Prove Me Wrong (5 page)

              “Too sweet,” I heard him murmur.

              But that was the last thing I had conscious memory of before post-sex sleep captured both of us, dragging us down into the hazy darkness.

Chapter
Five
Jonah

              Remember how cocky I had been about making my way into Clara’s bed? Describing her as the perfect distraction from the fuckfest of New York? Remember how I had thought of the fun and casualness a night of pleasure with her could be?

              Well, fuck me, I couldn’t have been more stupid or wrong.

              Yes, the night with Clara had been the most ball-busting night of pleasure I’d had in a long, long time. She was everything that I had suspected her to be—sweet, giving, playful, and soft like a sunset.

              But I had been completely wrong in thinking that I could walk away from her bed as cool and casual as I had in every other previous instance with countless other women.

              In the past, the moment my cock had reached its release, my body immediately cooled, along with my attitude. Some women were offended by my aloofness. Others saw it as a challenge.

              Vanessa had definitely seen it as one, I knew.

              But with Clara, even after coming so hard I nearly went blind, I found myself exhausted yet still hungry for more. It was as if I couldn’t get enough of her scent, her taste. I wanted to consume her whole and then consume her once more.

              I had cockily thought that I could easily have a night or two of fun with her and then walk away, head clearer and body a little less tense.

              But now I felt even more in need. I was hooked. I was hooked on Clara Daniels and goddammit, I liked it.

              And when one night together turned into several nights together, then two weeks, I began to really question myself.

              I knew I was being irresponsible. Regardless of how self-sufficient DXC Global was, I knew it still needed its President to be available for work. I still had my phone and kept in contact with Mrs. Drune regularly. But with each call, I could hear the sniffing in her voice as she quietly judged her errant employer.

              But I wasn’t ready to go back. Every time I held Clara, I felt like a whole new man. There was something in her that brought out a side of me that I had never known existed.

              And holy hell, was she some kind of woman.

              Not only sweet but talented as hell. Her work was beautiful. She had shown me the photographs she had taken of her pieces.

              “I made this set so that you don’t really have to buy all of the pieces to make it look good. Just having the table and a bench can work. Or a couple chairs. Which ever the customer prefers,” she said, pointing to the photo of a sleekly crafted dining table with a long bleached wood bench and matching chairs.

              The photo was taken beautifully as well. I knew she had set this up in Mackleson’s back room but you’d never have guessed looking at it. With a subtle gray backdrop and diffused lighting, it looked like the photo had been taken at a reputable New York studio.

              “Where’d you learn photography?” I asked, wondering where this woman’s talents ended.

              Clara wrinkled her nose at me, making me laugh. “I don’t
really
know photography. I just learned enough from the internet and books to make my pieces look good. I certainly wouldn’t call myself a professional photographer.”

              Maybe she wouldn’t. But I damn well would.

              “These are good,” I said, nodding in wholehearted approval. “These are really, really good.” I looked at another photo of an upholstered wingback with pincushion tucks. It was elegant yet modern. It was detailed but not stuffy. She really had an eye for walking that delicate balance between beautiful and overdone.

              A soft glow of dusky pink warmed her cheeks. She looked up at me shyly. “You think so?”

              I looked down at her, surprised. “You know it’s good,” I said slowly. “You have to know that these are worth a showroom in New York, right?”

              Clara bit her lip, lowering her eyes, before shaking her head and smiling. “I know,” she said, without any hint of pride or boasting. “But…I dunno….It just feels different to hear
you
say you like them.”

              Those hazel eyes flicked upwards at me again, making my chest tighten with an unfamiliar but not unpleasant feeling.

              I wrapped my arm around her, bringing her close to me. She fit against me perfectly. I kissed her forehead before capturing her lips. I knew I was just getting in deeper with every kiss, every moment spent with her, but I didn’t care. She was a heady drug and fuck was I hooked.

              But there was a small sinking feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. I tried to ignore it by burying myself deep inside Clara every night or holding her close every day.

              I hid it by working with her in the hardware store, laughing as she berated a customer for working on a project without consulting her. Or by listening to her talk late at night, her head resting against my shoulder.

              But none of it stopped that dark feeling from getting bigger with each passing day.

              That feeling of:
you don’t know how to love her.

              I tried to ignore it. Bury it. Hide it.

              But the words echoed through my brain day and night. Even when I held Clara’s naked body close to me as we settled into bed, I could hear it resounding through the inner corners of my head.

             
You don’t know
how
to love.

              That, I couldn’t deny.

              Looking back on my life, all I saw was fracture lines across my heart. Most people learn love from their parents, specifically their mothers. But our love had been more of a desperate one. We starved, we shivered, and we worked as partners to lessen the suffering we both endured. There was no quiet, no respite, no moment of simple mother and son. It was a cold and cruel partnership that pushed us to become harder, stronger people. I had learned how to endure anything to survive from my mother.

              And from David Lowell? I had learned just how biting words could be. I learned how easily you could snap a man with a look or a gesture. If anything, I had learned the meaning of every word opposite of love from that man—hatred, cruelty, detachment, coldness, sadism.

              I was an expert in breaking hearts.

              I had no idea how to protect them.

              Every time I watched Clara move—fuck, every time she
breathed
—I felt my heart tighten in need…and fear. She was too good. She hardly knew me. She didn’t even know my name! And yet, she had opened her heart and her home to me.

              Despite the heartbreak of her own past, she had somehow maintained her humanity. She was still clearly able to love and give love.

              But I wasn’t that good. I had lost all that years ago.

              “Jonah?” Clara asked, later that night in bed. We sat in the tumble of bed sheets, both completely sated after a very thorough lovemaking session. But despite it, my cock still twitched at the sound of her voice. Fuck, she was addicting!

              I ran my hand across her forehead, brushing away the honey blonde hair. “Hmm?” I asked, my eyes still closed.

              I felt a small hand touch my chest. I opened my eyes and looked down at her.

              “What is it, baby?” I asked, my voice husky from sex.

              Clara looked up at me. “Is something wrong?” she asked softly. “You seem…distracted.”

              I immediately rolled over, pinning her beneath me. With one hand raking through her silky hair and another cupping her breast while my thumb flicked over her nipple, I murmured huskily, “Distracted? We can go again to show you that nothing distracts me from this body.” I smiled as I took her lips.

              Clara blushed but shook her head. “That’s not what I meant,” she said. She sounded a little breathless as her nipple rose against my touch. I could feel her skin rippling in sensitivity as I began to tease her body.

              “I meant,” she said, clearly trying to remain focused. “I meant, you seem a little…sad. Sort of. Did something happen today?”

              I paused. Stroking her hair gently, I looked down at her.

              Sad? I was fucking miserable.

              Did she know who Jonah Lowell was?

              Jonah Lowell had a list a hundred miles long of how many women he’d crushed along the way.

              There weren’t enough hours in the day to count how many women had been hurt or ruined by me. Sometimes I played with them for a few months. Others for a few hours. But in the end, I left and ignored them. I had no way of doing anything else. I felt comfortable in the hollow spot. I had learned through the years that I could make a very comfortable life alone in that hollow spot.

              Jonah Lowell didn’t love.

              He fucked.

              Jonah Lowell didn’t stay.

              He left.

              But Clara….

              She was different. She was special. I wanted to tell myself that I could be different with her. That everything could be different. But the truth echoed too loudly in my ears to make any difference.

              I shook my head. “I’m sorry, baby,” I murmured. “Guess I’m just a little tired today.” I looked down at her full, creamy breasts with the dusky rose pink nipples.

              I lowered my head and sucked hard on one. Clara immediately arched her back and cried out, her hands gripping my head against her.

              “But let me make that up to you,” I whispered harshly, before I thrust my cock deep into her. I looked down and saw desire immediately bloom in her hazel eyes. I kissed her again as I moved my hips once more, thrusting my length deep into her wet warmth.

              “Let me make that up to you,” I said again.

***

              “Is that it?” I asked, loading the last of Clara’s latest chairs into the back of the pick up. It was an old Chevy with the faded letters of Mackleson’s printed along the doors.

              Clara sighed as she nodded. “Yeah, that should do it. You can just unload them to the back room. I’ll meet you there in an hour or so. Benji’s called me over to his place for some help on reno-ing his kitchen.”

              I raised a brow in surprise. “You can renovate a kitchen now?” I asked. What the fuck? Was this woman Superman?

              Clara laughed, shaking her head. “No. Definitely not. I’m going over there to talk him
out
of doing it himself. He’s just gonna drive his wife up the wall if he tries to smash in the walls again on his own.”

              I grinned, deciding to ask later what walls Benji had smashed in before. I gave her a quick kiss and slipped into the truck, ready to haul over her latest creations to the store so she could photograph them.

              Ever since I had gotten a good look at her photos, I had given a call to Mrs. Drune, asking her to look up all the potential buyers for the bigger furniture and home goods companies in New York. Clara was too good to leave any stones unturned.

              I had taken a few photos of her work with my phone and had sent them to Mrs. Drune. I wanted to give Clara every opportunity her work deserved.

              As I drove down the road, nearing Mackleson’s, I saw a sleek black Audi parked by the store.

              Immediately, my fists gripped the wheel, recognizing the car. How the absolute fuck had he found me?

              I threw the truck into park and walked stiffly but quickly into the store.

              Inside, I found old Alex shuffling around, confused and uncomfortable as my uncle stood in the middle of the store in his expensively tailored gray suit.

              “Er…if you told me what project you were working on…sir,” Alex tacked on hastily, unsure how to address this wealthy stranger, “I could help you out.”

              Martin’s eyes landed on me as soon as I walked in. His lips tightened and his eyes turned razor sharp.

              “I’ve found my project,” he said quietly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take use of that back room you have there for a few minutes. Don’t come in and don’t let anyone else come in.”

              With that, he turned around and headed towards the back room like he owned the place. I followed, ignoring Alex’s sputtering expression.

              As soon as the swinging doors closed behind us, I spoke, “How the hell did you find me?”

              Martin turned around slowly, taking in the scattered furniture pieces and the several standing lights and backdrops.

              “The how is pretty obvious, I’d think,” he said, looking over a small side table that stood next to him. The man was wealthier than God. His means of finding anybody in world was most likely limitless. “I think what you’re asking is, why.”