Chapter 47 At His House
Anneliese had no reply for that.
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She forced a stiff smile. “I really am sorry about what happened that morning. I owe you a proper apology, I—”
Jonathan turned, cutting her off mid–sentence.
“That didn’t sound sincere. Get inside. I have something for you.”
She followed him in, uneasy. One nce told her this entire floor belonged to him.
The space stretched at least three or four thousand square feet. The style was sleek, cold, and expensive, everything in shades of ck, white, and gray.
Not a single sign of a woman anywhere.
It was clear his wife and child didn’t live here.
Anneliese hovered at the entryway, unsure what to do.
Without turning his head, Jonathan said, “There are disposable slippers in the cab.”
“Alright, Mr. Fullbuster.” She bent down, pulled out a pair, and slipped them on.
She stepped into the living room. He was at the bar, pouring water.
Even though the venttion worked perfectly, she still felt suffocated.
His sharp, clean scent clung <i>to </i>the air, faint yet overwhelming, as if she had stepped into the range of a predator. Her body tensed with unease.
“Where’s Meatloaf? Meatloaf?” she called out again.
“She’s in the den eating canned meat,” Jonathan answered.
She turned her head and caught sight of him drinking.
His Adam’s apple shifted with each swallow, the lines of his throat sharp and defined.
A drop of water slid down from his jaw, traced the curve of his strong neck, rolled past a pale mole, and disappeared into the cor of his ck robe.
Chapter 47 At His House
Heat flushed through her, and she quickly looked away, frowning.
The sound of the ss hitting the bar cracked the air like a shot, jolting her chest.
Jonathan walked toward her.
She stiffened, gripping the strap of her bag.
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“What do you want to give me? I left something cooking at home. I need to take Meatloaf back soon.”
He gave her a quick look.
“You came upstairs just to get a dog, and you still carried a bag?”
She forced a nervousugh. “I’m used to it.”
He didn’t push. Instead, he pointed at a bag on the coffee table.
“Take that home. Wear it. And this…”
From behind the bag, he lifted a velvet jewelry box and handed it to her.
Her eyes
locked on the bag. She recognized it immediately. It was the two dresses she had bought yesterday to rece what was ruined.
She had bought them for his wife and daughter.
Now he was giving them back, telling her to wear them herself. That could only mean one thing.
And the jewelry–there was no way she was misunderstanding that.
The wounds from the harassment and humiliation earlier had left her raw, and this was the final spark that set her off.
She snatched the jewelry box and flung it at his face,
Then she grabbed the bag and swung it hard.
“You b*stard! Trash! You garbage! I can’t believe I was wrong about you. You’re just like
Zacharias!”
She swung the bag at him again, striking with all the strength she had.
14:17 Fri<b>, </b>Sep <b>5 </b>
Chapter 47 At His House
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The sound of impact thudded heavily in the air.
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His hand shot out fast and mped around her wrist. His grip was hot and unyielding.
Pain shot up her arm, her fingers went numb, and the bag slipped to the floor with a crash. Her eyes burned with fury as she red at him.
“Let me go! Meatloaf! Get out here! Bite him!”
Jonathan loosened his grip when he saw her struggling. He was afraid to hurt her.
Meatloaf burst from the room at the sound of her anger, ws pounding against the floor.
But the big dog only froze, ncing between her and Jonathan, her eyes full of confusion and sadness. It didn’t look like the same loyal guardian that had once charged at Melody and Lenora at hermand.
Her chest heaved with rage, tears filling her eyes. “You traitor!”
The dog wouldn’t help, and Jonathan’s strength overpowered her. She had no chance.
She spun and bolted for the door, but she barely made it two steps before his hand mped down on her arm.
Her body lurched, and she mmed into his chest. The danger radiating from him closed in, pressing against her like a heavy shadow.
Her face drained of color as she thrashed to break free.
He caught both her hands, twisted them behind her back, and locked them tight.
His other hand gripped her waist as his long stride drove her backward.
Her knees hit the edge of something, and her legs buckled. She dropped into a single–seat couch, breathless and cornered.
“Let me go! What are you trying to do, you monster?”
Her voice tore into the air as she struggled, her body twisting and fighting against him in wild panic.