Prove Me Wrong by Gemma Hart Read Free Book Online

listening to her talk late at night, her head resting against my shoulder.
                  But none of it stopped that dark feeling from getting bigger with each passing day.
                  That feeling of: you don’t know how to love her.
                  I tried to ignore it. Bury it. Hide it.
                  But the words echoed through my brain day and night. Even when I held Clara’s naked body close to me as we settled into bed, I could hear it resounding through the inner corners of my head.
                  You don’t know how to love.
                  That, I couldn’t deny.
                  Looking back on my life, all I saw was fracture lines across my heart. Most people learn love from their parents, specifically their mothers. But our love had been more of a desperate one. We starved, we shivered, and we worked as partners to lessen the suffering we both endured. There was no quiet, no respite, no moment of simple mother and son. It was a cold and cruel partnership that pushed us to become harder, stronger people. I had learned how to endure anything to survive from my mother.
                  And from David Lowell? I had learned just how biting words could be. I learned how easily you could snap a man with a look or a gesture. If anything, I had learned the meaning of every word opposite of love from that man—hatred, cruelty, detachment, coldness, sadism.
                  I was an expert in breaking hearts.
                  I had no idea how to protect them.
                  Every time I watched Clara move—fuck, every time she breathed —I felt my heart tighten in need…and fear. She was too good. She hardly knew me. She didn’t even know my name! And yet, she had opened her heart and her home to me.
                  Despite the heartbreak of her own past, she had somehow maintained her humanity. She was still clearly able to love and give love.
                  But I wasn’t that good. I had lost all that years ago.
                  “Jonah?” Clara asked, later that night in bed. We sat in the tumble of bed sheets, both completely sated after a very thorough lovemaking session. But despite it, my cock still twitched at the sound of her voice. Fuck, she was addicting!
                  I ran my hand across her forehead, brushing away the honey blonde hair. “Hmm?” I asked, my eyes still closed.
                  I felt a small hand touch my chest. I opened my eyes and looked down at her.
                  “What is it, baby?” I asked, my voice husky from sex.
                  Clara looked up at me. “Is something wrong?” she asked softly. “You seem…distracted.”
                  I immediately rolled over, pinning her beneath me. With one hand raking through her silky hair and another cupping her breast while my thumb flicked over her nipple, I murmured huskily, “Distracted? We can go again to show you that nothing distracts me from this body.” I smiled as I took her lips.
                  Clara blushed but shook her head. “That’s not what I meant,” she said. She sounded a little breathless as her nipple rose against my touch. I could feel her skin rippling in sensitivity as I began to tease her body.
                  “I meant,” she said, clearly trying to remain focused. “I meant, you seem a little…sad. Sort of. Did something happen today?”
                  I paused. Stroking her hair gently, I looked down at her.
                  Sad? I was fucking miserable.
                  Did she know who Jonah Lowell was?
                  Jonah Lowell had a list a hundred miles long of how many women he’d crushed along the way.
                  There weren’t enough hours in the day to count