Ever since Cut had taken his last breath, Jethro had changed. Not significantly but enough to notice subtle evolutions. He held himself higher, not proud like the rightful heir to his fortune, but like a man no longer crippled with negativity and hatred seeping from the air.
He looked younger, wiser, calmer, gentler.
I smiled softly, lifting my hand in invitation. “I am now you’re here.”
His fingers slinked through mine, sending arcs of electricity into my heart. He squeezed, bending his elegant legs to sit beside me, dragging me back to the bench.
I sat willingly, melting into his side, inhaling his unique scent of woods and leather.
Hip to hip, thigh to thigh, our hearts beat to the same rhythm.
Sighing contentedly, I snuggled into him, kissing his throat as his arm wrapped around my shoulders, gluing me tighter against him. “What are you thinking about?”
I closed my eyes, letting the gentle warmth of late spring’s sunshine eradicate any leftover history. “You can’t tell?”
Jethro shook his head. “It’s scrambled. You’re sad but not. Happy but calm.” He pulled away, looking into my eyes. “You’re focusing on too much too fast.”
My lips twitched. “Ah, finally a way to fool you. I was beginning to think I’d never be able to keep a secret.”
His face darkened. “You promised there would be no need for secrets.” Anxiety stiffened his body. “Is everything…okay?” He waved at the room. “Did you come here for a reason? Do you still hate me for that day? For hurting you so much?” His voice lowered with regret. “Fuck, Nila. I’d give anything to rewind the clock and—”
“Shush.” I cupped my hand over his mouth. His five o’clock shadow rasped beneath my palm. “Everything is fine. I’m just…sitting still. If that makes sense. I’m letting my thoughts wander without thinking, finding ends to things that need to be finished.”
Imprisoning my wrist with his fingers, he tugged my hand away from his mouth. “That makes perfect sense.”
His fingers drew lazy circles on my inner wrist, sending delicious shivers over my skin. Looking at the blooming flowers and exotic breeds, he fell silent.
For a while, we didn’t say anything, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Every breath I took scattered rainbow-diamonds over our laps. My Weaver Wailer—or should I say Hawk Redeemer—was the last piece, the final symbol that the past few months weren’t a nightmare but real.
And I’d survived them.
Even if there was a way to get it off, I didn’t want to. I’d grown accustomed to the weight. I wore its fracturing rainbows with pride, and I liked the thought of the diamonds being my friend instead of my enemy, gracing my body until I took my last inhale.
Jethro kissed the top of my head. “I have something for you.”
“Oh?” I pulled away, looking into his gorgeous face. “Do I need to be worried?” My thoughts filled with teasing. We’d all been so serious; it was time to play again. My lips spread as I asked, “Is it time for another de—”
“If you ask me if it’s another debt, I’ll put you over my knee right here and spank you.” His voice flirted with gruff and sexy.
My eyes flittered to the post, a coy smirk widening. “You know you could spank me on the pole and replace the First Debt with a better ending.”
His throat contracted as he swallowed. “What better ending?” His eyes flashed dark. “If I remember rightly, I almost raped you after that debt. I felt sick to my fucking stomach for ever thinking that way, let alone being turned on by hurting you.”
He looked away, shaking his head in disgust. “I don’t understand how I got off on that. How I could ignore your pain and find anything remotely erotic about it.” He curled his lips. “You called me a sadist, remember? I refuted it, but once I’d finished tending to your back, I wondered if you were right. How could someone like me—someone who’s gone his entire life absorbing other’s thoughts—suddenly be turned on by another’s agony?”
My heart fluttered. I hadn’t given it much thought. But the more I studied Jethro’s abhorrent self-confession, the more an answer unfurled inside my mind.
He felt what others did. He had no choice. And yet he’d still been under the influence of Cut’s conditioning just enough to block out avalanches of sensation.
Would it make sense he’d picked up select thoughts? Drank in my desire for him, my aching, burning need when he’d taunted me with history and barely-given kisses?
I looked at my fingers, twining together in my lap. “I think I know why.”
His eyes shot to me, his eyebrows raised with questions. “Know what?”
“Why you were turned on that day.”
He tensed. “It was a sick thing to do. Out of everything I did to you, masturbating on your back still fills me with shame. I wish I could take it back.”