by Trish Morey
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I know it’s hard for you. I know there’s so much deception and betrayal in our history. But if I said to you that from now on there will be nothing but honesty, nothing but the truth, would that convince you?’
Her head dropped towards the floor, her hands linked over her brow.
‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’
She looked up, way up, casting her eyes beyond him into heaven, almost as if she was seeking some kind of divine intervention. And that was what she felt she needed right now. Anything to make this task easier. Anything to shortcut the pain and the shock, to head off the memories of Grace telling her that no one would ever want her as she was.
No one.
‘If we’re going to be completely honest,’ she started, shoving Grace’s words and her own doubts into the furthest regions of her mind. ‘If we’re going to deal with nothing but the truth, then before we go any further there’s something you need to know…’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘I HAVEN’T been completely honest with you.’
Darkness swirled heavy and muggy in his thoughts, threatening to dampen and weigh down the exhilaration of knowing that he was close to his goal, that he was so very close to having her agree to become his wife.
And damned if he was getting this close only to lose her again!
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean there’s something I haven’t told you yet that you should know before you even think about marrying me. Something that may change your mind completely.’
‘How could anything you say now make a difference? Nothing could test us more than what we’ve already been through together.’
‘Believe me,’ she said with a hollow laugh, ‘it’s happened before. I know it can make a difference, and that it might make a difference to you.’
He moved closer, impatience giving his words an aggressive beat. ‘Then get it over with. What is it that I should know?’
She hesitated a moment, her top teeth raking over her lip while she took a steadying breath. Then, ‘Do you remember the photograph I showed you—the one taken before Grace had treated me?’
‘I remember it. And I remember how I behaved, because I assumed whatever procedures you’d had had been purely for cosmetic reasons. I was wrong. I told you that.’
She nodded, her face drawn tight. ‘You did. But do you also remember I told you that the first attempt with laser surgery didn’t work?’
‘You said they misjudged the dosage.’
‘That’s right. Instead of renewing the skin, they damaged it beyond repair. Instead of removing the mark, they made it permanent.’
He shook his head. Surely that couldn’t be right? ‘But now it’s gone—all trace of it!’
Her eyes turned apologetic. ‘Well, you see, while the laser technicians were confident about the new technology, it was still basically experimental. But at least they had the sense to practise their new-found wizardry somewhere it couldn’t be seen—just in case.’
His mind battled for reason. If she had a scar elsewhere he would have seen it. He’d made love to her plenty of times. He’d peeled her clothes from her. He’d seen her naked—
No, he hadn’t!
Every time he’d tried to get her into the shower with him, or reached for the light, she’d slipped away on some pretext—under the sheets or into a robe. He’d felt her skin, he’d made love to every inch of her with his mouth, but he’d never actually seen her with her clothes off. Not in the light.
How could he not have realised?
She stood waiting before him, uncertainty and fear tainting her extraordinary features.
‘Show me,’ he said.
Someone’s heart was hammering. His or hers? He couldn’t be sure. She turned then, reaching her arm to the dimmer switch. His own hand stopped hers halfway there.
‘No,’ he told her. ‘No more hiding.’
She hesitated, her eyes looking to the light, as if to plead that it was too bright in here, too exposed.
‘Trust me,’ he said, returning her hand to her side.
He saw her swallow, saw the shuddering movement in her throat and the tremulous acquiescence in her eyes. Her fingers fluttered to the hem of her shirt. They fumbled for the first button, struggling with the task, finally pushing it through.
Six times her fingers repeated the same jerky action, her eyes not leaving his. Six times he wished he could do more to help than merely stand there, waiting, feeling her anguish, feeling his own tension kick up with the quiet release of each button.
How bad could it be that she would hide herself away as she had done? How bad could it be that she would be so, so afraid?
He sucked in a breath and steeled himself for the truth.
Tears pricked at her eyes, but she wouldn’t shed them—not now, not with him here. When he was gone there would be time enough for tears. She tried to will her hands to pull back her shirt, but her hands seemed stuck, somehow uncooperative.
And then his hands covered hers, squeezing them gently within his own. ‘Let me,’ he said.
Then, keeping his eyes locked on hers, he peeled back the sides of her shirt, scooping the fabric over her shoulders and down her arms, letting it fall to the floor behind her.
She squeezed her eyes shut against a fresh rush of tears and waited for the inevitable reaction. Scenes played through her head. She was back in Garry’s car—her satin dress catching on the cracked vinyl seats, the smell of quick sex competing with spilt motor oil and last week’s discarded hamburger wrapper—and then came his startled discovery and his cries of freakgirl, loud in her memory.
And then she heard something else, something happening right here and now—a hissed intake of breath. She stiffened, turning her face to the ceiling, her eyes still shut, preparing herself for the inevitable.
Preparing herself for the end.
But she was completely unprepared for his touch.
So feather-light and yet so powerful, the pads of his fingers traced over her skin, slowly following what she knew to be the dividing line between the scars and her unblemished skin. From one side to the other his fingers swept, following every curve, rounding every dip, setting her skin to tingling and compounding her fears.
Why would he be taking so long?
Because each second longer tortured her more as she waited for his certain rejection. Each second longer made her pain that much more acute.
And yet rejection didn’t come. Instead his fingers continued their circuit up her ribcage, to where the line of the scar disappeared under the lace of her bra.
Suddenly she was aware that he’d dropped to his knees before her, and her eyes snapped open. She looked down to see his fingers deftly releasing the front clasp before gently, almost reverentially, he peeled the fabric away.
She held her breath as his hands skimmed up from her waist to capture a breast in each hand—one milky white, the other stained mottled red—his thumbs lazily stroking over the nipples, peaking them, rendering them firm. She swayed and reached for his shoulders—anything to anchor her against this tidal swell of feeling, this conflicting rush of emotion, of relief, of arousal.
Then he dropped his head, and she gasped when it was his mouth she felt on her nipples, his liquid tongue circling first one and then the other, giving them both equal time, equal attention, as if they were no different, as if they were the same.
And all the while his eyes remained open.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, kissing the space between her breasts, setting her skin alight with the unrelenting pressure of his mouth and the intimate caress of his hot breath. ‘All of you. Don’t ever believe you’re not.’
‘You mean that?’ she asked, her voice cracking as his mouth and hands continued their worshipful exploration. ‘You really don’t mind?’
He looked up at her then, studying her face before pushing himself to his feet and taking her face in his hands.
‘I l
ove you, Jade. How could this make a difference? I travelled halfway around the world to tell you I loved you and to see if you would let me back into your life. So how could something this insignificant change how I feel about you, when you are so much a part of me and I’m a part of you?’
And the tears that she’d been holding back, the tears that she’d promised herself she’d only shed alone, sprang forward to flood her eyes and spill down her cheeks. Only now they were tears of joy, tears of happiness, for what she’d found, for the man she’d found, and for the love she had for him—love that she now knew was reciprocated.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked as she pressed her head into his shoulder to hide her face. ‘Have I said something wrong?’
She shook her head and peeled herself away from him, barely able to form the words but knowing she could finally tell him.
‘No, you said everything totally right.’ She looked up into his beautiful dark eyes, saw past their concern to the love shining down on her. ‘I love you, Loukas.’
And his eyes lit up as if she’d gifted him the very best the world had to offer.
‘You do?’
She smiled through the streaks of her tears. ‘I do. Even though I tried to hate you, even though I told myself I couldn’t trust my feelings, and to forget you, I couldn’t do it. I love you so much, and right now, at this moment, I love you more than ever.’
‘Then you’ll marry me?’
‘Just as soon as you want.’
‘Oh,’ he said, sweeping her up into his arms, ‘I want…’
And then his lips found hers, and they sealed their commitment with a kiss that rocked her soul, leaving her breathless with even more discoveries.
Because how much more did a kiss mean when you loved someone and you’d discovered your love was returned? And how much more did a kiss mean when the past was gone and dealt with, and everything that lay ahead was brand-new and shiny, full of promise and expectation and hope?
And then his kiss deepened and her needs turned more immediate, more carnal. His hands traversed her back, crushing her breasts to his chest, travelling down to cup her close against his hardness.
Her heart swelled with wonder and the knowledge that his words of love weren’t just words, but that he wanted her, in spite of her imperfections, just as much as she wanted him.
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he said, his breath and his voice ragged and edgy. ‘Make love with me, Jade. Make love with me tonight.’
‘I want to,’ she replied, thinking back to an earlier night that now seemed so very long ago before dropping her lashes to her cheek. ‘But I’m not protected.’
He swung her up into his arms, the gleam in his eye telling her he remembered her coyness at that first meeting, and that this time too would be a first meeting of sorts—a first meeting of two souls who were destined for each other and who could finally acknowledge the inevitability of it.
‘It’s not a problem,’ he said. ‘I’m planning on being all the protection you’ll ever need.’
‘That’s fine by me,’ she said, as his lips drew closer once more. ‘Because, like I told you, when I play, I play for keeps.’
His lips pressed warm and insistent upon hers, filling her with the essence of him and with his promise to cherish her for ever. Then he drew back just a fraction.
‘And that’s just the way I want it.’
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5819-2
FOR REVENGE…OR PLEASURE?
First North American Publication 2006.
Copyright © 2005 by Trish Morey.
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