Scars (Going All the Way 3)

He lifted his head then, as if he sensed her watching him.

Hannah wondered how he’d gotten it. Had someone given it to him? What did they look like as a result? She could only imagine that if another human hurt him like that, she doubted they survived to tell the story.

A small smile curved his lips as he noticed her empty plate.

“Are you still hungry? I don’t have any fresh fruit, but I can run into town and grab some. Or if there's something you like but I don’t have, I can get that too.”

She shook her head, a smile forming on her lips. He was eager to please her. Hannah could see that on his face, hear it in his voice. “I’m full. Stuffed, in fact. I haven't eaten like that in… I can’t remember.”

He scowled at that and walked into the kitchen to wash his hands in the sink.

For long seconds, she just watched him, stared at the way his biceps and forearms flexed and relaxed as he lathered up his hands before rinsing them under the water. He turned and grabbed a dishtowel, drying off, his focus on her. Hannah couldn’t deny that his gaze was penetrating, strong, and made her feel like he reached out and touched her.

“You should eat more. You’re skin and bones.” The way he said it told her he didn’t like that reality. “I’ll have to change that while you’re here, make big meals three times a day.” The corner of his mouth kicked up, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“You do that and by the time I leave, I won’t be able to fit into any of my clothes.”

Something in his expression changed… heated. She could see it in the darkening of his eyes, hear it in what she swore was a growl leaving him.

“You’ll be full and healthy. Nothing wrong with that.” His voice was even deeper, if that were possible.

They didn’t speak for moments, Scars leaning against the sink as he watched her, Hannah’s hands under the table as she nervously picked at her shirt. Finally, he sighed and pushed away, walking toward her before taking the seat across from where she sat.

“So, good news and bad news on the car.”

She straightened, nodding slowly.

“It’s fixable.”

She let out a relieved breath.

“But it’s not gonna be easy and not gonna be quick.”

Her heart sank.

“I can do all the work in the garage. That’s not even a problem. And I certainly have the free time, but the main part I need won’t be easy to come by, meaning it’ll probably take a while to get in.”

Her heart sank double time, not just because of the news, but because she knew she didn't have the money to afford any of this.

A cold sweat broke out on her forehead, and she lifted her hands to clasp them on the table, trying to act like she wasn’t freaking out. And the entire time, Scars watched her, his brows pulling down low as he clearly took in the change in her.

“Hey,” he said deeply, his voice softening. He reached out and placed his massively large hand on hers, which was so tiny in comparison. “What's wrong?”

She licked her lips, knowing she needed to tell him the truth. “I don’t have the money to pay for any of the repairs, to pay you for the work.” Tears brimmed her eyes, because she couldn't stay in this cabin forever. But without a car, she was good and screwed.

“Hey now, don’t worry about that, okay? I have all the shit to fix it. Only thing I need is the main part, and I'm in tight with the mechanic shop in town. They owe me more favors than they can ever repay in a lifetime.”

She did start crying then, fat tears sliding down her cheeks. “Why?” His brows furrowed further. “Why are you helping me? You don’t even know me.” She angrily wiped her tears away with her free hand, the one he wasn’t grasping. She didn't want to let go of that stable comfort from him.

“Why am I helping you?” he parroted, but she didn’t respond, didn’t even breathe. “Because despite the tattoos, even though I look like I should be in prison—” She smiled at that, and he gave her a wink. “—when I see someone in need of help, when they are so scared their only option is to run and accept help from someone who looks like me, I can’t ignore it. I have to help.” He gave her hand another squeeze.

He leaned forward, and she smelled a mixture of his cologne, his natural woodsy, intoxicating scent, and a hint of motor oil. It shouldn’t have turned her on, but God it did.

“And in all honesty, there’s something about you that draws me in, Hannah. Even if my life depended on not helping you, I couldn’t do it. I’d be a dead man.”