Beneath the Scars

Her voice broke the silence. “Why did you come after me?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, unable to explain how I felt when I turned around and saw her fall off the last few steps. “You were hurt…and I couldn’t stand the thought.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” I repeated in a whisper. “I feel—” I didn’t know how I felt. “Confused.”

Her hand covered mine, her tiny fingers warm on my skin as she caressed my knuckles. “I feel the same way.”

The air around us pulsated as our gazes held. Slowly, her hand lifted, her eyes begging me not to pull back. She laid her palm on my cheek; her hand a gentle caress on my face. My heart pounded—the rhythm frantic at the feeling of her touch—and I stiffened. I searched her face and eyes for what should be revulsion but found none. All I could see was a silent plea for me to allow her touch. I shut my eyes, swallowing hard, and let myself ease into her caress. Small sparks of anxiety ran down my spine, but I forced myself to stay standing in front of her as she lightly touched me. I jerked in shock when I felt her lips replace her fingers, their softness warm across the twisted skin. It was only one, small kiss; a gentle brush of her lips on me, but the sensation was intense—all at once frightening and beautiful. She didn’t linger or push too hard, keeping her touch quick and easy, as if she knew there was a limit to what I could handle at one time. She drew back, giving me a tender smile, a look of contentment on her face. “Thank you,” she breathed.

A smile tugged on my lips. She had that wrong. I should be thanking her. In one, simple, giving gesture she had made me feel…normal.

I brushed my lips against hers. “Anytime,” I whispered, feeling playful and lighter than I had in years, and wanting to see that warm smile again.

“Now is good for me.”

With a groan, I gave in. I brought her to me, my mouth covering hers. Her arms wrapped around my neck, holding me close. Her soft lips moved with mine, as the passion between us started to build. I held her tight to my chest, my arms constricting, needing to feel her as close as possible.

As soon as I allowed her to touch me, I knew...

There was no going back. Nothing would be the same again.

I wanted her, and no matter the consequences, I would have her...but not yet.

It took everything I had in me to break away from Megan. To lean away from the warmth of her mouth, the comfort of her embrace.

We needed to talk.* * *As I drew back, I dropped a few gentle kisses on her lips, so she would know it wasn’t rejection; I was done rejecting her.

“Why did you stop?” she whispered, as I touched my forehead to hers, inhaling deeply, letting her closeness calm me.

“You need to ice that ankle, and we need to talk.”

“Right now?”

I lifted her into my arms, striding down the hall. “Right now.”

“Bossy much?” she quipped.

I placed her on the sofa, propping up her ankle. I leaned against the back of the sofa; my upper body pressed into hers. “You have no idea. Get used to it, Megan. It’s how I roll.”

She let out a low laugh. The sound of it made my lips twitch, wanting to smile with her. “It’s how you roll? Really, is that the best you have, Zachary?”

“I said I was bossy, not entertaining. Stay here. I’ll be back.”

Her smart retort, “Like I have anywhere I can go, since you took my shoes,” followed me out of the room. That time, I did smile.

A few minutes later, I handed her a cup of coffee and sat down beside her, lifting the cushion then her ankle up onto my lap, fitting an ice pack over it. The fire was burning, the logs popping and hissing as the flames danced, both the dogs asleep in front of it.

I traced the line of her cheek gently with the end of my finger, liking how she gravitated into my touch.

“How old are you, Megan?”

“Twenty-five.”

“I’m thirty-seven.”

“That doesn’t matter to me.”

That piece of information was not really a surprise.

“Why are you here? What brought you to this part of the country so early in the spring? I doubt it was for the admirable weather.”

A small frown appeared on her face. “I needed a place to think. Karen and Chris were kind enough to offer me their place.”

“Think about…?” I let my question hang in the air, watching her telling eyes change from calm to wary and pain filled. Without thinking, I took her hand in mine. “Can you tell me?”

Her eyes drifted past, to the window behind me, their focus dimming for a minute. I let her gather her thoughts and sipped my coffee.