Mistletoe Mischief (Lost and Found #5.5)(6)

She grinned up at him, and that warrior spirit of hers turned self-consciousness to bravado.

Roger grinned down at her, entranced by her. "You amaze me, Cassandra Jones."

With a long, considering smile, she pushed at his chest, rolling him to his back. Then she sat up, turned to face him and whipped her sleep shirt over her head.

Roger almost choked on his tongue, not daring to believe that the beauty in front of him wanted him. He suddenly felt very insecure in his own body. Yes, he worked out and tried to eat right, but the goddess before him put all his efforts to shame, in a completely different way. She was glorious and womanly, her body rounded yet firm. She still wore a white sports bra, but it did little to hide her magnificent breasts. 

In the pale light of dawn, her creamy coffee skin seemed even softer than before. Paying special attention to the feel, he ran a finger over her soft shoulder and down her arm.

He thought of the 'I'm no Angel' campaign he'd seen on TV recently. The 'plus-sized' women drew his attention more than any other advertisement he'd ever seen. Cassandra would fit into that line-up and outshine every woman there. She looked happy and healthy, not sickly like most of the super-models other men seemed to go for.

She was so beautiful to him that his throat tightened with emotion.

Then he felt a wave of self-doubt. As daring as she was pulling her shirt off like that, he didn't feel nearly as excited to whip off his own clothes. His bottom half wasn't too bad. Yeah, some scars and old burns, but his top half was a mess. And that was before you even got to the arm.

Cass took his silence as censure and began to cover herself. Roger sat up beside her, reaching out to cup her neck. "No, baby, don't you dare cover those breasts. They're superb. I was just thinking that I'm not nearly as magnificent. I look like the worn side of an old boot."

She looked down at his chest, then planted her hands on his pectorals. Her fingers began to explore, and he let her.

"I've been dreaming of exploring this chest all night," she told him softly. "You look mouth-watering. And when you wear tight T-shirts like that, you have to expect women to throw themselves at you, even with the flannel on."

He winced. "Yeah, they do, sometimes. But I shut them down because I know what I'll see in their expressions when they finally see me."

Cassandra frowned and looked directly into his eyes. "I know it's just words, but you can't judge me by the other women that have passed through your life. I've seen a lot of fucked up shit in my own life, but I don't think what you have under here," she plucked at the material, "will spook me nearly as bad as other things I've seen."

She pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "But I don't want to guilt you into exposing yourself if you're not ready. If this relationship goes anywhere, it can't be built on sour emotions like that. You do what makes you comfortable. I want that shine back in your eyes."

She smiled at him, and he automatically smiled back, then he looked down at the expanse of cleavage in front of him and huffed out a breath. Cupping the weight of her breasts in his hands, he leaned down to press a kiss to the slope of each one. Cassandra shivered at his touch, and the banked arousal surged again. She was a delectable piece of bliss just waiting to be eaten, and he was worried about the damn scars.

Maybe he was so worried about it because he actually could imagine a forever with Cassandra, and he didn't want to risk the possibility of that for anything.

But then he wondered if he shouldn't go ahead and get it over with. He would rather be hurt now than weeks or months down the road when they were solidly entrenched in each other's lives.

Pulling back from her, giving her solid eye contact, he hesitated only a second, then dragged the T-shirt over his head.

Cassandra's eyes widened at his abrupt move, but she kept her gaze on his even as her smile broadened. "You make me see beauty," she told him, voice hushed. "Not of the body, but of the soul, which is much more important. I haven't had that in my life. And before you get offended at me calling you beautiful, it's just about the best compliment I can give you."



       
         
       
        

Roger blinked, then blinked again to clear the blurriness. All this damn emotion was seriously messing with his head.

Then her gaze drifted down to his shoulders. His skin prickled as she looked at the scarring. It had been several years since he'd been Medevaced out of Iraq. Most of the scars had darkened with age, but a few had puckered and pinkened. The deep, heavy ones that had been down to the muscle on his side had been grafted with skin from his opposite thigh. In that one area, he was about ten different shades of color, from very dark black to very light.

Cassandra reached out to run her fingers over the skin, feeling the surface, but he watched her face for any hint of hesitation. There was none there. Just curiosity.

"Looks like they patched it?"

"Yes," he cleared his throat. "I have scars on my left thigh where they took the skin grafts from."

"And how did this happen, exactly?"

She shifted back a little, then leaned forward to look more closely at his rib area.

"We were in Iraq on patrol. I was walking along side a Humvee as we cleared a small village. I had just stepped down into a bit of a ditch when the Humvee hit an IED. The blast blew fire out from beneath the vehicle and struck me in the side, knocking me about thirty feet away. My arm was gone immediately, and my side took the brunt of the fire. I was peppered with shrapnel."

She shook her head, her fingers continuing to explore. "I can't imagine the pain."

Her fingers drifted up to the arm and before she could ask, he slipped the prosthetic away from the upper arm stump. He didn't remove the sleeve, but she didn't seem to need that. Her fingers touched the end lightly, feeling its shape and weight before moving on.

As an amputee, you sometimes settled into a casualness with your own body, especially in the company of medical personnel who dealt with injured military. They had usually seen everything during their career. He had no problem walking into a doctor's office and exposing his stub to a room full of interns.

Civilians were another situation entirely. They usually did double takes, then either stared rudely or turned away and refused to acknowledge you any more.

Roger had never been one to be casual with his appearance. And the relief he felt as Cassandra looked back at him and smiled, her eyes clear of censure or anything negative, was pretty humbling. He'd taken more of a chance with her tonight than any other personal relationship he'd been involved in since his injury.

That was a very long time to be alone.

Roger sighed, appreciating that she was still talking to him and he hadn't apparently grossed her out.

"Honestly, I was pretty lucky," he told her as he replaced the prosthetic. "I had been walking right alongside the vehicle at first. Not sure what made me veer out and down. If I'd still been beside the vehicle I would have lost both my legs and probably bled out. We were a long way from any relief." 

Cassandra looked up at him again and smiled, and Roger jerked to attention. He had a beautiful woman with no shirt on right beside him, within reach, and he was rehashing history. Even though his mind was concentrating on other things, his body was still very much focused on her.

He was relieved that she was okay with him. That made everything else they had to face minor in comparison.

Cassandra seemed to sense the change in him, and quirked a dark brow. "So, if this is the worst you have to show me I think we'll be okay."

Nodding, he reached out to brush the side of her breast. A shiver worked through her body, and her dark nipples hardened beneath the fabric of her bra.

Cassandra grinned at him. "Keep doing that and I might have to kiss you."

A sense of joyfulness filled him up and he felt like laughing like a child. Instead, he clenched his jaw and mirrored her look, brow quirked. "Oh, really? Maybe if I do this you'll definitely kiss me."

He ran a forefinger around her nipple, through the white cotton. It hardened even more beneath his touch, and he circled it a couple of times before she grabbed his hand and moved it to her other breast. "This one needs attention too," she gasped.

He made the same movement to that nipple as well, and her eyes drifted shut. A moan drifted from her throat and he wondered what she sounded like when she climaxed.

Cassandra shifted her hips, as if the touch transferred to other areas, and Roger wanted to strip her, lay her down and have his way with her.

Shifting to his knees in front of her, he took a moment to adjust himself in his jeans, then cupped her shoulders in his hands. With a gentle nudge, she fell back against the mattress, but her gaze stayed on him.

"You might as well take those jeans off," she told him, voice dry with humor. "I guarantee you're not going to need them."

He grinned, loving that she already had the experience mapped out in her head. "I will in a minute. Right now, it's the only barrier I have strong enough to keep me away from you."

He looked down her body, loving when she arched for him, her curves smoothing. "You have the most delectable body," he whispered. "I have to explore every inch of you."