My brain suddenly engages. He’s taking me to his room, and I know it’s not to sleep. All those ugly insecurities about my body rush forward. Jordan has never seen me fully naked. Our quick fuck in the storage closet was in complete darkness.
I squirm in his hold. “Jordan, put me down.”
He kicks open the door to a room. “I will.”
“Now,” I demand.
The tone of my voice must give him pause because he stops in the doorway and carefully lowers me to my feet. Embarrassed, I awkwardly pull up my underwear and pants.
“Don’t know why you’re getting dressed when I’m about to get you completely naked.”
He takes a step forward, and I take a step back.
“You don’t understand,” I say, my frustration rising.
“I’d like to understand. But I can’t do that unless you talk to me.”
He comes forward another step, and again, I retreat the same distance. I feel like prey being stalked by a cunning predator.
Another step. “Are you telling me to stop? I promised you I would if you told me to.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say yes. Instead, I blurt the truth.
“I’m scared.”
There’s enough ambient light filtering through the drawn drapes for me to see his frown.
“Of me?”
I retreat another step but can’t go any farther when I back into the side of the bed.
“In a way, yes. I’m scared that you’llseeme, the real me.”
The me who isn’t tall or skinny or perfect like the other women he normally takes home with him. The me who bears scars and imperfections.
With firm fingers, he forces me to meet his eyes. His very blue, stunning eyes.
“I do see you, Douglass. I’ve always seen you.”
My heart gives a flutter.
He lifts my wrist. “Do you want to know what I see?”
My bangles shift, exposing the shameful scar hidden underneath. A lone tear escapes when he brings it to his lips and places a tender kiss there, then another one on the faded scabs on my arm.
“I see beauty and pain. I see a woman who is strong and resilient and kind. A woman so sexy, I couldn’t control myself when she asked me to kiss her.”
My face flushes hot at the reminder of what happened in the garden.
Jordan guides my hand to the buttons of his shirt. Like he did when teaching me how to drive stick-shift, he manipulates my hand under his, popping the buttons, one by one, until there are no more.
“I see a woman who is the owner of this,” he says, gliding our joined hands over his chest to where his heart is pounding. “I see a woman I want more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire fucking life.”
His other hand fists my hair, and the sting of pain sends a renewed rush of arousal through me.
“Invite me inside, Douglass.”
Those same words he spoke to me before are nuanced with new meaning. He’s not asking to be invited inside the house. He’s asking for me to finally let him in. Heart, soul,andbody.
