“Whatever you’re imagining,” he said flatly, “it’s worse.”
She nodded once. There were no visible signs of her bracing herself, but he suspected that she did so. That the voice in her head warned her not to show any emotion.
He ripped off the shirt and stood there, exposed. He bunched up the fabric in his hand, squeezing it tight, as if by sheer will he could make this all go away.
He told himself to close his eyes, that watching would only make it worse. But he found it impossible to turn away from Montana’s face.
He had to give her credit. Nothing much changed. Her mouth tightened a little—although not, he would guess, in revulsion. She looked more thoughtful, a little sad. Then she moved closer and raised her hands.
He knew what she was seeing. The burns on his face and neck weren’t that bad, but those on his torso were angry, ugly scars. Burns on burns, he thought, remembering his frantic scramble from the flames and how his mother had pushed him back a second time.
Montana would see the different colors, the places where red faded to an unnatural gray. What she wouldn’t know and what he wouldn’t tell her was that some days they still ached. That if he moved wrong, he felt pain and limitation in his range of movement. That his hands had been spared but not his psyche, and when he least expected them, the nightmares returned.
She moved her fingers slowly, lightly, feeling every part of the scars on his chest. When she leaned in closer, he had no idea what she was going to do and was startled by the feel of her mouth on the scars.
His body stiffened, locked immobile by a single brush of her lips. She kissed him again and again, then moved slowly to his back, where he felt her gentle touch and the sweet caress of her mouth.
It was a form of acceptance he’d never imagined. An instinctive desire to heal. The task was impossible but the intent was so pure, the last of his reserve, his fear, disappeared like smoke in the wind. In that moment, there was only the night and the woman he wanted with a desperation he’d never experienced before.
He continued to hold himself still, mostly to be sure, but also to give her time to complete her journey. When she faced him again, there were more tears.
“The scars are a part of you,” she said simply, then wrapped her arms around his neck, raised herself on tiptoe and kissed him.
Her willingness to see him for himself was something he hadn’t expected. He pulled her close and hung on, wanting her but perhaps also needing her as well.
MONTANA FELT THE SURPRISE in Simon’s kiss. He held back a little, at first, as if her reaction was unexpected. The scars were worse than she’d imagined, but she only had to look at them. He had to live with them and the memories of what had caused them.
She drew back and stared into his gorgeous eyes. “Are you thinking I’m a bad person because here you are, showing me your burns, but I’m too distracted by your body to notice? Should I be more sympathetic?”
Instead of getting mad or telling her she was an idiot, he started to laugh. A deep sound that rose from his chest and filled the room. There was relief in his laughter and something that sounded very much like sheer happiness. She found herself smiling along, then he scooped her up in his arms.
She shrieked and hung on to him.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, not at all comfortable to be in the air.
“Having my way with you.”
He lowered her to the bed. He stepped back and quickly removed the rest of his clothes. In that second before he joined her, she had a quick glimpse of the rest of him. He was, as she’d guessed, the non-boring form of perfect. Long legs with well-defined muscles. A flat belly, narrow hips and an erection that made her insides get even more squishy in anticipation.
Then he was beside her, pulling her close and kissing her.
His mouth claimed hers with a passion that would have made it impossible to stay standing. She felt his need and it fueled her own. She parted her lips and he thrust his tongue inside. That dance was no less exciting for being familiar. If anything, knowing what he could do to her mouth only made her want more.
He shifted and slipped his hand beneath her, easily unfastening her bra. He removed it and tossed it over her shoulder. She probably should have heard it hit the floor, but her senses were otherwise distracted by the feel of his warm, wet mouth on her bare breasts.
She needed to find a word that was better than
She’d never been big on the intercourse thing. Sure, it was okay, but she’d never felt an overwhelming desire to be claimed in that way. It was just something you did.
This time was different. This time she wanted Simon inside her, taking her.
That was it, she realized. She wanted to be claimed. If there was some way for him to mark her, she wanted that as well. She wanted to carry the very brand of him forever.
Unable to stand it any longer, she stretched out her arm and blindly felt for her nightstand drawer. When she found the knob, she pulled it open. She’d made a recent purchase of condoms. She pushed him back and pulled off her panties. Then she urged him between her legs and reached for him.
He filled her hand, thick and hard. She tried to draw him closer but he put his hand on her breast, holding her in place.
One eyebrow rose. “What are you doing?”
She felt frantic and hungry. Desperate. “I want you inside me.”
“Not yet.”
He sounded more amused than irritated, which was probably good.
“I’m taking charge. Okay, I’m not very good at it, but you should just go with it. I need to practice.”
“I want you to come first.”
“I will.” Which probably wasn’t true, but he didn’t need to know that. “Simon.” His name came out as a plea. “Just be inside me.”
“I promise we’ll get to that. But I have a few fantasies of my own I need fulfilled.”
She dropped her hand. “About me?”
“You are the only one I fantasize about. Sometimes when I’m walking in the hospital I imagine doing things to you.”
Her body went limp and she didn’t even know the details. “What kind of things?”
“Do you want to know the legal ones? Or the illegal ones?”
Her breath caught. “Both.”
“That’s a lot to show you.”
He rolled onto his side so they were next to each other on the bed. He propped his head on one hand and moved the other between her still open thighs.
“Sometimes I think about doing this,” he said, parting her sensitive folds of skin and easing his fingers into the swollen wetness. “I wonder what you’ll feel like, how you’ll respond. I think about exploring you.”
As he spoke, he moved slowly, as if discovering every part of her. He brushed over her most sensitive spot, making her muscles tighten, then moved on to slip a finger inside her.
“I thought I knew how good it would be, but I was wrong,” he murmured, still watching her. “This is better.”
“Great,” she managed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to talk much longer. Not when he moved his fingers back to that yummy spot.
“I’ve thought about touching you here.” He ran his fingers over and around. “What it would feel like. How you liked it. Slow?” He reduced his pace until he was barely moving. “Fast?” He sped up.
Her breath caught. “Either.”
He shifted his hand so his thumb rubbed her center while he pushed a finger inside her. “I wanted to do this.”
The combination of sensations was incredible. The steady pressure of his thumb circling around and around, made her draw up her knees and dig her heels into the mattress.
