Camellia took that as if she were refusing to heal Marigold because she couldn’t forgive her betrayal. Jonas knew better. If his woman laid eyes on Marigold, her resolve would fold immediately. He knew it would. He saw inside her where she was vulnerable. He opened his eyes and looked up at her. She was watching him, waiting for his judgment. She really didn’t see herself at all.
The moment their eyes met, his body reacted. It wasn’t just his cock; his heart went crazy, a wild peculiar sensation that was almost painful. It felt as though the actual organ just melted, dissolved right there in his chest. His gut somersaulted. She was branded deep, stamped right into his bones. Into his heart. It was the strangest feeling, thrilling and terrifying all at once.
“You never have to worry, Camellia. Not when you’re with me. I do see inside you. Right into that sweet place where you’re so damn soft. Anyone wants to hurt you, they’ll have to come through me.”
He had to close his eyes because the feeling he had for her was too intense, too overwhelming.
“My father loved my mother and me. Really loved us,” he murmured. He didn’t know why he told her. Maybe because the wind was blowing so softly across his face, feeling like a caress. Or because her fingers were still massaging when she should have been too tired to make the effort. He reached up and caught her wrist, bringing their clasped hands to his heart.
“I grew up in the circus. Did I tell you that? It wasn’t a huge circus, but everyone was very talented. We were like a huge family.”
“That sounds amazing, Jonas. Every child’s secret dream. Is that where you got your unbelievable balance and reflexes?”
“Yes. My parents started working with me when I was a toddler. We had a high-wire act, as well as a knife-throwing act. Also, a combination of the two.”
“Dangerous.”
“It would have been if we didn’t know what we were doing, but we practiced day and night. We never took unnecessary risks. My father was a big believer in hard work and never showing off. So we worked hard and we didn’t show off. He was head of the family and we followed his lead. He said something, it was law, not because he ruled with an iron fist but because he’d earned our respect.”
Camellia’s free hand was back in his hair, smoothing it from his forehead in little caresses that felt unbelievably like true caring. He could get used to this. The two of them. Having her close while he drifted off to sleep.
“I bet you looked really cute in a leotard. Was yours glittery and spangly?”
The teasing note would have gotten her retaliation of a very sexual nature any other time, but he was going slow with her. Giving her time to get used to their relationship. He wasn’t certain how much more time he could give her, but she was safe for the next fifteen minutes at least.
“I look great in a leotard. Especially the glittery kind.”
“I’ll just bet you do. At least the ladies would think so.”
They had. He wasn’t going to admit that to her or lie about it either. He found himself smiling. “I’ll get one just for you. There must be one of the beams I can walk on to show you the act.”
“Do you still remember it?”
“I watched my parents practically from the time I was born and then participated around the age of three and up in one way or another. Yeah, honey, I remember. I practice with knives daily. It’s a habit.”
“That’s because you’re bloodthirsty, not because you want to run away and join the circus again.” She laughed, the sound melodic, adding to the music made by the rustling of the leaves in the trees.
He rubbed the pad of his thumb back and forth across the back of her hand. He had a large hand, much larger than hers, and he managed to cover a lot of her skin. “They rarely fought. Not often. They were passionate and always together, always touching and kissing. He’d suddenly just swing her up into the air, and she’d laugh and I’d laugh. He used to carry me around on his shoulders. He’d tell me that when he was an old man, I’d be carrying him.”
“That sounds so lovely, Jonas.”
“It was. I was lucky. I can’t ever remember my father striking me, and he was a really protective man. Off-the-charts protective. He could get angry and violent very fast with outsiders if they messed with any of our people. If there was ever any kind of fight, the moment he came on the scene, it was over. No one wanted to fight him.”
He rubbed her fingers over his chest. Over his heart. “That’s just some of what Whitney saw in me. What he enhanced in me. The protective trait. The violent trait.”
“What happened to your parents, Jonas? Where are they?”
He had known she would ask and that he would tell her. He hadn’t expected it to hurt as much as it did. He was a grown man. He’d distanced himself from it a long time ago, and yet now, just thinking about it, putting it into words for her, bringing the images back into his mind, it hurt like hell. It hurt the way it had in the days and weeks after he’d lost them.
“We all helped one another out. That was just the way it was. One of the big rigs had broken down, and my dad and I were helping fix the engine. We were a distance from where the others had stopped. Mom had parked our camper up about half a mile from us in some shade. It was hot as hell. Someone had told us there was a little stream with a swimming hole large enough for us to cool off in. A few of the kids were hiking through the trees just past Mom’s camper to look for the stream.”
His gut clenched hard. He could still hear his mother’s screams. First there had been silence broken occasionally by his father’s voice asking for a tool. Then the screams of sheer terror—of agony. Jonas would never forget that sound for as long as he lived. Sometimes he awoke hearing those screams echo through whatever room he was in.
“She screamed. My mother. She screamed like the world was coming to an end. My father took off running so fast I couldn’t keep up with him. I remember seeing birds lifting off the branches of trees, startled by the sound of her screaming. Then the kids were screaming, the ones who had gone looking for the swimming hole. There was so much noise coming at me from all directions. Adults were running from the other cars and rigs toward our camper.”
Camellia’s hand had gone very still, but it was buried in his hair. He could feel her trembling, as if she knew what he was about to tell her. His mouth had gone dry. His throat ached. Felt raw. His eyes burned with unshed tears.
“Honey,” she whispered softly. “I’m here with you.” Her fingers trailed briefly over his face. So gentle. Almost tender. It was nothing less than a caress. “You aren’t alone.”
“I got there, but I didn’t see anyone. Not my father or mother. But then the camper sort of rocked. I heard a grunt. Then another. A sob, not my mother’s, but a man’s. I opened the camper door. There was blood everywhere. Soaking into the floor. On the walls, the curtains. Splattered all over the chairs and up the sides of the counters. I could even see splashes on the windows. The table was smashed right down the middle, and the seats around it were crushed.”