Her neck was covered with patches of beard burn interspersed with red suck marks. Same with her chest.
Amery looked away from the marks and slipped the robe back on.
He's a violent man. Aren't you afraid he'll hurt you?
The irony wasn't lost on her. Ronin hadn't hurt her in anger; he'd hurt her while making love to her. Had he even been aware of his actions in his exhausted state?
You're making excuses for him?
She jumped when a loud knock sounded on the door. "Amery?"
"If you need to use the bathroom, try the one downstairs."
"I don't need to use the bathroom. Let me in. I know something's wrong."
"Just give me a minute."
"No. Open the goddamn door or I'll kick it in."
There's another example of his violent streak. Are you really sure you know this man?
She shrank against the wall.
No sound came from the other side for several long moments. Then he said, "Please."
Amery found herself unlocking the door and walking past him into the kitchen. Hands shaking, she poured a glass of juice. Her heart raced when Ronin moved in behind her.
"What happened? Help me out because I don't remember a goddamn thing."
She faced him. "You don't remember anything at all?"
"I vaguely recall coming here late last night and crashing next to you. Then about five minutes ago I woke up alone, surrounded by twisted sheets and your taste on my tongue." His gaze dropped to her hands, and how tightly she clutched her robe. "Amery. Did I hurt you?"
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.