She stared at him but couldn’t give voice to the it’s not so bad excuse.
“Let me see.”
“I’m afraid to.”
“Why?”
“Because of what you’ll do to yourself when you see what you did to me.”
That gave him pause. “Jesus. I hurt you and you’re worried about me.”
Yes, because it wasn’t really you.
“Let me see it. Now.”
Fed up with her self-recrimination and frustrated by his hot and cold behavior, Amery let the robe fall to the floor.
Ronin clenched his hands at his sides as his gaze mentally catalogued every inch of her. “You are brightness and beauty in my life and your trust in me is something I treasure . . . and I did this to you?”
Amery didn’t say anything; she just watched him. The horror on his face ripped at her.
“Where does it hurt the most?” He briefly closed his eyes. “If you say you hurt worse inside than outside . . .”
And like usual, she rushed to reassure him. “The beard burn stings. Arnica gel will help, but first I need a shower.” Maybe steam would clear the cobwebs in her brain and the heat would loosen her tensed muscles.
When she exited the bathroom thirty minutes later, Ronin stood in front of the living room window. In two steps he erased the distance between them. “Baby. Let me put this right.” He nuzzled her temple. “Please.” He kissed her. Not tentatively as she expected, but with surety that felt like comfort and love.
Love?
That’s when she feared she’d forgive him anything because she loved him. It frightened her as much as it thrilled her.
When he finally released her mouth, she tilted her head back and looked at him. She noticed Ronin had dark circles under his eyes. Every line in his face read exhaustion. She let her fingers drift across his baby-smooth face. When had he shaved? Had he done it out of guilt? “Ronin. You’re not okay and it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“You’re all that matters to me right now.” He placed his hand over hers. “Come on.”
She let him lead her into the bedroom. The scent of orange blossoms and ginger perfumed the air from the candles on the dresser. Soft strains of Norah Jones tunes drifted from her old CD player. He’d put on fresh sheets, her favorite ones, pale pink cotton emblazoned with cherry blossoms. The whole space had a warm, comforting vibe.
He kissed the back of her head, and his hands moved to untie the sash. Then he slipped the robe from her body. “Sit in the middle of the bed.”
Shivering, not only from her nakedness, Amery positioned herself cross-legged in the center of the mattress.
Ronin cocooned her in fleece. “Warm enough?” he asked as he brought her damp hair on the outside of the blanket.
“Yes.”
“Close your eyes. Let me know if I’m hurting you.” He scooted in behind her with his legs stretched out in a V; then he spread her hair out.
Was he really . . . ?
Yes. Ronin was brushing her hair.
At first, it seemed weird. But then she blanked her mind to everything except the sensation of the bristles lightly digging into her scalp. The brush tugging down the long strands. His hands smoothing the untangled tresses. Ronin’s need to atone for his carelessness with her touched her on so many levels.
“Such beautiful hair.” He brushed it straight back and gathered it at the back of her head. “I’ll braid it so it’s out of my way.”
“You know how to braid?” tumbled out.
“Same principle as braiding rope, right?”
“I guess.” And he’d know all about that.
Ronin’s warm breath drifted across her ear as he loosened the blanket. “Stretch out on your back.”
Her heart beat faster—not from fear.
His hands caressed her shoulders, her arms, her sides, her belly. He placed tender, warm kisses on every mark. Ronin continued to stroke her as he applied arnica gel to the areas that needed a salve stronger than the loving touch of his mouth.
Amery kept her eyes closed. Her thoughts scrolled back to the night he’d shown her in the mirror how she looked bound by him. She remembered the dreamy quality of sitting perfectly still and feeling his hands on her everywhere. His fingers caressing her as he worked the ropes. Even when he’d unbound her, she’d still felt the pull, as if the ropes were digging into her skin.
She felt that same type pull now—as if Ronin were burrowing beneath her skin. When she reached up to touch him, she saw the bruise on his jaw had darkened. Her gaze moved over his face. Was his bottom lip swollen? Why hadn’t she noticed the scratches on his neck?
“What? You’re glaring at me.”
“Where were you last night that you ended up with marks on your throat?” Now that she thought about it, he’d been fully dressed when he came looking for her. And the entire time he’d been touching her—he always took his shirt off. So what other marks was he hiding? And why?
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing to me. You didn’t have those Saturday morning when you pinned me to the bed and f**ked me.”
“Amery—”
“Did you go to Twisted?”
Ronin scowled. “No. I told you—”
“You haven’t told me anything. So you’d better come clean about where you were last night or you can leave and don’t come back. I’m not kidding.”