worst day? That night I walked out. That was my worst fucking night, Elliott. That’s when I knew I’d lost you.”

She saw and felt the impotent possession in his look as he stared at her. He wanted to claim her even now but knew he couldn’t. It hurt him still; of course, it did. Her being around him—it hurt them both.

“I care about you; that won’t ever change. That doesn’t do anything to make you feel better, I know.” She slid off the barstool. He automatically wrapped an arm around her as she leaned against him. Caressing his cheek, she asked gently, “Do you believe in evil? You sort of have to, right? That’s your gig.”

He pulled her in tighter, frowning at her. “My gig?”

“The god gig—good, evil, all of that,” she said. She brushed her thumb over his lips, which he nipped at, causing a pulse between her legs.

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