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“Where did you cut yourself?” His eyes snag mine, inscrutable. He looks like a fallen angel, but he smells like a man—sweat and faint hints of bodywash.
I hold my arm out, and he frowns. The jagged cut is an angry purple from the bruising.
“It looks worse than it feels.” My voice comes out breathy. Get it together, Cal.
The brush of his thumb over my pulse makes me shiver. He tears open an antiseptic wipe.
“This will hurt.”
He presses the wipe to my skin, and the sting makes me hiss a breath.
He smiles faintly. “Told you.”
“Shut up,” I mutter. “You’re enjoying this.”
He bandages the cut with steady hands, and I inhale deep lungfuls of his scent. I want to shut my eyes and press my face into his chest. I want to grab him by the neck and shake him for getting me into this mess.
“Why?” I whisper.
His head jerks up. For one delirious, awful moment, I want to press my lips to his. The rush of desire makes my stomach lurch.
“Because I take care of what’s mine.” His voice is low, a little rough.
“And I’m yours.” I hate it, but his words still send a tendril of warmth through me. I’ve never belonged to anyone. The thought of belonging is seductive. It’s a single grain of sugar. Delicious, bad for me, and not enough to satisfy. I search his face. I can’t figure you out, Jonah Crown.
He pulls my arm into him, forcing me off the bench as he rises to his feet. “For six more months, you are. And I don’t want any accidental injuries. We wouldn’t want to impair your usefulness. The only one who gets to torment you—” He leans in, until his breath ghosts over my face. I can see the tiny lines around his eyes. “Is me.”
I suck in a breath at his words, but he doesn’t give me time to react.
“Now pick up that towel and grab the water. It’s leg day.”
I spend the next hour standing next to him while he lifts weights. I shift from foot to foot, sneaking surreptitious glances at his biceps as they flex, at his shoulders as they tense and release, at his abs as he does some sort of insane pull-up with a weight hanging from his waist.
“Why do you work out so much?” I ask, when he finally drops the floor.
“Do you not?” He eyes me as he pants. His haughtiness is still there, through the harsh gusts of his breath, but it’s tempered by his exhaustion.
“Oh, come on. Does it look like I work out?” His jaw tightens as he comes up with a response. “Don’t answer that, actually,” I say quickly. I don’t want to hear whatever rude thing he was about to say.
“I work out because I was scrawny once. Weaker than my peers. My inferiors. And now I’m not.” He shrugs, but his eyes are shadowed. “Simple as that. You should try it sometime.”
“I can’t imagine you that way.” It’s hard to picture him as anything other than dominating, filling every room with his presence, always having the last word.
“Believe it,” he grunts, before he heaves himself up on the bar for a second set. “I’ll never go back to that. I’d rather wake up at four a.m. every day than go back to feeling inferior. Regular.” His arms flex obscenely. I quickly look away, and when he finally finishes the workout, I feel like I’ve been lifting weights right alongside him. I’m damp under my shirt and too warm.
I lock myself in one of the changing rooms and call Luz. She’s on shift at seven a.m., so she’ll be awake and walking to work.
“Hey girl. It’s early. What’s up?” I can hear cars in the distance, so she’s definitely walking.
“Luz, help,” I whisper urgently.
“Why are you whispering?”
“I’m hiding from my boss. Jonah.”
“I know who your boss is.” There’s a laugh in her voice.
“I need backup. He hates me and this is worse than I thought.”
