Chapter 3

I yanked my wrist free. "What are you doing?"

"Just trying to help a friend," Jonah replied.

I let out a short, bitter laugh. "Help me or sleep with me? I turned you down once, so now you want revenge?"

"Revenge? Is that really what you think of me?" The usual lazy amusement faded from his eyes.

"What else?" I snapped. A blast of cold wind hit my stomach, instantly doubling me over with a violent wave of retching.

Pain churned through my chest and gut. By the time it passed, I was so weak I could barely stand.

Jonah's hand was steady on my back, the other quickly procuring tissues for my mouth. He paid no mind to the bile that had splashed his pants and shoes.

Crouching on the ground, I burst into tears. "Why me? Why does everyone get to hurt me? None of you are up to any good…"

"Maeve," he said softly, his hand moving in slow circles along my back. "No one's trying to hurt you. I never wanted to. I just got back to Cealdan and heard what happened between you two. I couldn't stop worrying.

"I saw you leave the Shaw residence tonight and followed you. I just wanted to make sure you weren't hurting yourself while upset. That's all. If you don't want to see me, I can call one of your friends to pick you up…"

I curtly replied, "I don't have friends. Not anymore since my family fell apart."

Jonah was silent for a long moment. Then, he asked, "Should I call Rylan to pick you up?"

"We're divorced. I signed the papers and walked out with nothing," I said.

Swaying a little as I stood, I gave a small, hollow laugh and continued, "He's right, though. I spent plenty of his money over the past three years. We're even now."

"Do you still love him?" Jonah asked.

I froze, then shook my head. "No. Not anymore. I'm not that pathetic, Jonah."

"In that case, would you try loving me instead?"

My head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Don't you hate me?"

Back then, when I rejected him, I'd been young and cruel with my words.

Jonah shook his head. He was no longer that impulsive, passionate boy. Time had tempered him into a steadier, sharper man, his calm composure almost outshining Rylan's.

"I thought about hating you," he admitted, "but I couldn't hold onto it."

He stepped closer. "Maeve, how about giving us a try?"

When I didn't answer, he smiled. "Even if it's just to get back at him, use me if you want."

That familiar lazy smile touched his eyes, portraying his words as a harmless jest. Still, the underlying warmth was so potent that meeting his gaze was impossible.

"Let's get you to the hotel. You don't look too well. You need rest," he said after a while.

He took my suitcase and offered his arm. "Hold on tight. Don't fall."

…

Only after I was settled—fresh from a warm shower, robed, and with my long hair patiently dried by him—did Jonah take his leave from the hotel.

Just as he reached the door, I called out, "Jonah."

He turned to look at me, and I rose on my toes, hooking his neck to pull him into a kiss.

The first time I kissed Rylan, he'd pushed me away, scowling that I was like a block of wood before walking out.

Now that I'd learned to kiss, it was with a man I'd never imagined.

The moment my lips parted, Jonah seized control. His large, warm hands found my waist, turning my body and pressing me firmly against the door.

His kiss, unrelenting and utterly consuming, washed over me, and tears slipped free from the corner of my eyes.

"Don't cry, Maeve."