Prove Me Wrong by Gemma Hart Page A

position.
                  Or actually, I corrected with a small smile, sometimes I woke up with him nestled even closer against me, with his arms completely wrapped around me, tucking my arms into my chest. I was tucked against his back and held tight, feeling like a precious object that had to be treasured.
                  I bit my bottom lip and sighed a little, thinking of that darkly gorgeous man. I had noticed a bit of a change in Jonah recently. There was something dark that was clearly hanging over him, affecting him.
                  He still was as insatiable as before. Often in one night, he would take me two or three times before taking me another two or three times in the morning. He still would hold me at night, talking to me in a low, warm voice. He would ask me about my past or my plans for my future. He made sure to always let me know how impressed he was with my work, which made my toes curl with pleasure.
                  But now, during all those moments, I saw a lingering shadow in the back of his eyes that I had not seen before.
                  I wasn’t completely stupid. Obviously, the way Jonah had rolled into town had been quite unusual. Maybe even suspect.
                  There had definitely been a moment when I had wondered if he had been some kind of serial killer on the run.
                  But despite the hesitations, I had found myself drawn to the tall stranger like a magnet. And once I was close enough to him, I realized that whatever his past was, his present was good enough for me.
                  And that was all that mattered.
                  There was a roughness to him at times, a coolness that sometimes took me by surprise, but I could see that at the center of his being was a man simply trying to do good.
                  I looked up at the front door. The bell above it calm and still.
                  Should I call the house to wake the bum up? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had taken an extra hour to himself in bed. The man slept as if he hadn’t slept properly in years.
                  There was a loud sudden clatter from the back room that made me jump in surprise.
                  “Ah Jesus!” I heard Alex mutter to himself. “What is this!”
                  I rolled my eyes. I had heard the chinking sound the clatter had made. “The nails!” I called out towards the back. “Alex, they’re the nails that Hammerson ordered for his back porch project!”
                  There was a pause before I heard a confused and slightly annoyed voice reply, “What?”
                  I huffed an irritated laugh before heading towards the back to clean up whatever mess was there and to reassure Alex that the large crate of nails was not some hallucination.
                  As I finished putting the last of the nails back into the crate and settling Alex in his office with a cup of coffee, I heard the front door bell ring.
                  Finally! I thought grinning. Mr. Lazybones had decided to grace us after all.
                  I tried not to run towards the front counter but found myself still moving in a fast powerwalk, eager to see him.
                  But as I walked down the side aisle of power tools, I slowed down, realizing it wasn’t Jonah at all.
                  The customer had his back towards me but I could tell from his physique that he was a tall, broad man. But definitely not a local. Or even anyone from a neighboring town.
                  He wore a sleekly tailored black suit that hugged his body in a masculine way, outlining the breadth of his back. The long legs were clad in the same expensive material, all ending with a pair of polished black shoes that nearly glowed in the store’s soft