Elevating Eve (Fairford Affairs #4)

17. Jonathan

CHAPTER 17

Jonathan

H e may have fucked up a little bit.

Guilt sat heavy in his chest, weighing him down all day. It wasn’t a feeling he cared for, and usually he’d seek out the injured party, apologize or make amends as necessary, and get on with his life.

Only problem was, he had no idea what he did.

All he knew was that he’d come to rely on Eve this last week. Whenever his grief started overwhelming him, he let her warmth seep into him, enveloping his heart like a protective shell.

When he woke up this morning and found Eve sitting cross-legged on his bed, leaning back against his headboard, he could tell instantly that the temperature had dropped several degrees. The sudden change confused him so much, he couldn’t build up the nerve to ask about it.

Even now, almost twelve hours later, he balked at the idea of bringing it up. What was he supposed to say? Hey, you seem to be mad, but I have no idea why. Can we please talk about it so I can understand?

Jonathan was halfway through that last thought before he realized it didn’t sound as absurd as he expected. In fact, it seemed a hell of a lot more mature than hiding in his office all day, hoping she didn’t need him to sign anything until he figured it out on his own .

None of his past relationships with women had prepared him for this. Perhaps because none of them had ever been real relationships.

With a sigh, he went over to the antique, glass-fronted bookcase he used as his private liquor cabinet and turned the old skeleton key. Opening one of the doors, he grabbed the most expensive bottle he had in there. He pulled out the fleur-de-lis shaped glass stopper, poured a single mouthful into a small tulip glass, and tipped it into his mouth.

The Louis XIII cognac was far too precious to knock back like a standard drink. He let the liquid linger on his tongue, closing his eyes and focusing on the subtle flavors. First honey and figs. Then plum, leather, smoke, and more he couldn’t name.

Only when his mind had completely calmed did he finally swallow. The liquor went down smooth, leaving behind the most exquisite burn.

“Okay,” he said out loud, returning the hand-blown glass decanter to the cabinet and locking it. “Time to act like a fucking adult.”

Jonathan took his time descending to the first floor and out through the back of the house. That single swallow had calmed his racing thoughts, dulling the urgency of his confusion and unease. He would find her, calmly ask for a private talk, and get to the bottom of this before anything got out of hand. Simple as that.

Eve’s scream pierced through the quiet evening, so loud that even the forest noises halted for a moment.

Heartbeat kicking back up into high gear, he sprinted toward the new building, dirt and gravel kicking up behind him as he crossed the unpaved courtyard. “Eve?” he shouted as soon as he burst through the front doors. “Where are you?”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t really need to. Not with the cacophony of noise coming from upstairs.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he followed the commotion into one of the new almost-finished suites. Just as he passed through the doorless frame, part of a floor tile flew through the bathroom doorway, skidding to a stop near the windows.

What in the fuck .

“Eve?” he called again, crossing over to the bathroom in four long strides. “What are you—” The question trailed off as his mouth dropped open.

Not even seeming to notice him, Eve slammed a hammer down against one of the recently laid floor tiles. Dust billowed up from the floor as sharp pieces of tile flew everywhere. Eve gathered up the fragments in her bare hands, flinging them aside. Broken, ruined tiles surrounded her in every direction, making the room look like a bomb went off.

“Evie, what’s going on?” Shock made his voice so low, she might not have even heard him.

A sob burst out of her as she picked up a crowbar with trembling hands. Wedging it between the tile’s backer board and the subfloor, she pried the underside of the tile off in one large piece. As soon as it popped loose, she grabbed it without any care, slicing the palm of her hand open on a sharp edge. Ignoring the gash, she peered at the bottom of the backer board, running her fingers over the remains of the mortar, then doing the same to the now-exposed subfloor.

“Goddamnit!” she shouted, tears making muddy tracks in the dust clinging to her face. Dropping the crowbar with a loud clang , she reached for the hammer again, not even seeming to notice the blood now dripping down her wrist.

It was the blood that finally snapped him out of his stupor. Tile bits crunched under his shoes as he hurried to the center of the destroyed room, grabbing Eve’s wrist before she could slam the hammer down.

She shrieked and toppled away from him, landing in a graveyard of jagged shards. Another scream barreled out of her as the sharp points dug into her skin.

“Evie!” He shouted this time, needing her to hear him. “It’s me, it’s okay.” Scooping her up off the floor, he tried to pull her into a tight embrace, wanting to calm and soothe her as quickly as possible.

Wriggling out of his grip before he got a proper hold on her, she dropped back to her knees. Her frantic eyes searched the floor until she found the hammer.

Before she could snatch up the bloody tool, Jonathan grabbed her again. This time, he made sure to do so in a way that she wouldn’t be able to get away from him.

“No!” She struggled and kicked as he hauled her out of the bathroom. “Let go! Let me go back!” When she started fighting even harder, he had no choice but to twist her around and fling her over his shoulder.

“Jonathan!” She shouted his name over and over as she banged her fists against his back, legs still kicking furiously.

He ignored her protests and attacks, easily keeping his hold on her as he carried her downstairs and outside. His hope was that the fresh air and soft, evening light would snap her out of it, but no luck. As she continued to thrash and scream like a trapped wildcat, a new idea popped into his head.

Striding through the garden, he opened the gate at the far end with his free hand, hurrying through it. And then he dumped her unceremoniously into the pool.

Jonathan watched her with unblinking eyes, ready to jump in the moment it looked like she needed his help. But she burst to the surface after only a few seconds, spluttering and wiping water from her eyes.

“What the fuck, Jonathan?” she demanded, half indignant, half bewildered.

Squatting down, he waited until she kicked her way over to the side. Grabbing both her wrists, he easily hauled her up onto the pool deck. “Better?” he asked, pushing her dripping hair back from her face.

“Fuck off.” Determination in every line of her face, she started back toward the gate.

Jonathan hurried after her, easily catching up with his much longer legs. “You’re not going back in there until you talk to me.”

“Watch me,” she threw over her shoulder.

Grabbing her around the waist, he hauled her to the nearest pool chaise. Sitting on the edge of the cushion, he forced Eve down over his lap.

“Let go of me!” she shouted, but he ignored her.

Trapping her kicking legs between his, he started to spank. He knew her wet jeans would dull away most of the pain, but he didn’t care. This wasn’t about punishment. He just needed to do something—anything—to help her calm down and start thinking rationally again.

A long stream of insults and expletives flowed out of her, but he ignored them. Holding her in place with the vise of his legs and a hand pressed firmly against the small of her back, he kept spanking in a perfect rhythm, never letting up for even a second.

It took far longer than he expected for the fight to seep out of her. His hand hurt like a motherfucker by the time she finally drooped over his thigh, spent and boneless.

“Okay, you can let me up now,” she said, sounding utterly defeated. “Please.”

Releasing her trapped legs, he helped her into position on his lap, holding her close to his chest. Still dripping wet, she shivered in the late spring air. “Tell me what happened,” he said, soft and encouraging.

Without a word, Eve held up her right hand. The heavy gold ring still sat on her middle finger, a gaping hole where the large, square cut emerald used to be.

He stared at it, uncomprehending, for a few seconds. Then the whole messy situation made sense in an instant.

“You tiled that bathroom this morning,” he said.

“Yes. I have no idea when it fell out. Or even how it fell out.” She made a miserable little noise, almost sounding like a wounded animal. “I don’t know what to do.”

With gentle fingers, he pulled her hand up toward his face, examining the ring. It only took a moment for him to figure out the issue. The bezel around three of the sides had worn away to almost nothing with time.

It clearly hadn’t been a question of if the gem would fall out. Only a matter of when.

She started crying by the time he finished explaining what happened. “I didn’t even know that could happen,” she said, sniffling.

“It’s going to be okay,” he promised. “I’ll help you find it.”

“Wanna know the worst part of all this?” she asked, swiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I hate this stupid thing.” She held her hand out again so they could examine the piece of jewelry. “It’s big and clunky and ugly. Way too heavy. And I fucking hate yellow gold.”

He almost asked why she still wore it then, but realized he already knew the answer. “But you’re afraid to take it off,” he said gently. “For the same reason you didn’t want to stop working at your dad’s company. It feels like letting go of him. ”

“Frank made me get rid of the rest of my dad’s things,” she told him in a small voice. “This is all I have left.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I’ll make sure?—”

He stopped when he saw her wince.

Frowning, he flipped her hand over. The deep cut across her palm still oozed blood at a sluggish pace. Smaller nicks and gouges marred her fingers and forearm. “Christ, look at you,” he said, the tight, twisting pain of fear blooming in his chest. “I’m taking you to the ER.”

Eve yanked her hand out of his, leaning back so she could peer into his face. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” she asked, frowning. “Just give me a first aid kit. I’ll be fine.”

But he was already standing, pulling her up with him. “This isn’t up for debate,” he said, leading her through the garden with an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s both get into some dry clothes, and then we’re going.”

“Jonathan, come on,” she said, exasperation saturating the words. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t even dignify that with a response.

“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered under her breath, not fighting as he steered her toward the main house.