Beneath the Scars

by Melanie Moreland

  Once again, I was lost to her.

  To her deep, caring eyes.

  Her sweet words.

  The soothing balm her touch provided to my ravaged skin.

  Her.

  Megan.

  Cupping her face, I covered her mouth with mine. When her warm breath met my cold skin, I groaned, surrendering to everything that was her.

  I kissed her deeply; our lips moving and shaping, our tongues touching in slow, sensual passes. I moaned at her taste, wanting, needing more. Burying my fingers into her thick hair, I held her face close to mine as our passion began to build. The sounds of the pounding waves and wind ceased. The only thing I could hear or feel was the escalating rhythmic beat of my heart, the roar of my blood as it pulsed through my veins; want, desire for this woman overriding all else. I took everything she offered me: her warm mouth, tight embrace, and the erotic sounds she was making. My hands drifted down her back, cupping her rounded ass, and pulling her up tight to me, letting her feel my desire. Her head fell back with a small gasp, my lips finding purchase on the damp, cool skin of her neck and cheeks, the saltiness of the ocean spray pungent on my tongue as it swirled and laved on the exposed flesh. Lifting her slight body and spinning, I pressed her against the rocks, not wanting any space between us as my mouth sought hers again, desperate for her taste. Megan wrapped her legs around me like a vice, squeezing as my hips thrust forward, both of us moaning at the contact. We were quickly spinning out of control and I pulled back, panting, trying to clear my head. Megan’s eyes opened: dark, hooded, wanting. “Zachary, please,” she murmured, her hands trying to tug me back to her.

  “I don’t have…” I paused, panting, knowing we needed to have this conversation. “I don’t have what you need to feel safe. I wasn’t planning—”

  “I’m covered,” she interrupted me.

  “You trust me?”

  “I trust you. Can you trust me?”

  Her gaze was fathomless. She was asking that on so many levels, but there was only one answer possible for now. Leaning close, I trailed my tongue softly along her bottom lip. “I want you, Megan. But not here—not a fast fuck against some cold rocks.” I ghosted my lips over her skin, grazing her ear. “In my house. In my bed. Let me take you there.”

  “Yes,” she whimpered.

  “Hold tight.” My body hummed in anticipation as I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her away from the cold stone. Calling the dogs, I strode across the hard-packed sand with purpose, knowing nothing would ever be the same again once we were together. Once I made her mine.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted it to be, anyway.

  She was so right in my bed. Perfect in my arms. The rapidly fading light hid the horrible imperfections of my skin, but her lips found every one. Her tender touch smoothed the rigid, twisted flesh, leaving behind deep, unfamiliar warmth. I watched in wonder as her sweet mouth swept over my chest, her fingertips touching me with the lightest of caresses, healing and soothing. Her bottomless, tender gaze filled me with emotion, seeping through my body, sinking into my soul and making me feel whole. I clutched at her thick hair, hissing at the erotic sensation of soft curls trailing along my flesh as her mouth moved, caressing and teasing me. Her floral scent clung to my skin as she branded me with her essence.

  Hovering over her, I halted my movements. “It’s been so long, Megan. I’ve been alone…for so long,” I rasped, unsure what I was even trying express.

  “I’m here,” she insisted. “Right here with you. Be with me.” Her teeth tugged on my earlobe, her voice a gentle hum. “Lose yourself with me, Zachary.”

  With a deep groan, I gave in, letting my body give her what we both wanted.

  We were wrapped around each other, skin to skin. Her warmth surrounded me; I couldn’t taste or caress enough of her skin to be satisfied. Slipping inside her heat, I stilled, our eyes locking. The intense emotion in her eyes was shocking and unfamiliar. My heart thundered, its rapid pulse matching her pounding rhythm as our chests melded together. “Megan,” I whispered as I began moving, the tempo increasing as my need grew. “Sweetheart,” I moaned. The sounds she made as I slammed into her over and again, pinning her down on the mattress with my body, drove me crazy. Small gasps escaped Megan’s lips, keening whimpers answering my own hungry groans. Her hands clutched at my shoulders, ran down my back, grasping my hips as her legs locked around my ass, holding me close as she met me thrust for thrust. We were wild in our passion, the pillows shifting, knocking the lamp on the bedside table, the bulb shattering as it hit the floor. The sheet twisted under my fingers, tearing sharply as my orgasm tore through me like a live current. I roared her name, pushing into her as deep as I could get, begging her to come with me as I came hard, needing to feel her clutch and pull me in with her.

  After the rush of heat and the deep orgasmic release, came the quiet, mindless bliss of resting in her arms, my head buried in her fragrant hair. Our bodies were still intertwined, joined together in the most intimate way, as we slowly recovered.

  I breathed in her scent, the soft floral aroma filling my head. For the first time in so long, my body relaxed, my mind calm and at peace because of the woman I was holding. The light outside had faded, the room now dark as she curled into me, her head tucked under my chin, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my chest. There was no need to talk or move. I only wanted to stay right beside her, sharing this warmth. It felt more intimate in many ways than the act itself. I could feel her smooth cheek touching my damaged skin, her gentle fingertips tracing small pitted marks. Surprised at the lack of panic I felt, I let her touch me without restriction.

  Her quiet voice broke the stillness. “Will you tell me?”

  A heavy breath left my lungs. “Yes.”

  “But not now?”

  “No, not now. I need to think things through. This”—I squeezed her into my side—“is very new to me. I haven’t ever had a woman in this house,” I confessed. “It’s been a very long time since I was with anyone.” I didn’t tell her that in the past, it was unusual for me to stay with someone after sex. Except what we’d done didn’t feel like sex. It felt like something deeper, something more.

  “How long?”

  “Since the accident. I’m used to being alone.”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  My arms tensed. “No. Stay with me.”

  The room was pitch-black when I awoke. My arms were empty, and the other side of the bed felt cold. I sat up, alert and anxious. She’d said she would stay. I wanted her with me when I woke up.

  Where had she gone?

  I grabbed my pants, ignoring the fact they were still damp from the ocean spray, and raced down the stairs and across the hall, stopping when I saw Megan sitting at the table, idly flipping the pages of a magazine. She looked up at my sudden entrance, confusion written on her expression.

  Relief flooded my body, finding her still in my home. The panic that gripped my heart, eased as she grinned. I returned her smile, even as I wondered where all these unknown feelings were coming from or how the sight of her sweet smile could erase my distress.

  Crossing the room, I dragged her up into my arms, kissing her fiercely. “You were gone.”

  “It was late and your stomach was grumbling in your sleep,” she chuckled. “I got up to make us something to eat.”

  “Oh.”

  She poked me in the chest. “You need to go grocery shopping, mister. I scraped together what I could for omelets. I was waiting for the toast to be ready, then I was going to come get you.”

  I noticed then the table was set and the aroma of food in the air. “Okay. I’ll go put on a shirt.”

  “You don’t have to; I don’t mind.”

  I hesitated. “I’d be more comfortable with one,” I admitted. The kitchen was well lit, and I knew she would see my scars without the softening effects of shadows. I didn’t like to look at them and I wasn’t sure she really wanted to while we were eating either.

  “All right,”
she agreed easily. “Whatever makes you happy. It’ll be ready when you get back.”

  I walked down the hall, her words echoing in my head. Whatever makes you happy.

  I wasn’t sure there had ever been a time in my life I was happy.

  I honestly didn’t know if I knew how to feel that way.

  Until she entered my life.

  “This is good,” I complimented Megan. “Especially considering how limited my supplies are at present.”

  “Do you want to go into town tomorrow and get some things?”

  I swallowed the mouthful of omelet as I nodded. “I’ll call Mrs. Cooper and arrange what I need. I have to get some things at the gallery.”

  “Why do you have to call ahead?”

  My hand tightened on my fork. “Not everyone is as accepting or polite about how I look as you are, Megan. It’s pretty quiet this time of year, but I always call ahead and tell her what I need. She has it all ready and I pick it up from the back. I also use the rear entrance of the gallery.”

  “You seem comfortable with her and Jonathon. He mentioned you’re a friend of his wife,” she stated gently. “Ashley, I think he said her name was?”

  “I knew the Coopers…before.” I cleared my throat and shifted in my chair, already feeling uncomfortable. “Ashley and Jonathon have always been kind.” My eyes met hers directly. “Others have not.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me,” I snapped. I hated pity.

  “I’m not feeling sorry for you. I said I was sorry people chose to be unkind because of your scars. There’s a difference,” she snapped right back. A dull flush tinged her cheeks, her eyes glinting and fiery with annoyance as she frowned at me. Despite her anger, I found her incredibly attractive and my lips quirked.

  “What?” she spat at me.

  I shook my head as I chuckled and grabbed the bottle of wine to top up our glasses. I might be low on food, but I never ran out of wine. “I was thinking how I wanted to capture you on film again, looking exactly like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like a kitten trying to act like a tiger. All growls and swipes of your little paws as you hiss at me, putting me in my place.” I reclined back, taking a deep swallow of my wine as I gazed at her over the rim of the glass. “You’re very sexy when you’re angry. Did you know that?”

  “Stop it.”

  “It’s true. Your eyes flash, and the color on your cheeks is sublime. Your glare, which I’m certain you mean to be angry, is more of a turn on than anything.”

  “I am angry at you. You twist everything I say.”

  I tilted my head in acknowledgment. “I know. It’s a bad habit I picked up after years of being lied to.” Lifting her hand, I kissed the knuckles. “I apologize. I’ll try harder.” I placed another kiss on her skin. “But I still want to capture you when you’re angry.”

  Rolling her eyes, she stood up, taking our empty plates. “Somehow, Zachary, I have a feeling you’ll get what you wish for without much effort.” She sighed as she walked to the sink. “You seem to be able to make me angry faster than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  I closed the distance between us in two large steps. Cupping the back of her neck, I brought her mouth to mine. “Anger is simply another form of passion,” I murmured against her lips.

  “A tiring one,” she returned in a whisper. “And I won’t ever lie to you.”

  “Everyone lies.”

  “No, they don’t. Whatever world you were in where they did, I’m glad you’re out of it.” She paused, frowning. “I’m glad you’re here—with me.”

  I didn’t want to talk anymore. I didn’t want to think about the past, or groceries, or even what was going to happen tomorrow. All I wanted was to lose myself with her again. To block out everything else.

  I picked her up, striding down the hall with her cradled in my arms, my mouth covering hers.

  She wanted me to be happy. Having her wrapped around me, buried inside her, made me happy.

  For however long I had her, that was what I wanted.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The sun slowly rose, the soft light filling the room as I lay in silence, staring at Zachary. Sound asleep, his face was peaceful, the stress lines, which seemed etched in his skin while awake, now relaxed and smooth on his forehead. Lying on his side, his scars hidden from view, he was, indeed, a handsome man. Long lashes, a woman would envy, rested on his upper cheek, dark and thick like fringes on a cushion. His nose was slightly fuller than conventional, and his face long, with prominent, strong cheekbones. Unshaven, his chin was thick with coarse hair, at least on one half of his face. His hair was so dark you expected his eyes to match, so when you were met with hazel-colored irises, it was unusual.

  I wondered if he knew how his eyes changed color to match his mood or how mesmerizing it was when it happened. I’d seen them a bright blue, a reflective shade of green, and when angry, an icy gray. They reminded me of the ocean waves he liked to paint—never ending with the varying shades of color, rich and vibrant with life. They darkened when he was passionate—either with desire or anger. I was already familiar with those emotions. One look from Zachary could cause my heart to flutter in my chest. Never had I felt myself so attuned to another person’s emotions; it was as if my soul felt the shift of his mood and transformed itself to match. He could make me feel lust, anger, or happiness so fast; I barely knew it was happening.

  I also wondered if anyone ever looked close enough to notice when he seemed angry or dismissive, the expression in his eyes actually belied his actions. They spoke of hurt and pain, of pushing you away before you could push him away. Somehow I doubted it, since as soon as he began pushing, they began walking. That was exactly what he banked on. He chose when you left, not the other way around.

  I sighed as he slept on. His heavy arm draped over my waist, where it had been most of the night, not allowing me to move very much. I hadn’t been sure if he’d want me to stay or not after we’d eaten, but when he stood up, lifting and carrying me back to his room, my uncertainty vanished. I wanted to stay here with him. I couldn’t understand the draw I had or why it was so important for me to be with him, but it was. Never before had I acted like this with another man—or even another person. It was as though I couldn’t stay away from him. From the moment I saw his painting: Tempest—the angry swirls of paint spoke to me. When I met the irate, scarred man behind the brush, I was drawn to him, as well.

  His scars didn’t bother me the way he felt they should. They bothered me because of the obvious pain—both physical and mental—they caused him. My heart ached when I saw a grimace of pain pass over his face at times. I wanted nothing more than to ease it in some way. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him, but I was also smart enough to know he wasn’t ready to tell me yet. I had to be patient and let him tell me when he was ready. The way he acted, I knew he was as confused by his feelings as I was about mine.

  He groaned and rolled on his back, his arm lazily lowering over his face, never waking up. Slowly, so I didn’t disturb him, I leaned up on my elbow to study him. I had seen some of his scars, felt them, even kissed them, but this was the first time I was able to really look at them. All on the right side of his body, they varied in degree. His arm and face were the most deeply scarred—the skin marred and puckered in angry looking ridges. His chest had some scars, as well as some pitting scattered on the left side. More ravaged skin ran up his neck and the side of his face, the worst scar reaching to his mouth, twisting the skin up tight. Remembering his words, and the way he made sure to hide that side of his face away, I knew he must have experienced many painful reactions to his appearance. People could often be cruel in their prejudices and the words they used to express them. I had the feeling Zachary had been at the receiving end of many unwelcome stares and words, which explained his regimented way of dealing with the world around him. I understood only being able to handle so many painful words or so much unwanted
attention. He acted the way he did to keep people away, to keep hurt away.

  I didn’t want him to keep me away, though.

  He woke slowly, blinking in the morning light. For a moment he was motionless, then turned his head toward me. “Hi,” I whispered, unsure of his reaction.

  His voice was scratchy and thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

  I glanced at the clock. “A little after eight.”

  “Did I disturb you last night?”

  “Um, no…well, other than when you woke me up to, ah—” My voice trailed off, shyness overtaking me. What should I call it? Sex? Making love? I had no idea how he saw what was happening between us. I didn’t even understand it.

  A small grin lit his face, and I found myself trapped under a warm, heavy chest, pressed into the mattress. Zachary’s face was close to mine, his breath drifting over my skin like a summer breeze, hot and damp. “I slept so well,” he murmured.

  I ran my fingers through his dark hair, the strands feeling like silk. “Is that a rare occurrence?”

  His face became serious; his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear it. “I haven’t slept that well in years.”

  “Nightmares?” I whispered, worried if I spoke too loud or too fast, he would pull away.

  Lost in whatever memories he had trapped in his head, he nodded.

  “That’s good then.”

  Blinking, he looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time today. “It was you.”

  “Me?”

  “You were next to me all night. You let me hold you.”

  I kissed the messiness of his thick scruff. “I liked you holding me.”

  “I didn’t think there was anyone as sweet as you left in this world.”

  “You weren’t looking in the right places.”

  “I wasn’t looking at all,” he replied. “Yet, somehow you found me.”

  I smiled up at him, loving his gentler, quiet side.