That hadn’t been the worst of it, though, as bad as it had been. Everything that had been in the newspapers about Abu Ghraib prison and Guantanamo had been done as well, even the things no one talked about. The Geneva conventions were a thing of the past. Blown to hell not by the terrorists, but by his own government. The terrorists might not have respected the conventions before, but they definitely didn’t afterwards.
They’d cut him, too, taking their time, the agony exquisite as his skin parted beneath their sharp blades. Furious, horrified, bound, all he could do was watch helplessly as they did it.
He bore the scars all over his body, a constant reminder.
It had been a long time since he’d been with anyone, if only so he wouldn’t have to see their faces when they saw the marks on him, the scars that had been left behind. So he didn’t have to answer the inevitable questions and see the pity and horror in their eyes. Or avoid answering and drive them away.
Most of the time he successfully managed to keep himself too busy to think about it, but now and then the nightmares sprang out of his subconscious. Sometimes he felt trapped within them, unable to wake and escape the images that assaulted him, escape the remembered pain and horror as they enveloped him and drew him down into darkness.
With an effort, he wrenched his mind away from the memories, his stomach clenching. The cold orange juice cooled the heat in his body, the parched dryness of his throat.
Something, a movement, a sound, caught his attention, and he looked toward the hall to find Niki standing there like a wraith in the pre-dawn glow, wearing a pretty sundress printed in a delicate pattern of flowers.
In the pale, pearly light, she was ethereally beautiful. His heart caught and then pounded long and slow.
He’d never seen her looking quite so feminine, so… lovely… She’d always been beautiful, but there was a softness to her in the gentle morning light, with her waving hair tumbled loosely around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, her lips a little parted. She was clearly surprised to find someone else up and awake at this hour.
It was only then that he realized that all he wore were pajama bottoms bought expressly for moments…well, not quite like this…and that she could see the scars they’d left on him, could see what had been done to him.
Seeing the shock, surprise and something else darken Ty’s brilliant eyes, the color of them indeterminate in this light, somehow broke Niki’s paralysis. His pain was sharp, visible to her even though he tried to hide it. It was as if he were as frozen in place as she had been, if not for the same reason.
Moving into the room as if nothing were wrong, she looked at him and managed a small smile.
“So, you couldn’t sleep either?” she said casually, half a question, half a statement. “I thought I’d make some coffee, maybe make some breakfast and surprise everyone.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he said.
She loved his voice, so deep she could almost feel it in her bones.
“No,” she agreed, “I don’t, but I will. I like to cook. I don’t often get to do it for other people.”
Glancing at him, involuntarily her gaze traveled over his lean body once more. Her heart raced a little faster. He looked even better up close.
In the dim, soft light, she could look up into the strong features of his face, the high cheekbones and the hollows beneath them, those brilliant eyes, his mouth… Her eyes lingered there a moment…drifted downward.
His body.
She could see the scars, limned harshly in the cold fluorescent light. Her heart wrenched to see them. She remembered seeing the fresh wounds, the terrible pain he’d been in, his blue eyes hazed. The damage that had been done to him, physically, psychologically, emotionally. She had a good guess as to why he was up and awake at such an early hour.
Like she was.
Seeing where her gaze went, suddenly aware of the light of the refrigerator, remembering the scars that would be all too visible, Ty shut the door.
Even then, though, he couldn’t bring himself to move.
Niki saw something in his face…something she recognized all too well.
He was a proud man, a strong man. She’d dealt with that, too. With the scars, with the need to be touched and the knowledge of what had been done. The shame of it. And the pride. Her heart wrenched for him.
It had been a long time since she’d been touched.
Ty.
He was so close.
She remembered the first time she’d touched him all those years ago. It seemed as if an eternity had passed since then, but was shocked to realize it had been a little less than eight years. He’d pushed her hand away the first time, but not the second. A part of her was a little afraid he would do the same again, that she wouldn’t get a second chance. Still she was drawn to try, drawn by the look in his eyes, the stiffness of his body, by her own need to feel his skin beneath her fingers.
Reaching out tentatively, she touched him, ran her fingers lightly across his satiny skin, over the hard flat muscles, across the ridge of one of the scars. Her fingers lingered over the mark for a moment almost of their own volition, traced it ever so lightly. It hadn’t been there that first time, but she had her own scars now too. Both inside and out.
Her throat was tight as she looked up, met his gaze. Let him look. So he could see what was in her eyes.
Ty looked down at her, his breath frozen in his chest, but there was no pity reflected in those eyes, just sorrow and a kind of gentle wonder.
Her lips parted a little as her fingers drifted over his skin. He couldn’t bring himself to move as her fingers fluttered lightly over him. Danced there. Lingered… His heart pounded harder, and his breath came short as she touched him. The sensation was electric, leaving a trail of heat behind.
She was always at such pains not to touch anyone, to keep her distance.
“I remember,” she said softly, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. “Qatar. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so terrible as what they did to you.”
He’d forgotten she’d been there. It was a jolt to be reminded that she’d seen how bad it had been, how truly bad.
A tear slipped down her cheek. She bit her lip lightly. Not in pity, but in grief and horror.
“You were still defiant, so courageous.”
Niki remembered the way his head had lifted when she slipped into the room, the pain so deep in him, his body so broken she doubted he could see her, but even yet his chin had lifted in defiance. So much dignity and courage, he’d still been fighting…
“You broke my heart that night,” she said, her voice low. A heart she’d been certain she no longer had. “You should wear these with pride, Ty. You earned them. You didn’t break, you didn’t give in, and this is the price you paid. I’ve never known a man with as much honor and courage as you showed then.”
Her voice shook.
Ty went still. Her words pierced him even as they eased something inside him that had been broken. She understood, appreciated what had happened, what he’d done.
Seeing it, Niki gave him the one thing she had to give him besides understanding.
“Ty,” she said gently, knowing it would hurt him in its own way. She looked up. “Touch me. Just run your hand over my back.”
For a moment all Ty could do was stare at her.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to touch her. He did. He’d wanted to touch her from the moment he’d seen her standing in that empty playground outside of the abandoned apartment complex. Her skin had gleamed with sweat. The sun had sparked red highlights from her thick hair.
Winged Nike. She’d been so beautiful. She still was. He wanted to stroke that smooth, softly scented skin. If he touched her, though, would he be able to stop? Still…
“Trust me,” she said softly when he hesitated and turned her face away. “Please.”
Something in her voice caught him, it was something in the way her shoulders grew taut... That gesture alone held him -
when she averted her eyes from his.
She presented the long lovely line of her back to him, bare in the pretty sundress. Her hair spilled down over it, loose, falling past her shoulder blades. It rippled like a mahogany waterfall. In the dim light her tattoos were almost invisible, the scrapes on the other side hidden by the strap of the dress. Reaching up, she gathered her hair, drew it aside.
He suddenly realized something was missing. The sunglasses were gone. He could see her eyes, the lovely long-lashed shape of them. The early pre-dawn light was too gray, too faint, to see the color, only that they were light. And beautiful.
She looked at him sideways.
Waited, patiently.
His throat was tight.
It had been a long time since he’d touched anyone, or had been touched himself, and the need was sharp, piercing. His body tightened reflexively.
Niki’s heart beat hard and fast at the thought of his hands on her.
She waited until she felt his fingers touch her skin…and bit back a gasp as his fingertips brushed over her.
It had been so long since someone – anyone – had touched her, so long since Ty had touched her… The memory sent a burst of heat through her even as she remembered his body arched above hers. She almost wept as she felt his fingers stroke over her skin. The sensation came and went like a butterfly as his fingers slid over the places she could feel…and those she couldn’t. In a strange way, it only made it more electric…unexpected. Like that first touch.
Her skin was so smooth beneath Ty’s fingers, so soft, like warm silk, like rose petals, the soft scent coming to him again, as fresh and clean as the ocean, lightly scented with flowers, the scent strangely familiar, oddly soothing.
She shivered a little at his touch. A shot of heat went through him, need suddenly raw inside him. He avoided the scraped areas, stroked his fingertips over her warm silky skin…and felt the first ridge, the first faint bump beneath his fingers, hidden beneath the etched feathers of the wings. Another.
Scars. Hidden beneath the tattoos.
Ty took a breath and closed his eyes, remembering the scars he’d seen. A rush of heat went through him at the memory, remembering what else he’d seen. His fingers traced the line of another ridge, another mark on her soft skin.
Closing her eyes, Niki fought against the pain, the heartache.
A part of her needed, longed for his touch, another part wanted to flinch away as she felt him touch the scars, remembering how they’d gotten there and why. Remembering what she’d done to survive. Tears sparked. Her eyes burned. She remembered the whip flicking across her skin, the burn of it. And knowing she couldn’t, mustn’t weep.
She also remembered what they’d done to him, calmly and deliberately, while he’d been as bound and defenseless as she’d been, forced to watch what they did, and where some of his scars were. The doctor’s notes said he was still functional, despite what they’d done. But still, what had it been like for him, to watch that, to know what they did?
Her heart ached for him. All she could give him was the one thing no one had given her as he touched her. Understanding.
Ty ran his hand slowly down her back, over the warm silk of her skin, over the wings she’d had painted there to cover her scars and closed his eyes against the knowledge and pain of feeling them beneath his fingertips, of knowing what someone had done to her, as they’d done to him.
She’d hidden them, and yet she hadn’t. Instead she’d put them where everyone could see. She’d made them a statement. She’d painted wings over them. Nike’s wings. Nike, the wingéd Goddess of Victory.
She’d made them beautiful.
“Who did this?” he asked.
A thousand memories flooded her. In Niki’s mind she heard the crack of the whip, felt the sharp sting. That wasn’t what he needed to hear, not now. It would only add to his guilt.
“It doesn’t matter,” Niki said as she turned to look up at him. “That’s not the point.”
She laid a hand on the smooth skin of his chest, felt his scars beneath her fingertips as she spanned them over the strong, flat muscles there. She couldn’t help caressing him. He felt marvelous, incredible. Heat burned through her, made her ache.
“You’re beautiful,” she said, softly. “All of you.”
It was no more than the truth. She didn’t hide that from him.
A part of her was simply taking advantage of the moment. Niki knew it and couldn’t deny it even as she took in the way he felt beneath her hand, her fingers. The smoothness of his skin, so warm, a soft ridge of scar tissue here and there and the solid feel of muscle beneath the skin. The warmth, the scent of him surrounded her, enveloped her. She shouldn’t do this, but she couldn’t stop herself. She might never have the chance again.
Need, longing, warred within her. It was too much feeling. It overwhelmed her.
Ty looked down into her eyes as her fingers drifted across his skin, sent a shiver through him. His body tightened.
He could hear the truth of what she said, could see it in her parted lips, in the softness of them, in the way she looked at him, eyes wide.
She looked up at him, into his eyes, helplessly.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she said.
That simple statement shattered him.
Ty looked down at her, into her naked eyes, so beautiful, so open. She could have retreated, hidden once more behind her glasses. Instead she’d left herself open to him. Vulnerable. Defenseless.
I don’t know how to do this, she’d said.
His throat tightened. He wasn’t sure he knew either.
He raised a hand to touch her cheek. So soft, with a trace of dampness. Tears. For him? For herself? He saw no pity in her eyes, only vulnerability, openness. She’d left herself completely exposed.
Desperately, Niki tried to regain some sense of herself, regain some control of her rioting emotions, but found them slipping away. She searched for some degree of restraint… but she couldn’t take her eyes away from the look in his.
Ty looked down at her as her mouth went soft. Everything went away but her mouth, her eyes.
Slowly he lowered his lips to hers, felt the soft, warm brush of her lips meeting his even as her warm hands settled on his hips.
He tasted her, softly, fit his mouth to hers as her hands slid up over his chest to curl over his shoulders and then around his neck. A soft sound of need whispered out of her. Bringing one hand up to her thick hair, he ran his fingers into the lush, silken softness of it, curled them around her head and drew her mouth hard against his.
Need and desire exploded through him. His vision hazed as the taste of her, as the soft fresh scent of her surrounded him, drowned him. His need was blinding, the intensity overwhelming. It was as if every part of his body had become sensitized, incredibly aware of every inch of her as her body melted against his. He closed his other arm around her, drew her close as her fingers slid up into his hair to pull his mouth down harder against hers. Her hips nestled against the swelling hardness of him, her breasts pressed against his chest.
She tasted marvelous, and he crushed his mouth over hers, devoured the sweet taste of her as he pressed her harder against him.
Dear God, she felt incredible.
Passion, need, whipped through him, and Ty found himself driving her back against the counter to feel her hips pressed hard against his as she rose up on her toes to fit herself more tightly against him.
He groaned to feel her against him, against the hardness of him, as she pressed against him. Her hands raced over his skin, her touch hot, as her fingers danced around and over every inch of him.
A soft moan escaped her, and he shuddered. He surrendered and lost himself in her.
Niki loved his taste, clean, sharp, his mouth firm against hers as he devoured her. She was losing her mind. She was so hungry for him. His hair was soft silk beneath and between her fingers. His lean body was hard against hers, setting her on fire. Heat swept beneath her skin in wav
es. She couldn’t stop touching him. Her hands floated over him hungrily.
The feel of him, of his body, was tantalizing. Niki curled her hands around his lean waist to mold her fingers over every inch of him, almost as if she absorbed the shape of him with her fingers. The feel of his taut abs beneath her palms, the muscles of his obliques tight beneath the curve of her fingers, the long strong muscles of his back, was glorious, marvelous. She couldn’t get enough of touching him as his mouth ravaged hers and she devoured his back.
His body felt amazing against hers, so hard, so strong. Her racing hands imprinted him on her palms, memorizing him with her touch.
It had been so long.
Ty ground his hips against hers. He relished the feel of her hands on him as they clutched at him, clung to him, the glory of being touched with delight and joy nearly overwhelming. And that was all he needed to know.
Clenching one hand in her thick hair, he wrenched her head back to look down into her face…into her beautiful, open, vulnerable face, her lovely lips parted, swollen. Her eyes were huge as they looked up at him, dazed. He wished the light was brighter, so he could see the color of them.
God, he needed this. Needed her.
Cruising his mouth over her face, he ravaged her throat as her head fell back to allow him access to it, to her. Her body pulsed against his, her hips pumped against him.
Ty felt her hands clutch, her body move against his and he was so hard beneath the pajamas. He desperately wanted to lift her to the counter, spread her thighs and sink himself into her heated dampness. Her hips moved against him even as he drew her head farther back, his free hand sliding up her waist to close around one full ripe breast. It felt incredible. Lush, so firm beneath his fingers. Ty slid his thumb across her nipple. It was so taut and hard he could feel it through both bra and dress. She quivered in response. He groaned, and his own hips jerked against hers as he tasted her skin again. Her scent filled him.
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