Chapter 227
[ 524 words ]
Chapter 227:
She stopped talking. Jarrod wasn’t angry. He was looking at the blood on his lip, and then he looked back at her. The taste of the blood didn’t snap him out of his frenzy; it acted as a catalyst. It triggered the darkest, most primal instincts he had just brought back from the war zone.
A low, vibrating growl ripped from his throat.
He grabbed both of her wrists with his left hand alone, pinning them firmly above her head against the pillows. His grip was an iron shackle. His right arm remained motionless at his side as he leaned his weight over her, his left hand reaching down toward the metal zipper of her denim jeans.
He was going to take her. Right now.
Caroline’s brain went into overdrive. Physical combat was useless; he outweighed her by a hundred pounds and was running on pure combat adrenaline. She needed a psychological weapon.
She stopped struggling. She took a sharp breath, filling her lungs, and shouted the only words that could pierce his madness.
“Thirty-day grace period!” Caroline shouted, her voice echoing in the dark room. “You swore an oath, Jarrod!”
The words hit Jarrod like a physical blow to the head.
His hand froze on the zipper of her jeans. His entire body went completely rigid. The muscles in his left arm and chest locked up so tight they trembled.
The room fell dead silent, save for the sound of their ragged, desperate breathing.
W𝘩𝖺𝘁 е𝗏е𝗋𝘆𝘰𝘯e 𝗶𝗌 𝘳e𝗮𝖽𝗂𝘯𝗀 𝗈n 𝗴𝗮𝗹𝘯о𝘷𝗲𝘭𝘴.cо𝗆
Jarrod stared down at her. The feral madness in his eyes slowly fractured, replaced by a look of absolute, excruciating agony. He was a ruthless soldier, but his word — his oath — was the only piece of honor he had left. If he broke it now, he would destroy the tiny fraction of trust she had in him.
Jarrod let out a sound that was half-groan, half-roar — the sound of a man being torn apart from the inside.
He released her wrists, pushed himself off her body violently, and rolled onto his back on the other side of the massive bed. He threw his left forearm over his eyes, blocking out the sight of her, his chest heaving as he fought to shove the impulse back down.
Caroline scrambled backward until her spine hit the headboard. She pulled her sweater down, her hands shaking, and pulled her knees to her chest. She stared at him, her heart pounding in her throat.
The physical tension had broken. But Jarrod was not done.
He lay on his back, his arm still covering his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was a dark, gravelly rasp, dripping with toxic jealousy.
“While I was gone,” Jarrod demanded, “that doctor… Julian… did he try to touch you?”
Caroline’s jaw tightened. Of course he knew about Julian. He had interrogated her about him over the satellite phone while gunfire was exploding in the background. His surveillance was absolute. The question wasn’t born of ignorance — it was a test. He wanted to see if she would lie.
“No,” Caroline said, her voice flat and controlled. “He brought me coffee at the hospital. It was professional courtesy. Nothing more. Just like I told you on the phone.”
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