Letting his attempted levity drop, Santino tilted his head to brush a kiss over her temple. “Know what, beautiful?”
She pulled in another hard breath, practically leaning into him in a tangible effort to steel herself, and suddenly tugged his arm from its position around her waist. He unlocked his hold and allowed her to guide him, following with his eyes as she moved only his right arm down, almost awkwardly low and across her smaller body. Then she used their joined hands to push the hemof her blouse up and he felt skin—warm, soft, smooth skin—beneath his fingertips.
Santino bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to hold in an ill-timed groan. The pain and coppery tang of blood did little to subdue his erection, but at least that was pre-existing. For a moment that seared into his brain, it was the strangest, most innocent seduction as she slowly guided his touch up over her hip.
Then the texture of her skin changed and cold reality slammed into him like a baseball bat. Of fucking course. Her scar. She had mentioned telling him about her scar.
Her touch receded as his fingers settled more thoroughly over the raised, roughened area of flesh that seemed to slice through her midsection. That was where she wanted him, then. That was what she was trying to do—she had been trying to work up the courage to show him her scar.
He choked on an angry curse.
It was so much fucking worse than if she’d just been a nervous, skittish virgin. And he felt like a goddamn ass.
Slowly, carefully, reverently, Santino splayed his fingers along the blemished area until he found the extent of it. Its height, its length, its width. He gingerly stroked his fingers from one faded corner, along the edge to the opposite corner, then back again. It was a sweeping curve of a scar, like a bad blade wound. He could tell just from the feel of it. And it hadn’t healed well.
Reiko continued to tremble against him, as though she were barely breathing while she waited for his response.
But he’d just about determined the length of the thing, and she probably didn’t want his response. Because if her father was in any way attached to the scar that was nearly the length of his fucking hand, he was going to slice her father to tiny pieces. Starting with the bastard’s dick.
Her shaky voice cut through his building bloodlust. “It-it’s worse to look at.”
He couldn’t quite contain his growl. “Take your shirt off.”
She gasped. “What?”
Santino pressed his whole palm flat over the scar, noting how it felt like he was cupping her nearly from belly button to hip, and bent lower to press a kiss beneath her ear. He slipped his other hand beneath her shirt and teased just the tips of his fingers over her skin, his lips moving lower to taste more of her. “Take it off, beautiful. Let me see.”
Her next gasp sounded breathier, and he knew his extra touches were affecting her. She hummed and nodded, then reached for her shirt.
Santino took a half-step back to give her the room she needed. He tracked her movement as she peeled off the blouse and tossed it aside, his focus quickly recaptured by the nude-colored fabric wrapped tight around her upper torso. Of course, she wasn’t wearing seductive lingerie. He hadn’t really expected different. In a strange way, he liked the realness of her everyday bra more.
He particularly liked the way it cupped and elevated her perfect tits, practically offering them to him. The damn thing was a tease. No lace, no sheer, just solid material holding her nicely in place and obscuring the detail of her nipples from view.
Santino gave himself a mental kick. This was not the time to be ogling Reiko’s tits, as impossible as that felt. His gaze flicked up and he bit back another groan. The woman was fucking elegance even half naked and tense with anxious anticipation. Her posture was perfect and somehow he found he even wanted to run his tongue along the length of her goddamn collarbone. When the hell had he ever been turned on by acollarbone?
He lifted his gaze higher and met, and held, her stare. He offered her a smile. She would see the lust in his eyes. Therewas no hiding it, just as there was no hiding the bulge in his pants. Neither mattered. This moment was not about his desire or any sexual gratification. He held her searching, still nervous gaze long enough that he hoped he conveyed some of that understanding—hoped he at least reassured her he wasn’t trying to turn her vulnerable moment into a self-centered opportunity.
Then he let his focus drop, beneath her chest, and his stare snagged on the scar that marred her naturally paler skin tone. It was obviously old, which meant that for as bad as it looked, it had been much worse at its prime. The sight of it derailed his sexually distracted haze, transforming the heat in his blood from arousal to rage. The scar was narrow near the middle of her abdomen and widened as it curved down toward her hip. As he’d already felt, it was not a smooth curve. There had been no precision, no skill, no care in the injury.
Santino didn’t know how long ago she’d received the wound, or the story behind it, but the mere thought—the image in his mind—ripped the air from his lungs. He dropped to his knees as emotion consumed him and raised his hands, cradling her hips so his thumb grazed the underside of the scar. He was angry for her. He hurt for her. He wanted to howl in sympathy of the pain she had to have endured, the pain he imagined just from the way she was so afraid of her own body. Whatever had happened, whoever was responsible … he would get justice for her.
True justice. The kind that bled red and left its victims blue.
Chapter seven
Scarred pt II
The anxiety that heldher rigid and rooted in place melted away as Guerra pressed a reverent kiss against her scar.
It was barely a touch of his lips. A whisper of contact, so much less than when he’d traced it as if he’d been measuring it with hisfingers. Yet it was that touch, that contact, thatmomentwhen the last of her defense finally cracked.
Reiko blew out a shuddering breath and dared lay a hand on Santino’s faintly mussed blond hair.Soft.She threaded her fingers into the strands as his arms curled around her body. Her other hand moved, settling on his shoulder.
He tilted his head and kissed her scar again. Then again. With aching tenderness, he kissed the entirety of it. Then he opened his mouth, pressed the tip of his tongue to one corner of her scar, and proceeded to carefully lick his way along the curve to the other side. He followed each aged contour, laved the seams where her skin was always tightest, making sure to cover all of it.
She wasn’t sure of his intention, of the meaning in his mind behind the action. What she realized was that for her, underneath the startling eroticism, it felt like a balm. Like a salve or even a shielding. The wound was long past, as healed as it would ever be. The pain now was psychological. Remembered. But with the way Santino held her so tightly, covered her so thoroughly, she felt …treasured.
Tears blurred her vision and her jaw trembled. He would surely want to know the story behind that repulsive wound. She couldn’t be falling apart.
