But then, she knew who I was before she walked up my mountain. Or at least, she thought she did.
I loosen my hold on her wrist, enough to let her turn her hand in my grip, but not free herself. “Tell me about him.”
“Coffee. Please?” The fragment of hope in her eyes is so fucking sweet that I almost cave and give her what she wants.
Almost.
“Soon, sweetness.” I rub the pad of my thumb across her wrist, pleased when her pulse flutters erratically beneath my touch. “What do I need to know about him?”
The light fades from her pretty gaze. “You’re no fun,” she grumbles. That’s cute, too.
“Talk now. Reward later.”
“Hmmph.” She glances up at me through her lashes and flexes her hand in my grasp, uncurling her fingers like she’s tickling salmon.
Is the little toy fucking flirting with me?
I swallow hard and tug her across the floor toward me. The patch we’re on is worn smooth from years of me walking on it.
“Tell me about him, Elena.” I let an edge of hardness enter my tone, squeezing her wrist a little firmer.
Her pulse quickens. “His name is Oliver. Oliver Markham.” Her chin rises, the same show of defiance she gave me back in the yard.
“You kept his name?” That’s something. If she’s divorced, he’s fair game. If she’s not… He’s still in a world of hurt if he’s damaged the stunning woman before me and stole the light from her.
“The paperwork hasn’t come through yet. For the name change,” she adds quickly at my assessing look. “Everything else is finalized. Not that he didn’t fight. He’s a bit obsessive.” She looks down at where I still hold her wrist. Her hand goes limp.
My heart aches in my chest. “Show me, sweetness.”
Her gaze shoots to meet mine. For the first time since she arrived on my land, there’s real fear in her eyes. “What?”
“Show me what he did to you.”
“I told you.”
I smile, and there’s no humor in it. “You gave me words, Elena. Now I want you to show me what he did to you to makeyou want to leave.” I release her wrist, the hardest damn thing I’ve done in an age, and give her space.
For a woman I met less than an hour ago and just brought it to my house, that’s saying something.
She wraps her arms around herself like a protective barrier, staring up at me. Those pretty lips move, but nothing comes out. For the longest time I’m sure I’ll be responsible for resuscitating her with coffee just for being an asshole. Then she shifts again, and I realize that the single person hug hasn’t been about hiding from me. It’s been about motivating herself to do exactly what I asked.
Her hands fall to her sides, along with the panels of her red checkered shirt. The material hangs open in the middle, displaying the same slice of deliciously curved stomach she showed me before, along with a fresh patch of skin. But this flesh is neither soft nor unmarked.
It’s crisscrossed with deep scars, and not the sort she might have done herself in the middle of an anxiety attack or worse.
The edges are jagged, like the blade he used was serrated. A hunting or fishing knife is my guess. He didn’t go too deep, but whether that was by design or choice is anyone’s guess.
“Christ, sweetness,” I murmur. “You think he followed you out here?”
I hope he’s followed her. I hope he’s stupid enough to try to break into my home. That’ll give me a damned good reason to end the threat to her life in short order. I can be as creative as she needs me to be about body disposal.
“I– I’m not sure.” The words expel from her in a rush. She knots her fingers but doesn’t try to hide her body from my gaze. “I might just be paranoid.”
Again, that flicker of defiance hits me low in my gut. I’m blown away by the display of courage before me from a womanwho knows fuck all about me. What she does has been garnered from a stranger.
“Being paranoid might keep you alive.” I rise to my feet and hold out my hand. She hesitates then pushes up. Her legs wobble but she refuses my help, the strain in her face obvious. Pain lances through her eyes as she looks away from me.
I grab the edges of her shirt and start buttoning it up. She gives a little gasp and pulls back for the first time.
