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His finger stalls a moment. “Fainted?”
“Yes. We have a fainting goat. It was funny, actually, once I knew Oscar wasn’t going to kill him.”
Jonah sighs. “See … I would have loved seeing a video of Zeke fainting. You know, when I checked my girlfriend’s Instagram account during my break today.” His fingertip continues past my tailbone. I grit my teeth against the urge to react, which is what he wants. “But instead of seeing a video of that—” The mattress shifts as Jonah moves in to hover over me, his thighs straddling my hips, his hands settling on either side of my pillow, his mouth grazing my shoulder. The slightest nip of teeth catches my skin. “I found out she posted another naked picture of me.”
“You weren’t naked!” Well, technically he was. “You can’t see anything!”
“And tagged our company’s profile in it.”
I can’t keep my laughter at bay anymore as I turn my head to meet his eyes. “It’s great marketing.”
“Is it really? Because I’ve got an in-box full of private messages from both women and men who are not interested in booking a flight with me.”
“But they’re definitely looking for a ride.” I’ve seen some of those messages. They’re equal parts appalling and hilarious.
Jonah’s lip twitches. He’s struggling to hide his smile. “You know, for someone who was three seconds away from dumping chili on a woman last month for touching my thigh, I’m surprised you find this so funny.”
“I trust you.” I also block every one of those accounts.
“Good to know.” The roguish look that flashes across his face makes my stomach flip. He shifts, and I feel hot breath kissing my spine, followed by the lightest stroke of his tongue.
I swallow my nerves. “What are you about to do?”
His deep chuckle carries through our bedroom as his looming body begins to shift downward, his hands seizing my hips.
“Jonah!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Whose dog is that?” I holler into our empty bedroom. The incessant barking woke me ten minutes ago—at first an irritating sound that didn’t quite register in the fog of sleep. But it hasn’t relented, interspersed with howls that have me kicking my covers off my legs in frustration.
“Jonah?” I call out, a moment before I remember his lips grazing mine an hour ago, and then whispering that Sam had called him in to work.
With that memory comes a hollow feeling. I reach for the pillow next to mine, my fingers crawling over the soft, white cotton. It’s dented from where Jonah’s head rested but it’s cool to the touch. When was the last time I woke to find him asleep in our bed? I can’t recall. These days, he’s either already in the air by the time I get out of bed or getting ready to fly off.
I find myself yearning for the long winter days again, when we lay tangled in the sheets for hours, planning our future, with no rush to be anywhere.
A woeful howl sounds from outside.
With a huff of annoyance, I throw on clothes and head downstairs.
Oscar is standing at our side door. His tail wags as if we’re old friends.
“What are you doing out here?”
He lets out a bark—more high-pitched than anything I’ve heard from him before. He then takes several limping steps, stopping to turn back and bark at me again, as if beckoning me toward the back of the house where our animal pen and the garden are situated.
An odd sense of foreboding fills me, that something happened to Zeke. Did Jonah forget to secure the clasp? Did Zeke get out?
Am I about to find a bloody goat carcass in my backyard?
I peer down the driveway, hoping in vain that perhaps Jonah hasn’t left yet, but Veronica is long gone.
Oscar barks.
“Okay, okay. Hold on!” I say, though the dog can’t possibly understand me.
The window in our laundry room overlooks the animal pen. I go to check it and sag against the wall with relief when I spot Zeke pacing the orchard hay Jonah left him this morning, too agitated by Oscar to eat. Bandit’s curious triangular face pokes out from the chicken coop window.
