Chapter 159
[ 476 words ]
Chapter 159:
The main lights were off. The only illumination came from the floor-to-ceiling windows, where the neon glow of the Washington, D.C. skyline bled through the glass, casting long, sharp shadows across the dark hardwood floors.
Jarrod walked straight down the hallway. He reached the master bedroom and gently pushed the heavy oak door open with his shoulder.
He moved to the center of the room, stopping beside the massive king-size bed covered in deep gray silk sheets.
Slowly, carefully, he bent his knees, bracing her weight against his chest and his left arm. He lowered her down, letting her back make contact with the mattress.
Caroline let out a soft, contented sigh. She rolled onto her side, burying her face deeply into the dark gray pillow that smelled strongly of his cedarwood cologne.
Jarrod stood at the edge of the bed. His chest heaved slightly, his breathing heavy from carrying her the entire way.
He dropped down onto one knee beside the mattress. He reached out with his left hand—his right arm held still against his side—and gently unbuckled the straps of her flat leather shoes, one at a time.
He pulled the shoes off and tossed them onto the carpet. His eyes immediately locked onto her right heel.
𝘉𝘦 pа𝘳𝗍 𝘰𝘧 𝗼𝘶𝗋 сom𝗺𝘂𝘯𝗶𝘁у 𝗼𝗻 𝗀а𝗅𝗇𝗈𝘷𝘦l𝘀.𝘤о𝘮
The skin was torn open. A raw, red blister was weeping clear fluid mixed with tiny streaks of blood.
Jarrod’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ground together. A sharp spike of guilt and self-hatred stabbed his chest. He had made her walk blocks in those shoes just to prove a point.
He stood up, walked into the master bathroom, and ran the hot water. He grabbed a thick towel, soaked it, and wrung it out with his left hand.
He returned to the bed. With agonizing patience, he wiped the dirt and dried blood away from her torn skin. His touch was incredibly light, terrified of causing her more pain.
When he finished, he tossed the towel aside. He rested his left hand on the edge of the mattress and stared at her face.
She was always fighting him. She was a hedgehog with razor-sharp quills, always calculating, always ready to strike.
But right now, she was completely defenseless. Her breathing was slow and rhythmic. She was exposing her softest, most vulnerable side to him in the dark.
The sight of it made the beast inside Jarrod’s chest slam violently against its cage.
The room was warm. The faint, sweet scent of her vanilla body wash mixed with the heavy, masculine smell of his own sheets. It was a suffocating, lethal aphrodisiac.
Jarrod planted his left hand on the mattress beside her, his right arm still held motionless at his side. He leaned over her, his shadow falling across her sleeping form.
His gray eyes traced the delicate curve of her closed eyelids, the slope of her nose, and finally stopped on her slightly parted, full lips.
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