Iam different.
My body jerks to a stop like someone hit an internal brake when I realize that the shoulder of my T-shirt has slipped and all of my scars are on display. He’stouchingthem.
Desire shrivels, curling inward, and a sick feeling fills my stomach, warring with the fire in my cheeks. I jerk backward.
“What happened?” he murmurs.
The words gut me.
It’s what everyone who sees them asks.
The reason I keep them hidden… I don’t want to talk about it. To share my colossal failure in judgment.
We’re so close, I know he can see everything, every ugly detail of my ruined body—the pale glossy patches on my collarbone and shoulder, the uneven texture, the faint raised edges where the graft is.
My lungs seize, and I try to duck my head, but his fingers tighten where his hand spans the side of my neck, his thumb firm against my pulse. It’s not painful, but it’s unyielding as he holds me exactly where he wants me.
My fight response flares to the surface, but before I can strike out, before I can eviscerate him with my words, his voice breaks the silence.
“No.” His voice drops to something dark and low. “Don’t hide from me.”
“Fuck you! It’s none of your business,” I snap.
His jaw flexes, but Liev doesn’t loosen his grip. His other hand lifts, and he lightly traces one of the pale patches near my jawline.
I can’t look at his face. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking when he looks at me.
“Battle scars,” he says firmly, “don’t need to be hidden.”
It’s too much. My emotions are too raw as I try to pull back again. But his palms slide to cradle the side of my head, and my body betrays me with a tiny tremor.
He leans in just a fraction, his breath brushing my temple. A shiver climbs my spine, and my breasts turn heavy. He angles his head back, and finally I meet his gaze.
The raw intensity in his eyes traps me. My breath comes shallow, unsteady and my thoughts scatter. For a split second I’m convinced he’s going to kiss me. The air between us tightens, thins to breaking.
My lashes flutter.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
And—
He stops.
The hands fall from my face, and he clears his throat roughly before pushing to his feet, not bothering to hide how he adjusts the impressive bulge that is now at my eye level.
“I should go.”
I swallow against the pinch in my throat. I don’t want him to go. I want him to stay.
I want him to touch me.
“Oh.”
Real smooth, Sera.
With a controlled motion, he bends and picks up the bag of peas and sets it on the coffee table before moving for the door. I get to my feet, needy words hovering on my lips, but I can’t bring myself to ask. Before it wouldn’t have been a problem. I was confident in myself. In how I looked. In who I was.
Not anymore.
