I was certain that Jonah was only in love with who he thought I was... an image that reflected his desires... the girl of his dreams. He didn’t truly love me, did he? He didn’t even know me and yet, in his mind, he loved me.
Jonah didn’t have to say it out loud. I didn’t want him to. Because the first time a man says those words to me, I want it to be because he knows the REAL me. Not some imaginary girl from his dreams.
The attraction of being in love can easily capture a person’s attention. Actually, being in love is a rarity. Everyone wants that feeling of pure bliss only love can bring. But just the desire to love and be loved in return does not qualify.
Then again, without the hope and desire to find love, one would be lost forever.
I didn’t go very far after his mental admission that he loved me. I only walked out of his room and sat down on the top step in front of his apartment. I needed the fresh air. The electricity between us was clouding my judgment and my self-control.
Odd thing was, I could no longer hear his thoughts. I figured I would just walk outside to get some fresh air and he would soon follow, both of us knowing we would never actually leave the other’s side.
But, did he know that I would never actually leave him? According to his thoughts, I always left him. Every dream he had of me ended with my dream-form disappearing in some fashion. Walking out as soon as I got scared is definitely not proving to him I will never, ever leave his side willingly. I just showed the man that I am all too quick to run for the hills when things get a little intimidating.
But his honest admission of his feelings really had me frightened. I wasn’t scared of the fact that a man like Jonah loved me. I was worried that he didn’t truly love me. That he only loved the woman he dreamed of and, when reality sets in, I’ll be rejected and completely shattered.
If I hand my heart to this man and he turns me away, I doubt I will ever survive.
After about an hour of feeling completely helpless and beside myself with confusion, I stood and turned my body back toward his front door. Regardless of how chaotic I felt, I never wanted him to think I would willingly leave him. I had already experienced losing him once. I’d be damned if I put him through the same torture over again just because I was a basket case.
Plus, the fact I could no longer hear his thoughts concerned me. Did he put his shield back up again? Did my retreat cause him so much grief that he would close himself off to me once more?
Taking a deep breath and hesitating ever so slightly, I turned the knob and reentered his apartment.
Everything was quiet and just as it was when I walked out.
Feeling a sudden urgency to make sure he was ok, I pushed my way down the darkened hall and stumbled back into his bedroom, tripping over a backpack near the doorway and making a rather noisy entrance.
Standing over by the window was Jonah. The glow of the moon silhouetted his strong, muscular frame. His hands were braced along both sides of the window as he leaned heavily against the casing.
He didn’t turn or acknowledge I was there and I didn’t blame him. Retreating as soon as he got real with me was the cowards way out and I’m not the least bit surprised he is choosing to ignore I’ve reentered his space.
Steadily and without wavering, I walked across the room toward him, my boots making a definite clopping noise against his hardwood floor. Without a doubt in my mind, I wanted to hold him. I needed to show him everything was all right. It was absolutely necessary to comfort him in some way.
Slowly, tenderly, I trailed my fingertips along his midsection and wrapped my arms around his waist, burying my face into his strong back. The solid muscles of his abdomen flexed as I held onto him like a life raft at sea. He smelled so wonderful and I took that moment to shamelessly breathe him in.
A light whimper left his throat as he shook slightly. His trembling was only noticeable to me because I was clutching onto him for dear life. I hated to see him so tormented, especially when I knew I was the cause of his pain.
“God, Jonah. I’m so confused,” I admitted as I held on even tighter, pinching my eyes shut and burying my face even deeper into his spine. He didn’t say anything. He just brought one of his hands down to grasp my arm, as if to tell me he didn’t want me to let go of him.
Without warning, he brought both his hands up behind his neck and began pulling his shirt over his head in a single sweep of his hand. Why it was so sexy when men took their shirt off like that, I’ll never know. Nor will I argue.
To give him some space, I let go of my death grip on his waist and began to back away when he caught my wrist and brought me back to his bare skin. I followed his command and glued myself around him once more.
Bringing his shirt up to his face, I could tell he was wiping away his sorrow. I don’t think he was crying necessarily, because he lacked the sniffles most of us girls get after a good weep. But, regardless, I had no idea a man could be so emotional just because of me.
“I’m sorry,” I said in an attempt to get some sort of reaction from him.
“Why did you come back?” he asked. His voice sounded hoarse as if still flooded with distress.
“I never left. I just needed some fresh air. I was worried I would do something to embarrass myself, which seems to be impossible to avoid. I didn’t mean for you to think I left. I’m so sorry.”
He turned to me, never allowing me to let go of his waist as he looked down into my gaze. His brilliant green eyes were even brighter with his heightened emotional state. Such breathtaking emerald eyes. I could never get enough of them.
“Don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have overwhelmed you with my thoughts. I just... I never want to do anything to scare you away ever again. I’ve spent so many years waking up to the feeling of loss. I can’t survive the reality of truly losing you,” he admitted.
“Do you withdraw every time you think I’m about to go away?” I asked, curious as to why I could no longer read him.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t read you anymore. It’s as if you’re putting up that protective block again and I can’t get a grasp on your thoughts. Is it because of me?”
“I don’t know. Possibly. Yesterday when I started having this issue, I had just survived one of the most intense of all my dreams. It’s very likely I have a defense mechanism I don’t even know how to control yet. Which, ironically, makes me feel so damn defenseless,” he said, putting emphases on the less and inserting a bit of humor in his tone, obviously to hide his discomfort.
“Why is it that it’s okay for girls to get emotional but when a guy does, he’s gotta crack a joke to hide his feelings?” I said jokingly.
“Because, it’s you girls that make us so damn weak,” he admitted, his tone void of the humor he previously used as a mask.
Breaking our stares, and without backing away, I looked over the shirtless man I was still clutching onto without reserve. Christ, he was gorgeous. Since his arms were wrapped deliciously around my waist, I brought my hands up and gripped his biceps. His hard, delectable biceps. Suddenly, my eye caught something on his left arm just beneath my fingers.
He had a tattoo. It was just a simple tribal armband that wrapped around his muscle. And boy, did it look nice. Such a sexy, powerful look on a man with muscle and definition in his arms. I just stared as I trailed my finger around the intricate markings on his skin, imagining my tongue doing the same.
“Jonah?”
“Yes, love?”
“Will you tell me about your dreams?”
“I have a better idea. How about I show you?” he asked. I just looked up at him, perplexed as to what he meant. “I have sketchbooks full of my dreams, Ella.”
“Oh,” was all that I could manage to say. Brain to mouth malfunction and all... I couldn’t seem to form any words.
Wrapping his arms around my back, he picked me up as if I weighed no more than a feather, and pressed me against his hard chest. I quickly swallowed my squeal and wrapped my arms around his neck. My feet were dangling off the floor as he pressed his forehead to mine and stared into my eyes.
Without breaking eye contact, he slowly walked over to his bed and stopped at the edge. I thought at first he was going to gently lay me down so we could pick up where we left off at my house in my dreams so many weeks ago.
Suddenly, his hold on me released and I was tossed to the fluffy mattress below me, giggling like a fool in the process as I bounced a few times before finally settling down.
A playful grin spread across his face as he said, “Stay there for a moment. I’ll be right back.”
I decided to take my boots off and get comfortable as I watched Jonah walk over to the corner of the room. He had two separate closets, one of which had the doors open, showing nothing but clothes and shoes—the normal stuff you would find in a closet. The second closet was the one he headed toward. When he opened the doors and switched on a light, I noticed several bookshelves with nothing but sketchbooks and art supplies. Digging around for a moment, he emerged with several tattered sketchbooks.
I sat up at the anticipation of seeing more of his drawings. Backing up a little toward the head of the bed, I crossed my legs in front of me and sensed the odd feeling of excitement bubbling up beneath my skin. He quickly chose the same position, facing me, as he laid several of the spiral-bound books between us.
The one he placed on top was handled with such tenderness that I immediately knew it had to be his favorite.
I bit my lip with impatience as I waited for him to explain. Looking up, I noticed him watching me hungrily.
Without warning, he leaned forward and gently tugged at my chin, forcing me to release my lip from my teeth. He then proceeded to lean further and grazed a small, gentle kiss against the sensitive tissue of my bitten lip.
Against my desires, he pulled back and resumed his position in front of me.
“These are just some of my many vision books. Well, that’s what I’ve been calling them. Actually, my parents are the only ones who know I have so many. And that’s only because they ran across them one day while I still lived at home. I kept them separate from my school sketchbooks because very few people actually know about my...” he trailed off, as if he needed to choose his words wisely. I touched his hand, imploring him to continue on, hoping he could be unashamed of his words when he was around me. “Few people know about my obsession. Only a select few know of my dreams.”
“This is way more than a simple obsession, Jonah,” I said in an attempt to clarify my involvement with this connection we had.
“I know that now, but at almost eighteen, I had no clue what was causing you to visit me in my dreams,” he said as he pointed to the top book in the pile. “Honestly, I still don’t know why. I’m just glad I’m not completely crazy now that I know you are actually real.”
I touched his face and basked in the feeling of him leaning toward my hand. The fact that he enjoyed my hand against his skin was such a simple, yet pleasurable, feeling.
“Anyway, this top one here is my first sketchbook. The first night I dreamed of you, I got up and drew the eyes that delved into my soul that night. As the nights progressed and I continued to dream of you, I continued to draw. I used to label each one with the date, but soon, I just began to label the cover of each sketchbook with the months spanned.”
I looked down at the book he had opened to the first sketch. A perfect rendering of my eyes, drawn so carefully with colored pencil, stared back at me and I couldn’t help but gasp, covering my mouth with my hands in astonishment at how lifelike it was and the date that was listed at the bottom. Tentatively, I reached out and touched the drawing with my fingertips.