“Is that possible?”
She smiled. “You certainly sound all right.”
“I’m fine.”
He looked better. The color had returned to his face. She dropped the washcloth into the basin and straightened.
“You should try to go back to sleep,” she told him. “I’m sure the nightmare has passed.”
His eyes were so green, she thought as she stared into them. She’d gotten used to everything about him except his eyes. They still startled her when she looked at him. Although not as much as the realization that she loved him. There was a piece of news designed to make her stagger from shock.
He cupped her face with his palm, then slid his fingers into her hair.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmured.
Words that made her heart beat faster. Words that could make her want to believe. “Yeah, yeah, I look the same as I did yesterday. Now go to sleep.”
“Tell me what has you spooked.”
She drew back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He kept looking at her. “Tell me. I can help.”
“Actually you’re the last person who can fix this problem,” she said before she could stop herself, then wanted to scream. Talk about a stupid thing to say.
He was going to ask a thousand questions. She would bet her last breath on it. He would come after her, relentless, determined to know, to “help” without realizing he was most of the problem.
“Izzy,” he began as he sat up in bed.
She panicked. Later she would even be able to admit it to herself. She panicked and did the only thing she could think of to distract him.
She kissed him.
At first he didn’t respond. She kept her lips against his, mostly to keep him from talking, but after a couple of seconds because it felt good. Really good. Then his mouth moved against hers in a way that told her he wasn’t interested in questions. Not when this was the alternative.
As he reached for her, she leaned in close. The night was around them, but the lamps in the room chased away the darkness. They were safe—maybe because she was always safe when she was with him.
He cupped the back of her head, then slid his hand down her back. She wore the same clothes she’d had on earlier that day and regretted not changing into something with less layers.
She tilted her head and felt the light stroke of his tongue against her lower lip. She parted for him, wanting to deepen the kiss, wanting to tease and arouse and get lost in what they were doing.
He plunged into her mouth, claiming her with an intensity that took her breath away. She remembered the last time they’d made love, how he’d reduced her to a puddle of satisfaction. The knowledge of how she would feel in a few minutes combined with the pleasure of his mouth on hers to make her whimper.
It was just a kiss, she thought as need shot through her. But that didn’t seem to matter. Not when her breasts already ached and she could feel herself swelling in anticipation.
She clung to him, then wanted more and tugged at his T-shirt. He pulled back enough to pull it off. She did the same, then reached behind her for the hooks of her bra, only to freeze in place.
She’d never seen his chest before. She’d touched it, had stroked the scarred flesh, but she’d never seen the crisscross marks that were proof of all he’d suffered. There were thin scars and thick ones. They made a patchwork pattern of ugliness and pain. Of course the purpose had simply been to punish him. Francisco had done his job well.
“Don’t,” Nick said, touching her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. “Don’t get lost there. They don’t hurt, Izzy. They don’t matter.”
He was wrong about both. Of course they still hurt. They haunted his dreams. But that was a conversation for another time.
As much as she wanted to press her mouth to each of the scars, perhaps to heal, perhaps just to tell him she cared, she knew it would be a mistake. He wouldn’t understand what she meant and he would think she pitied him. So she reached behind her and unfastened her bra, then dropped it onto the chair next to the bed. She took his hands in hers and raised them to her breasts.
“These are for you.”
One corner of his mouth tilted up. “Exactly what I wanted.”
“Really? Because I can take them back if you don’t like them.”
“They’re perfect.”
“I’m glad you think so. They’re—”
He leaned in and took her left nipple in his mouth. She’d had more that she planned to say, but suddenly none of it was important. She wanted to feel everything he was doing to her. Feel his body against hers. Feel him inside her. Yes, the pleasure would be great, but she wanted the intimacy—the connection, more than she ever had before.