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He smirks. “She was challenging me. That’s what a good friend does.”
I level him with a look.
“Tell me Diana wouldn’t have a few harsh words about me if she was worried about you.”
I can’t tell him that because Diana would shred Jonah’s character if she thought I was sacrificing my happiness for him. “But Diana isn’t also in love with me.”
He sighs, but he doesn’t deny it this time. “What else did you hear?” He’s fishing for vital information. Mainly, do I kno
w about the botched proposal?
I’ve never been able to lie successfully to Jonah. “What else should I have heard?” I ask instead.
His jaw tenses as his gaze roams my face, as if he’s deciding whether to take the plunge and admit his true intentions in yesterday’s trip. “How much I love you, and that we don’t need to rush anything.”
What does “anything” mean?
Babies, I assume.
But is he pulling back the reins on the idea of marriage, too?
I hesitate. “Please tell me we’re okay, because I feel like we’re not okay—”
“We’re okay, Calla. I promise,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead, his voice turning gruff. “We’re more than okay. I’m sorry if I let you think we weren’t.”
“I was so scared,” I admit in a whisper, my fingers clawing at his waist, gripping him tightly.
“I’m sorry.” Clutching the back of my head, he leans in to kiss my lips, stroking his tongue against mine in a deep, tantalizing way he normally reserves for the bedroom, when our clothes are off and our bodies are tangled.
A soft moan escapes my throat, unbidden.
“Sam won’t be here for a bit,” he whispers between ragged breaths, one hand fisting my hair, the other moving down to grip my backside and pull me flush against his arousal. “You want to go back to the house and get in the shower?”
My cramps have temporarily vanished, the promise of feeling Jonah’s body within mine an antidote for any discomfort. Yet the idea of trekking all the way home seems anticlimactic, and I feel the overwhelming desire to please him. I catch his bottom lip between my teeth in a teasing nip. “I can’t wait that long.” My hands slip under his sweater. His stomach muscles tense beneath my cool fingers as I unfasten his belt and zipper and slide my hand past the elastic band of his boxer briefs to grip him firmly.
“That’s fine with me,” he rasps. “You’ve just always wanted to do it in the—” His words die as I drop to my knees before him, tugging his jeans and boxers down his powerful thighs along the way.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his blue eyes flaring with heat as he watches me take him in my mouth. Plaiting his fingers through my long hair, he settles back against the door frame with a guttural moan, his appreciative gaze wandering between me and the vast wild vista surrounding us.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Wow. She wasn’t kidding,” I say as we pull up to the Ale House. The parking lot is filled with vehicles—mud-splattered pickups, ATVs, the odd shiny sedan. More have found space on the grass behind.
Jonah groans as he slows to search for a vacant spot. “Do we have to do this?”
“You think dealing with Muriel isn’t exhausting for me?” Though, she has only been by twice in the past week to make sure I haven’t ditched my daily garden duties. Oddly enough, I’ve found myself out there every morning without her prodding, curious about what new growth I might find. It’s early days, but tiny stems with two leaves are cropping up where I sowed beet seeds. Today I compared the tomato plants to pictures I took on the day we planted them, to see that they’re noticeably taller, thanks to the long Alaskan days.
“She said this place’ll be full of fishermen and hunters, and people who rent their cabins out to tourists who want to go sightseeing. We need to meet people if we want to drum up more local business, right?”
“Weren’t you complaining I was gone too much?” He backs the truck into a spot on the grass in between two others.
“Actually, I was complaining that you spend too much time playing with your planes in the hangar.” I do my best to not complain about the hours he puts in for work. “Since when did you become so antisocial?”
“Seriously, Calla?” His blue eyes sparkle with humor. “I’ve always been this antisocial.” He nods toward the front door where two burly men in black jackets and camo hats step out, reaching for cigarette packs, one of them studying the unlit string of colorful lights as they chatter. The sun is high at seven p.m. It’ll set after eleven tonight, leaving the sky dusky until it rises again at four thirty, a reality I’m no more accustomed to now than I was last summer, staying at my father’s house. “This isn’t my scene.”
A middle-aged couple wearing matching plaid jackets hurry across the lot as if late for something. In the woman’s grasp is a Crock-Pot. “Uh … Just so we’re clear, this is not my scene, either. But I need a night out to talk to someone besides you, a goat, and a raccoon, so suck it up. For me, please.”
“Fine,” Jonah grumbles, but he leans in to press his lips against mine. “You look good tonight, by the way.”
