“No,” he murmurs. “But my scars … my leg. Not used to being touched…”
He says it like a wounded pain could deter me. Pulling back the blanket, he reveals the angry, raised, red lines running the length of his torso. The ones he tried to hide on the porch with a hand. He eyes me warily, face stone.
My hand comes up, traces one mark, trying to feel the pain beneath it. “Denver,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he says, gravel-voiced. “Too ugly for you?”
“Never,” I echo his earlier words. “Not possible. But—” I bite my bottom lip, eyes pooling.
His hand comes up, snags under my chin to look me in the eyes. “Why are you crying, Sunshine?”
I shake my head, mouth hot and thick. “The thought of you … hurting. I hate it.”
“Don’t want to make you cry. But don’t want you to think I’m something I’m not.” His hand finds his leg, rubbing where it ends, just above his knee. “A lot to take in. Too much?”
“Not at all,” I sigh, leaning forward, slinking down in the bed to kiss each scar.
He tenses beneath my whisper-soft touch. Hand fisting, like he doesn’t know what to do with it. “Tell me if you don’t want this,” I say quietly, feathering over each red spot. My hand comes up, swipes gently over his leg where it ends.
“Don’t want you to think I’m ugly or weak,” he confesses, and my head darts up, eyes finding his.
“These marks show how strong you are. That you’re a survivor. A hero.”
“You want me as-is?” he asks, as if it’s an impossible thought.
“Every part of you.”
He growls low, dangerous, hands sliding to my waist, pulling me up to face him, gripping my naked flesh beneath the flannel. His lips find mine, insistent, tender, like I can feel his walls crumbling.
“Haven’t let anyone see me without the prosthetic. Never let anyone touch me but doctors.”
My chest aches at the loneliness threading his words.
“Didn’t think I was good enough for any woman. Too broken. Not whole.” He stops, eyes me with a gentle smile, cupping my cheek, thumb rubbing over its flush. “Let alone the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“Den—”
“I’m serious. Why I was so grumpy the first time we met. Knew time around you would be my undoing. Show I’m not as tough as I look.”
“That you have a tender side?” My heart thrums as my fingers caress his hard, muscular chest. “That’s my favorite part of you.”
He tries to keep his face unreadable, but I can tell my words hit.
“Belongs to you now,” he grumbles, kissing my forehead and my eyebrows, my eyelids, temples, cheeks. “Only you.” The tip of my nose, my chin, and then my lips again. Deep, sensual, soul-stirring.
My heart thrums, fire whizzing through me like sparklers. Never in a thousand years did I think my cabin challenge would lead here. To happiness after so much sorrow with Maya’s passing.
My hands rove over his firm flesh. No walls between us. No scars, no painful pasts. Accepting each other just the way we are. “I need you so much.”
He stills, eyes scrutinizing mine. “Are you sure? Cause if you and I do this, I’ll never be able to let you go.”
“Don’t let me go, then,” I whisper, nuzzling his cheek, running my hand through the silk of his beard.
His kiss turns furious, sparks incinerating between us. The air electric with need. He grinds me hard against him. It’s not enough. I need to feel him. I need him inside me.
“I’m clean,” I whisper. “And on the pill.”
He swallows loudly. “I’m clean, too. Want me raw or wrapped?”
