Page 30 of Unclench Me Softly

Looking at the water like it’s whispering ancient secrets to him and not full of horny koi and old incense ashes.

I stop mid-step.

Because the man who turns to face me as I approach is... dangerous.

Not in the “might punch someone” way (Jax), or the “might emotionally unravel in my lap” way (Asher), or the “might write poetry about his trauma and make me read it under candlelight” way (Seb), or even the “might financially destroy me during a healing seminar” way (Miles).

No.

Jonah Vale is dangerous because he looks like peace wrapped in charisma. Calm. Warm. Quiet confidence in perfectly relaxed shoulders and a jawline that says, “I’ve made mistakes, but I learned from them, and I go to therapy willingly.”

He’s wearing soft linen. Casual. Not too crisp. Not too disheveled. The kind of man who knows how to roll his sleeves exactly right.

And when he smiles at me, slowly, like he knows the effect it’s going to have, I feel my internal organs politely bow out of service.

“Bliss Calloway,” he says.

His voice is deep, smooth, the exact temperature of really good coffee and regret he’s processed in a journal.

“You must be Jonah,” I manage, trying to keep my spine straight and not blush like a schoolgirl who accidentally astral projected into a romance novel.

He nods. “I hope I didn’t miss anything important.”

No. Just my last shred of spiritual immunity.

I wave my hand casually. “Nothing we can’t circle back to in your dome.”

His brow lifts just slightly. “Was that an innuendo?”

“Absolutely not,” I lie. “This is a very sacred space.”

“Of course,” he says, nodding slowly like he totally respects that and is also definitely picturing me naked beneath my linen robe.

I hate him.

I love him.

I hate that I love him.

He walks toward me, measured steps, easy confidence, and I get a whiff of whatever expensive cologne he’s wearing. It smells like warm earth, clean skin, and betrayal.

“How was your trip in?” I ask, backing up a half-step so I can breathe.

“Long,” he says. “But worth it. This place is... exactly what I was hoping for.”

“I promise it’s not always... this chaotic.”

He looks around at the domes, the wind chimes, the faint sound of someone (probably Jax) yelling something about “energy ball punching” from the ceremony circle.

He smiles again. “I like a little chaos. Makes it feel alive.”

“Right,” I mutter. “Alive. Cool. Great.”

We stare at each other for a beat too long.

My aura tingles in deep confusion. Then I snap back to leader mode. Sort of.

“Well, you missed our first ritual,” I say, turning toward the path. “But you’re just in time for the next one.”

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