Can’t Win Me Back

When Jonah reached the bedside, he leaned in slowly, giving Julien an unobstructed view of his tanned skin, well defined abs, and that devastatingly captivating face.

Reclining against the headboard, Julien found himself lost in Jonah's eyes. His breath hitched, and his mind momentarily blanked as Jonah's mesmerizing gaze locked onto him.

What could he do? His heart still betrayed him, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. He was a fool-a pathetic fool.

Jonah braced his arms on either side of Julien's head, his dark eyes overflowing with a raw, possessive affection. It was as if he sought to consume Julien-just as he had last night.

"Julien, does it still hurt—"

"Fuck you!"

Julien's bloodshot eyes blazed as he swung his hand, landing a sharp slap across Jonah's face.

The illusion of his frailty shattered. A crimson handprint bloomed on Jonah's cheek in a split second, the flesh puffing up visibly.

But the sting barely registered. Not when the ache in Jonah's chest was already unbearable.

"Jonah, right now, not only do I loathe you, but everything about you every single thing you do disgusts me!"

With all his strength, Julien shoved Jonah away. Shaking, he yelled, "What made you think that you could touch me? What made you think you had the fucking right?"

He looked lost for the first time—like a

drink you had at the

do with you!" Julien cut him off, his voice sharp enough to wound. "Who the hell do you think you are? You mean nothing to

and hastily put them on. Then, digging into his wallet, he pulled out

slapped the money against Jonah's bare

it payment for last night. And don't ever show your face in front of me again. I never want to see

on his heel and stormed

only by the leaden thud of

door burst open, and Evan rushed inside, panic written all over his face. "Mr. Lovelace took off! You fought so hard to find him! You can't give up

remained motionless, his face pale

an abyss so

said, his voice barely

picking up the scattered bills one by one. He clenched them tightly, his fingers pressing into the crumpled

You actually believed the shit he

a fit of rage. Does that mean I'd actually do it? Are

everything-my pride, my dignity-just

on himself, he looked like a discarded tin

a long time ago," he murmured. "I was the one who refused to see it. I was the one who clung to a fantasy