“Bear,” I whisper. “It’s over. Nobody hurt me or showed interest. Nobody even said anything.”
His laugh is low, humorless. “They didn’t have to. I saw their eyes.”
I sink into my seat, chew my lip. His jealousy is scorching, thick enough to choke me. At first, I liked it—revelled in it, even—but now... I don’t like that it’s clearly hurting him.
He brakes hard enough to throw up a cloud of dust when we reach the cabin, then he snatches me up and strides inside like the hounds of hell are on our tail.
Then he paces. Back and forth, like a caged animal.
I sit at the table, watching him unravel, wondering if this is the moment he finally snaps. But surprisingly, he doesn’t.
It’s fascinating to watch him rein himself in every few minutes. He even tries to distract himself, pulling bread and meat from the cooler. He sets food in front of me, then stalks to the sink, splashing water on his face. His shoulders are tight enough to snap.
Then he turns, eyes wild, and the next distraction is me.
His mouth is on mine, rough, demanding, his hands under my shirt. He drags me into his body, then swings me up in his arms, striding to the wall, growling against my throat. But then—he freezes, pulls back with his dark brown eyes burning.
“You’re sore,” he rasps, voice breaking. “I can’t.”
I blink up at him, dazed, lips swollen and that insane need building again. I almost tell him to take me anyway. Take what he needs. But what happens the next time? Because I know this won’t be the last time. And I need to manage this properly. “Bear?—”
He cuts me off, sets me down, and starts pacing again.
“Admit it,” he snarls suddenly. “Admit you’re curious about the town.”
I stiffen. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb, petal. I see it in your eyes. You want to go.”
My arms fly up. “Of course I’m curious. It’s natural.”
His chest heaves. “So you want to leave me? Is that it?”
My mouth gapes. “I didn’t say that.”
“But you want to go into town,” he insists.
My gaze drops to myself—his T-shirt hanging to my thighs, socks sagging around my calves. I sigh. “I can’t wear your T-shirt and socks forever, Bear.”
“Why the fuck not?”
I stare at him, deadpan, until he snarls and paces again.
Finally, I bite my lip, lean forward. “I need... feminine supplies. Unless you’ve got some stashed away here?”
He freezes, then I see the tops of his ears redden. I almost laugh, but I stop myself when I see the storm in his eyes.
I try to soothe him more after that. Brush my hand down his back, murmur that I’m fine, that I don’t want saving, that I don’t want anyone but him. But he doesn’t hear me.
I begin to wonder. What really happened to him? Why the anger? Why the isolation? Why does every question about his past make him look at me like I’ve drawn blood?
A couple of hours later, he stalks out of the cabin to grab the cooler from the truck, and I follow.
The barn looms, shadowed and quiet, the doors he didn’t get around to closing hanging slightly ajar.
Inside, I see all the covered shapes, tarps draped over hulking forms. Dust swirls in the sunlight cutting through the rafters.
“What’s all this?” I ask softly.
