He fingered the scar absently and then dropped his hand.
“Does it still hurt you?” she asked quietly.
He shook his head. “Only the memories.”
He looked immediately chagrined, as if he regretted sharing something so personal with her. But she was delighted that he was actually talking to her. A real conversation that didn’t revolve around the job he was hired for.
“How did it happen?”
He paused a long moment, shadows chasing away the lightness in his eyes. Then he expelled a long breath and sat forward in his chair, seemingly ill at ease.
“If I’m prying too much, just tell me to mind my own business,” she said quickly. “It’s not morbid curiosity. I’d like to know more about you . . .”
She trailed off before she said something really stupid, like that she was fantasizing about his mouth on hers and tracing the lines of that scar with her own fingers. She wanted to soothe away any lingering pain, though it sounded ridiculous that she could offer him anything at all.
“On our last tour, Nathan and I and a few more from our team were captured. We had split off from Joe and his team. They got out. We didn’t. We spent months being tortured and starved before we were rescued.”
He put his fingers back to the scar. “They carved me and Nate both up, and they did this. By the time we got out and to a hospital, there was little they could do except patch it up the best they could. They said I could see a plastic surgeon, but I opted not to. It’s a reminder.”
He went silent again, a faraway look in his eyes as if he were back there in hell and not here.
She slid to the end of the couch so not much space separated them. Tentatively, she reached out and put her hand on his knee, squeezing gently.
He flinched, sucking in his breath, his eyes suddenly glittering with fire. Her pulse ratcheted up several beats because she realized he wasn’t unaware of the chemistry between them.
“How is it a reminder?” she prompted gently.
“That I was a victim and I’ll never be a victim again,” he said simply.
“It’s not ugly,” she said in a sincere voice. “It’s a mark of courage. Of survival. I think you’re beautiful.”
He reared back his head, surprise flaring in his eyes. He stared at her like she’d lost her mind.
“Beautiful?” he said hoarsely. “You’re beautiful. Not me.”
She leaned in, knowing she was being bold—too bold—but she simply couldn’t resist showing him with more than words that his scar didn’t put her off in the least. She cupped his face and slid her fingers down the puckered ridges.
He flinched and tried to withdraw but she leaned farther, following him back as she continued her gentle exploration.
“I disagree,” she murmured. “I think you’re beautiful. Strong. A warrior. Your scar is a badge of honor. You forget, my father and brothers served in either the military or the police force. They have scars. They don’t bother me in the least.”
Swanny looked at a complete loss for words, but he remained frozen in place. Then he leaned slightly into the palm of her hand as if he enjoyed her touch.
“Can I kiss you?” she whispered.
Shock registered in his eyes. She knew she was being forward. Practically forcing herself on this man. But she knew he felt it too. This inexplicable pull between them. She wasn’t imagining it.
“We shouldn’t,” he began. But she hushed him by fitting her mouth to his.
He let out a low groan and she licked over his lips, pushing gently so he’d open his mouth to her advance. And then, as she’d hoped, he took control of the kiss.
He pulled her into his lap, deepening the kiss, sliding his tongue across hers in a gentle exploration. Her body molded to his perfectly. She leaned into him, enjoying the hard wall of muscle against her much softer body.
She was tall, nearly five-ten, but he was still a head taller than her. If they were standing her head would tuck perfectly underneath his chin and she’d only have to angle her mouth up a bit to kiss him.
She was the first to break the kiss but she wasn’t finished. Not yet. She started at the corner of his mouth where the scar began and she kissed a gentle line over the entire puckered slash that ended close to his eye.
“You are beautiful,” she whispered. “To me, you are.”
He framed her shoulders in his hands and pulled her away, regret simmering in his eyes. But there was also answering desire. He actually picked her up and deposited her back onto the sofa and then backed off, standing a distance away.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” he said hoarsely.
He dragged a hand raggedly through his hair and looked away.