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Still not finding my voice, I nod.
“You don’t look okay.” The stroking stops, and I groan before I can catch myself.
Jonathan is sitting on my bed, his large body looming over my small one, both like a comfort and a threat. The mixed signals give me whiplash, but I don’t get to think about it as he retrieves a small first aid kit from the bedside table.
He touches his finger to my mouth and I wince as his skin connects with my cut. “I covered the scrapes on your knee and palms. I was going to apply ointment on your lip when you woke up.”
Sure enough, my palms have small bandages on them. Since the covers are pulled up to my neck, I take a peek under them. The first thing I notice, along with the bandage on my knee, is that I’m dressed in a nightgown.
“Did you…did you dress me?” My voice is a bit hoarse, a bit weak, but it’s nothing I wouldn’t have expected.
“Who else would have?” His expression is unchangeable as he applies the ointment on a cotton bud. “It’s not anything I haven’t seen before.”
I clamp my lips shut before I start arguing that I was unconscious, and I hate that I wasn’t awake to watch how he stripped me.
Damn it. There’s definitely something wrong with me.
Jonathan glides the ointment on my cut lip and I grimace at the sting of pain. Yet I stay completely still, afraid that any unwanted movement would ruin this moment.
Seeing Jonathan’s gentle side always strikes me deep. It’s like witnessing a passing unicorn and I need to soak it in. Maybe next time, I can film it and watch it secretly or something.
After he’s done, he traces his fingertips beneath the cut, so he’s almost touching my lips, but not really. I suck in a breath as goosebumps start a war on my skin, beneath the covers and under my clothes.
He retracts his hand faster than I want and organises the ointment and cotton back into the first aid kit. The sensation is weird. Not being touched by him, I mean.
Not that I’ve ever gotten used to being touched, but since he barged into my world, I’ve started to take it as a given. It feels weird that he’s beside me, his woodsy, spicy masculine scent enveloping me, but he’s not touching me.
I want to grab his hand and place it on my face again, or go back to sleep with that same hand around my waist.
However, there’s something at the back of my head that stops me. No idea what — it seems as if I’m missing something.
But what?
“Now.” He lifts his head, his merciless gaze zeroing in on me and holding me like a vice. “Tell me why the fuck you returned to Leeds.”
My lips tremble as the memories strike me in the hollow place of my heart.
The interview. Sarah’s attack. Alicia’s message…
My eyes widen as I stare at Jonathan with what I’m sure appears to be a horrified expression.
Jonathan has been poisoning me, Claire.
I jump up to a sitting position, and my shoulders hit the headboard as I draw my knees up and pull the sheet to my neck. I’m about ready to do anything to put some distance between me and him.
Oh, God.
That’s why I left. That’s why I shouldn’t have been found. Even the attack pales in comparison to the man sitting on my bed. The man whom I willingly gave my body to and was in the process of giving more than that. I fucking bargained for inserting myself into his armour.
At least the attack was straightforward. The black shadow was someone who felt wronged by my father and took it out on me.
This, though?
This man was giving me safety signals, and no matter how fucked up and wrong it felt, I started to believe in Jonathan King. I even started to believe that I could somehow unlock his emotional vault.
How naïve could I have been?
He killed my sister.
