I touched my abdomen, where the scar jutted over my skin, ugly and thick, like a braided rope. I made a face and hoped he didn’t notice as my fingers traced its length.
“I’m doing pasta,” he said, “since that’s just about the only thing you have.”
“Told you.” I poured myself some wine and took a long sip. “I’m surprised you can cook.”
“Every man needs to know how to cook.”
I snorted. “There are a lot of people that don’t agree with you.”
He brandished his wooden spoon at me. “And there are a lot of wrong people in this world. Cooking is one of the most important things in this life, so what’s the point of living if you can’t make good food?”
I laughed and shook my head. “I guess you’re right.”
“Damn right I am.”
“Can I ask you something?”
He glanced back at me. “At this point, I think you can ask me pretty much whatever you want.”
“How come you never date nurses?” I sipped my wine and watched his reaction.
He tensed, which wasn’t what I expected. He didn’t look back at me as he dropped some chopped onion on top of the garlic and stirred. “I don’t like to get involved at work,” he said.
“That’s everyone’s excuse, but nobody actually follows that rule.”
“I don’t trust myself.”
I hesitated. “What do you mean?”
He took a deep breath and looked back at me. I saw the wariness in his eyes. “My father was a difficult man. Military man. Moved us around a lot. I didn’t learn much about having a stable, normal relationship from my parents, and I guess I sort of just accepted that I never would.”
“You mentioned your father before. Are you close?”
“No,” he said. “We weren’t, and he passed away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” He looked away again. “He was a bastard.”
“You said he was disappointed that you didn’t join the military.”
“Can you imagine? Disappointed that I wanted to become a doctor?” He shook his head. “Truth is, I grew up listening to my father verbally abuse my mother, and I’m afraid that I don’t know how to have a normal relationship because of it.”
I went very still and felt my heart race. “Your father was abusive?”
“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He stopped stirring and let out a breath. “I know it’s probably not what you expected, but it’s the truth. I don’t have many relationships, because I grew up with an abusive asshole for a father, and now there’s some part of me that thinks I’ll end up just like him.”
“You wouldn’t though,” I said without thinking.
“You don’t know that.”
“But I do.” I stepped toward him and put my glass down on the counter. “You’re thinking about it, which means you’re way more aware than your father ever was. You obviously care—I mean, you’re a doctor.”
He smiled. “Being a doctor doesn’t make you immune from being abusive.”
“No, but it means you want to help people.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind when you invited me up.” He turned away, and I felt him shutting down.
Without thinking, I reached out and touched his shoulder. He looked back at me and the wooden spoon slipped from his fingers, falling to the floor. I didn’t move, and he didn’t either, as he stared down at me and took my hand in his, staring into my eyes. I felt a rush of something, dizzying and light, as he moved closer to me.
“Maybe we should leave this,” he whispered, voice soft and gentle. “Maybe it would be better if we walked away. There’s always Bali.”
“Do you really think that?”
“No,” he said, and kissed me.
I kissed him back, unable to help myself. I twined my fingers through his hair, his thick, dark hair, and he pulled me tight then turned me, pushing me back against the counter. I felt a hot delicious need run through my core as his hands moved down my body, his palms on my ass, then up onto my chest, on my breasts. He went to pull up my sweatshirt and a part of me started to panic—he’d see my scar, or he’d feel it, and then he’d hate me, he’d find me disgusting—but he didn’t stop as his fingertips brushed against it. I sucked in a breath as he cupped my breasts then kissed my neck and lifted me up onto the countertop.
He spread my legs and I let him come close. I bit his lower lip and looked into his eyes as he gripped my hair and pulled it back. A low moan escaped my lips, and I was unable to help it, unable to stop myself as he released a growl. He pulled my sweatshirt up, kissed my chest, my nipples, kissed down along my stomach and I stared, heart racing, mind blank and wild with desire, as his lips found my scar.