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Despite my attempts to regulate my breathing, it’s chopped off and I’m straight out panting as if I’ve just returned from a hike.
“What was that stunt all about, Aurora?”
“I want to go out,” I blurt.
“Go out where?”
“I want to go to visit Layla.”
“At three in the morning dressed like that?”
I stare down at myself and realise I’m only wearing a thin nightgown that outlines my breasts and stops above my knees. I hadn’t thought about that earlier, but now, I’m starting to feel self-conscious. It takes all I have to speak in a semi-neutral tone, “She’s a night owl. She wouldn’t mind.”
“Try again.”
“Just let me go, Jonathan!”
“That’s not how it works. You live here, and that includes abiding by my rules. That means, no jumping from the second fucking floor when you’re injured. In fact, even if you aren’t. That nonsense won’t happen again.”
The anger in his tone lands on my skin like whips. It’s even more painful than his clutch on my jaw.
He releases me and I suck in big gulps of air. It doesn’t last long as he pulls the first aid kit and undoes my palm bandages. I wince when the bloodied cloth is ripped off my skin. Despite his lethal expression, he’s not harsh about it, but the flesh is cut deeper than I anticipated.
“Were you even fucking thinking?” He examines my palms with disapproval as he soaks them with the disinfectant.
The sting makes me sink my teeth into the cushion of my bottom lip and I inhale through my nose until they’re finally clean. There are a few cuts positioned both diagonally and horizontally.
Jonathan wraps new bandages around the wounds and I stare at him from beneath my lashes, my body tightening for the next fight-or-flight mode.
I’ve had too many rushes of adrenaline for one day. I feel like I’m going to collapse from the force of them.
But it’s not like I can order my body to shut down. Survival has always been my natural gift.
After he’s finished with my palms, he checks my knee. Seeming satisfied with the bandage, he leaves it alone and pushes the box away. However, he remains looming over me like a threat, his brows still drawn together, and his expression is that of destruction.
It’s like when I first re-met him. When I didn’t trust him. Why the hell did I think I could trust him?
“What’s going on, Aurora?”
“Nothing.”
“You want to tell me you escaped to fucking Yorkshire, got attacked, pushed me away, then jumped by a rope made from sheets for nothing?”
Not finding anything to say, I purse my lips.
“I thought so,” he continues, his closeness doing shit to me I’m not supposed to feel right now. Why the hell do I keep inhaling him in?
And why on earth do I want to erase those scratch marks on his neck? He deserved them.
Right?
He grabs my jaw, nearly swallowing it in the palm of his hand. “Here’s how it’ll go, Aurora. You’ll tell me the truth, and I’ll decide how to deal with you afterwards.”
I clamp my mouth shut.
“Last chance.” His fingers dig into my cheeks. “You won’t like how I’ll react if you keep this tantrum up.”
“The only truth you need to know is that I hate you.”
