Chapter 162
[ 480 words ]
Chapter 162:
Jarrod looked at her sudden, sharp composure. A wry, helpless smile touched the corner of his mouth. He nodded.
“Agreed,” Jarrod said. Then he pointed a long finger at the massive king-size mattress. “But for security protocols, we sleep in the same room. On that bed.”
Caroline looked at the vast expanse of gray silk. It was wide enough to fit four people.
She ground her teeth together. “Fine.”
The violent physical clash was over, replaced by a suffocating, high-stakes contract of cohabitation.
Midnight.
𝖠𝗰𝘵𝘪𝗏𝘦 𝗰о𝗺𝗆𝘶nі𝘁y 𝘰n 𝘨𝘢𝗹𝘯𝘰𝘃𝖾lѕ.co𝘮
The overhead lights in the master bedroom were completely extinguished. The only light came from the pale moonlight spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows, painting a silver rectangle across the dark carpet.
Caroline lay rigidly on the extreme left edge of the massive mattress. She had showered and changed into a pair of thick, long-sleeved silk pajamas that covered her from neck to ankle. She stared blankly at the dark wall, her muscles coiled tight.
On the far right side of the bed, Jarrod lay flat on his back. He was wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. His broad, heavily muscled chest was bare, rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.
Between them lay a massive, three-foot expanse of empty gray silk. It felt like a demilitarized zone.
The room was dead silent. The faint, mechanical hum of the central air conditioning was the only sound. But the air above the bed was thick, heavy, and suffocating with unspoken tension.
Caroline kept her eyes closed, but every single nerve ending in her body was hyper-focused on the right side of the bed. She could physically feel the massive waves of heat radiating from his skin across the gap.
Jarrod was not asleep. He stared at the dark ceiling. His jaw was clenched so hard it ached. He was using every ounce of his military discipline to honor the thirty-day treaty and keep his hands pinned to his sides.
Minutes dragged into hours.
Eventually, the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion of the day’s emotional trauma overpowered Caroline’s paranoia. Her rigid posture softened. Her breathing deepened, falling into a slow, steady rhythm.
Jarrod heard the shift in her breathing. He waited five more minutes to be absolutely sure.
Slowly, without making a single sound, he rolled onto his side, facing her.
He didn’t cross the boundary. He kept his distance, but his gray eyes greedily devoured her silhouette in the moonlight.
He raised his right hand. Hovering in the empty air above the mattress, his thick fingers slowly traced the outline of her forehead, her nose, and her lips. It was a silent, desperate act of worship.
He noticed the blanket had slipped off her shoulder. He reached over, pinched the edge of the silk sheet, and gently pulled it up to cover her neck. Then he closed his eyes.
At 3:00 a.m., the entire city of Washington, D.C. was buried in sleep.
Suddenly, a horrific, ear-piercing electronic screech exploded in the dead silence of the bedroom.
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