Beneath the Scars (12 page)

It was a peculiar sensation.

Slowly, she grew still and the muffled, pain-filled sobs ceased. Without a word, I handed her some tissues, allowing her a moment to gather herself as she wiped away the wetness from her face.

“I got your shirt wet,” she whispered, her voice gruff with emotion. “I’m sorry.”

“I have other ones. It isn’t a problem.”

Her eyes met mine, the dark gaze wide and confused. We were so close; I could see the flecks of gold that surrounded her pupils like small sunbursts. Her auburn hair, glowing almost copper, glinted in the late afternoon sun that filled the room. Without thinking, I lifted a hand, trailing my fingers through the thickness of her tresses, admiring the colors spilling over my hand. “I’d like to capture you, exactly like this,” I murmured. “You’re so lovely in this light, with the sun surrounding you, highlighting your hair.”

“Do you do that? Paint, ah, portraits?”

I shook my head in wonder. Once again, she was making me feel and say things that were out of character. “I’ve done a few. I use photography with those. It helps sometimes when the moment is right and I need to capture something to use later.” Teasing, I tapped the end of her nose, wanting her to smile. “Like now. Would you let me take your picture, Megan, if I asked? Paint your portrait?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her cheeks flooding with color.

Her sudden shyness and simple answer warmed my chest. I wanted that camera in my hands immediately.

“Maybe later this week we will. I want this light behind you when I do. It’s fading now, so when I see it again, we’ll act on it.”

“All right.”

Neither of us acknowledged the fact we both assumed she would be here.

Somehow, though, we both knew it.

Elliott stood up, stretching, shaking his head. “I need to take him for a walk.” Easing Megan off my lap, I got off the sofa. “I’ll take Dixie, too.”

“Are you going in the woods?”

“No. I’ll take them on the beach.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You shouldn’t be on your foot.” I frowned.

“You wrapped it so well, it feels fine. It’ll be good to stretch my legs.”

The thought of walking on the beach with her appealed to me, so I didn’t argue. It was better than me worrying about her sitting here alone, perhaps crying again. I paused, wondering when the last time I had worried about another person had been, or why worrying about Megan seemed so natural. Offering her my hand, I helped her off the sofa, watching her as she walked in front of me. Her limp was still there, but it seemed manageable. Still, it was probably a good idea to walk in front of her down the steps. They seemed to be her weakness.

Despite the sun, it was still cold outside. Megan grimaced as she observed my usual habit of walking barefoot on the sand. “Do your feet not get cold?”

“Not anymore. I’ve been walking this beach for so long it feels strange to have shoes on. I do when it snows, but even then, not all the time. I like the cold.”

She shivered, and I chuckled at her dramatics. I wrapped my arm around her waist, drawing her close as we walked the hard sand. She fit so well under my arm, her head tucked against my shoulder as we strolled. I kept back from the water, knowing she had no desire to feel its icy fingers wrapping around her ankles, soaking into her skin.

“Have you lived here long?”

“Almost ten years. I’ve owned the house longer than that but only used it for vacations before—”

“Before?” she prompted.

“Before I came to live here permanently,” I finished. I wasn’t ready to tell her my story yet; I hoped she wouldn’t push me on it today.

She nodded, bending down to pick up a small piece of driftwood, tossing it for the dogs. We spent the next while smiling and laughing as we threw the stick. They bounded up and down the beach chasing it, bringing it back, wanting it thrown again. It felt very strange to be sharing the beach with her, and to be laughing and almost carefree. Done with throwing the stick, the dogs ran around, chasing each other. Leaning against an outcrop of boulders, I looked down at our clasped hands—my scarred flesh wrapped around her perfect, smooth skin—wondering why she allowed me to touch her with such ease. Glancing up, I met her gaze, finding only warmth looking at me. She smiled, understanding in her expression. “Your scars don’t bother me, Zachary.”

“They should,” I answered tersely, feeling the same anxious undercurrent I had whenever anyone brought up my scars or got too close.

“Why?” she asked, her brow furrowed. “Because someone told you they should?”

“Because they're hideous.”

She shook her head as she planted herself in front of me. “They’re marks. They tell me you survived something terrible. They don’t define you.”

“They’re a pretty good fucking indicator,” I sneered. “You don’t know me, Megan. Stop trying to romanticize me in your head. I’m not some sort of hero.”

She didn’t respond to my anger. It didn’t have the usual effect of pushing someone away. Instead, she inched closer. Her voice was gentle when she spoke, its soothing cadence comforting to my jumbled nerves. “We all have scars. The only difference is some of them are easier to see. Yours are visible and appear painful, I know. They hurt you physically and emotionally. They hurt me to look at because I know they cause you pain, but they don’t make you less in my eyes.” She drew in a deep breath as she lifted her hand to my face, cupping my scarred cheek, ignoring my stiffening posture. “I don’t see you as a hero, Zachary. I see you as a human being. A man in pain and alone.” She stepped closer, her chest leaning into mine. “I don’t want you to be alone. Let me in.” A soft, shuddering sigh escaped her lips. “Please.”

Once again, I was lost to her.

To her deep, caring eyes.

Her sweet words.

The soothing balm her touch provided to my ravaged skin.

Her.

Megan.

Cupping her face, I covered her mouth with mine. When her warm breath met my cold skin, I groaned, surrendering to everything that was her.

I kissed her deeply; our lips moving and shaping, our tongues touching in slow, sensual passes. I moaned at her taste, wanting, needing more. Burying my fingers into her thick hair, I held her face close to mine as our passion began to build. The sounds of the pounding waves and wind ceased. The only thing I could hear or feel was the escalating rhythmic beat of my heart, the roar of my blood as it pulsed through my veins; want, desire for this woman overriding all else. I took everything she offered me: her warm mouth, tight embrace, and the erotic sounds she was making. My hands drifted down her back, cupping her rounded ass, and pulling her up tight to me, letting her feel my desire. Her head fell back with a small gasp, my lips finding purchase on the damp, cool skin of her neck and cheeks, the saltiness of the ocean spray pungent on my tongue as it swirled and laved on the exposed flesh. Lifting her slight body and spinning, I pressed her against the rocks, not wanting any space between us as my mouth sought hers again, desperate for her taste. Megan wrapped her legs around me like a vice, squeezing as my hips thrust forward, both of us moaning at the contact. We were quickly spinning out of control and I pulled back, panting, trying to clear my head. Megan’s eyes opened: dark, hooded, wanting. “Zachary, please,” she murmured, her hands trying to tug me back to her.

“I don’t have…” I paused, panting, knowing we needed to have this conversation. “I don’t have what you need to feel safe. I wasn’t planning—”

“I’m covered,” she interrupted me.

“You trust me?”

“I trust you. Can you trust me?”

Her gaze was fathomless. She was asking that on so many levels, but there was only one answer possible for now. Leaning close, I trailed my tongue softly along her bottom lip. “I want you, Megan. But not here—not a fast fuck against some cold rocks.” I ghosted my lips over her skin, grazing her ear. “In my house. In my bed. Let me take you there.”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

“Hold tight.” My body hummed in anticipation as I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her away from the cold stone. Calling the dogs, I strode across the hard-packed sand with purpose, knowing nothing would ever be the same again once we were together. Once I made her mine.

I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be, anyway.

She was so right in my bed. Perfect in my arms. The rapidly fading light hid the horrible imperfections of my skin, but her lips found every one. Her tender touch smoothed the rigid, twisted flesh, leaving behind deep, unfamiliar warmth. I watched in wonder as her sweet mouth swept over my chest, her fingertips touching me with the lightest of caresses, healing and soothing. Her bottomless, tender gaze filled me with emotion, seeping through my body, sinking into my soul and making me feel whole. I clutched at her thick hair, hissing at the erotic sensation of soft curls trailing along my flesh as her mouth moved, caressing and teasing me. Her floral scent clung to my skin as she branded me with her essence.

Hovering over her, I halted my movements. “It’s been so long, Megan. I’ve been alone…for so long,” I rasped, unsure what I was even trying express.

“I’m here,” she insisted. “Right here with you. Be with me.” Her teeth tugged on my earlobe, her voice a gentle hum. “Lose yourself with me, Zachary.”

With a deep groan, I gave in, letting my body give her what we both wanted.

We were wrapped around each other, skin to skin. Her warmth surrounded me; I couldn’t taste or caress enough of her skin to be satisfied. Slipping inside her heat, I stilled, our eyes locking. The intense emotion in her eyes was shocking and unfamiliar. My heart thundered, its rapid pulse matching her pounding rhythm as our chests melded together. “Megan,” I whispered as I began moving, the tempo increasing as my need grew. “Sweetheart,” I moaned. The sounds she made as I slammed into her over and again, pinning her down on the mattress with my body, drove me crazy. Small gasps escaped Megan’s lips, keening whimpers answering my own hungry groans. Her hands clutched at my shoulders, ran down my back, grasping my hips as her legs locked around my ass, holding me close as she met me thrust for thrust. We were wild in our passion, the pillows shifting, knocking the lamp on the bedside table, the bulb shattering as it hit the floor. The sheet twisted under my fingers, tearing sharply as my orgasm tore through me like a live current. I roared her name, pushing into her as deep as I could get, begging her to come with me as I came hard, needing to feel her clutch and pull me in with her.

After the rush of heat and the deep orgasmic release, came the quiet, mindless bliss of resting in her arms, my head buried in her fragrant hair. Our bodies were still intertwined, joined together in the most intimate way, as we slowly recovered.

I breathed in her scent, the soft floral aroma filling my head. For the first time in so long, my body relaxed, my mind calm and at peace because of the woman I was holding. The light outside had faded, the room now dark as she curled into me, her head tucked under my chin, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my chest. There was no need to talk or move. I only wanted to stay right beside her, sharing this warmth. It felt more intimate in many ways than the act itself. I could feel her smooth cheek touching my damaged skin, her gentle fingertips tracing small pitted marks. Surprised at the lack of panic I felt, I let her touch me without restriction.

Her quiet voice broke the stillness. “Will you tell me?”

A heavy breath left my lungs. “Yes.”