Don't Dare a Diamond (Must Love Diamonds 5)

It was only fair, and yet she had to bite her tongue to keep from telling him to forget it. She also had to lock each hand around the opposite wrist to keep from turning to him, from reaching out to touch his arm, his chest, or from wrapping her arms around his neck as she plastered her mouth and body to his. Bet he’d forget about talking then.

But as much as she wanted that, she also didn’t. Because while the man could rile her up like no one else, little glimpses of decency, kindness, and compassion beneath his rough exterior had her dying to learn more about that guy.

Like why he was afraid of the dark.

He hadn’t quite admitted that, but she could read between the lines. Same as he could apparently read between all of hers.

So she waited, her gaze memorizing the details of his face as he wrestled with his demons. Prominent eyebrows, high cheekbones, somewhat square jaw. She’d never been attracted to a guy with facial hair before, but his was neatly trimmed and a hell of a lot sexier than she ever would’ve expected.

Her attention snagged on a thin, pale scar along the edge of his whiskers on the right side of his chin. Illuminated by the underwater pool lights, it stood out in stark contrast to the darker tone of his skin.

That right there. She wanted to know how he got it, and when?

Did he have more scars? Where?

She wanted to draw along the white line with her fingertip. Lean forward and trace it with the tip of her tongue.

A wave of heat relaxed her grip on her arms. She started to turn the rest of her body toward him, until his lashes rose, and the torment in his darkened gaze froze her on the spot.

“Three years ago, I was blind for five days.”

Of all the things he could’ve said, she never would’ve guessed something like that.

Three years ago…he’d been in the military then, hadn’t he?

“It was one hundred percent. No shadows. Nothing.”

Raine swallowed past a sudden lump in her throat and whispered, “What happened?”

“Bomb.”

She waited for more, but he shook his head, his jaw set.

Raine sighed softly. Even without knowing details, she couldn’t imagine how terrifying it must’ve been to be blinded and believe you’d never see again. And though it appeared his vision had recovered, after something like that, she could totally understand why he wouldn’t like the dark.

Guilt crowded in again, and she reached out to cover his hand with hers. “I’m sorry.”

His gaze shifted from her face to their hands. Self-conscious, she started to pull back, but he twisted his wrist and caught her fingers. “You have nothing to be sorry for—but it is your turn.”

Her heart lurched in her chest both from the warmth of his touch and the insistence in his gruff voice. Her experience paled by comparison.

“My fall over a horse jump doesn’t really seem like a big deal now, does it?”

“Don’t do that.” He shook his head, his fingers squeezing hers, the pressure almost painful before he relaxed his hold. “Never minimize what happened to you, Raine. It doesn’t have to compare to what anyone else has gone through. Someone else’s experience does not make the trauma you experienced any less worthy of serious attention.”

The lump in her throat doubled in size, and she blinked against the painful sting of tears. She hadn’t ever really thought of her accident as trauma. Pulling her hand free from his, she turned back to the hedges, wishing she could hide deep in the shadows of their branches. He didn’t like the dark. She welcomed the cover it provided.

“The whole thing is still so vivid in my mind,” she whispered. “Just thinking about it puts me right back in the moment.”

Water lapped against her back when he moved closer. Close enough for her shoulder to brush against his chest, her hip against his thigh. The contact was like an anchor she didn’t even know she needed.

“Fire was on point that day. He sailed over every jump without a single fault. We were well under the course time limit, and when we made the final turn, there were only three jumps left.” She closed her eyes, and the image was right there.

With a quick shake of her head, she opened her eyes again.

But the jump remained.

“The way they were set up, I misjudged the height on the vertical, which was stupid, because I knew the height from the walk-through. But the visual between the rails threw me off and I timed it wrong. Fire tried to refuse at the last second, and I wouldn’t let him, so he tried to clear it but got tangled in the rails—”