Beneath the Scars

He swatted my hand away, but he was still smiling. “Open your gift,” he commanded.

I sat down and lifted the heavy items out of the bag, gasping in delight.

Journals.

Thick, embossed leather-bound journals, all encased in a heavy black box. Five in total, all different colors: forest green, rich, deep red, a warm, golden yellow, the richest blue and a vivid purple completed the set. The paper was heavy and rich under my fingers, lightly lined, with an intricate border on each page. A lovely, matching satin ribbon bookmark edged in pewter was attached to each of them. I stared, speechless, at the thoughtful, decadent gift. Zachary was trying to give me back the gift of writing. A place to put my words if they came back. He knew the computer wasn’t what I needed. These lovely journals were.

I lifted my eyes to his anxious gaze. My damaged, beautiful, scarred, worried man. A man, who felt he had nothing to offer another person, yet with one caring gesture, proved he had everything to give and more.

Reaching in his shirt pocket, he pulled out a package, his hand shaking with nerves. “Ashley said these pens were very good, and you’d like the way they wrote on that paper.” He nodded to the journals and cleared his throat. “If, ah, you don’t like them you can exchange them for something else.”

I shook my head, letting the tears fall. “They’re perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“They’re the most perfect gift I’ve ever received.”

Zachary shook his head, his fingers wiping away the tears. “Don’t cry, Megan.” He sighed. “I hate it when you cry. It makes me feel…strange.”

“Strange?”

“Your feelings make me feel odd. I’m not used to feeling anything for another person. For caring how they feel about something.”

I wrapped my hand around his. “It’s called love, Zachary. When you love someone you feel their pain and joy. You become part of it—of them.”

“I only want you happy.”

“I am.”

“But you’re crying.”

I sat the heavy books on the table and cupped his face. “Your gift touched me. I love it. I love you.”

He yanked me flush to him, his mouth hard on mine. Winding my hands into his hair I dragged him closer, my passion matching his. He pressed me back, my body falling onto the sofa with him on top, a mass of entwined limbs and pressing lips. I was on fire for him, arching into his warmth, wanting closer. Zachary’s hands slipped under my shirt, caressing my back, moving and stroking, making me moan with want for him. Everything faded away except his nearness. I needed to feel more of him, be closer, taste him more.

Until a voice startled us both.

“Whose truck is that in the driveway, Megan?” The voice turned horrified. “What the hell is going on?”* * *The dogs were running around barking, as Zachary flung himself away from me. I stared up in shock at Karen.

“What are you doing here?”

Glaring at me, she tossed her hair, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture I knew meant she was pissed. “You were supposed to call and let me know you were okay. That was two days ago, Megan. Two days! I was so worried, I drove up here to check on you! I expected to find you sick, not locking lips”—she flicked her hand toward Zachary—“with him!”

I stood up, my stance echoing hers. “Be polite.”

“Oh, sorry.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Hello, Zachary. How nice to see you again.”

He grunted out a curse and I shot him a look of annoyance. He wasn’t helping the situation. I smoothed down my shirt, grateful the house was tidy, given Karen’s sudden appearance. “My cell died and I forgot to charge it. I’m sorry you were worried. I did leave you a voice mail a while ago, but I guess you were already on the way.”

“Not soon enough, it would seem.”

Zachary stepped forward, his hands fisted at his sides. “What does that mean?”

I laid a hand on his chest, stopping him. “I need to talk to Karen for a while. I think you were going to take the dogs home?” I suggested with a raise of my eyebrows.

For a moment, he stared at me as my eyes beseeched him to cooperate.

“Yeah,” he huffed. He glanced at Karen. “And make us dinner.”

Her eyebrows shot up even higher.

“I’ll walk you to your SUV.” I looked at Karen and pointed to the floor mouthing, “Stay here,” at her. Her face said it all—we’d be talking as soon as I was back in the house.

Zachary loaded up the dogs, shutting the door with far more force than necessary. “Come with me.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing into his chest. “She drove for miles to see me and make sure I was all right. I have to stay and talk to her.”