I gasped as he lifted me into his lap, his mouth covering mine. His kiss was deep and carnal, his desire evident in the way his arousal pressed up against me. “God, I want you,” he groaned into my neck. “I want you spread out on my bed all pink and soft for me—everywhere.”
Yearning shot through me, hot and bright. I had no idea how he did this to me. One look, one sexy sentence uttered in his low, raspy voice, and I wanted him.
“Your hair,” I protested feebly.
“Fuck my hair,” he growled, thrusting into me. I moaned at his need, my own desire spiking. He could have anything he wanted.
“No,” I shot back at him. “Fuck me, Zachary. Now.”
He stood up, his arms holding me tight. “With pleasure.”
Zachary was curled around me, head resting on my chest, fingers caressing my hair, tugging at the mess he’d made with his hands during our frenzied lovemaking. He certainly did love my hair. Once again, the floor was strewn with pillows and sheets, but the remaining lamp had been put in a different place for safety. In a gentle sweep, I slid my fingers over the back of his neck, feeling the slight shiver that went through his body at my touch.
“Zachary?”
“Hmm?”
I paused, trying to keep my voice light and even. “Can I ask you some questions?”
His body tensed, fingers stilling, at my words. He rolled over, an arm covering his eyes. Immediately, I missed his warmth. I moved closer, laying my hand on his chest, over his heart, and the small spattering of scars around it. “Does this hurt?”
“No.”
I laid my head down on his chest, not speaking, unsure if he would elaborate.
The room was silent for a moment, save for his fingers drumming a restless beat on my arm. “My skin everywhere on the right side is incredibly sensitive, Megan. Some of the burns were worse than others. In some places, the skin around the scar is more reactive and the scar itself has no feeling in it at all. There’re times I’m in pain and when I am, I take pills. I feel temperature changes easily. I wear loose clothing, my showers are barely warm, and I never, ever go outside unless I’m fully covered. I can’t stand the feel of the sun. It’s like being burned all over again.”
“Oh.”
His lips brushed my temple; a tender pass of affection. “In answer to your question, none of your touches hurt. You are far too gentle for that.” He assured me, his voice quiet. “Your touch actually soothes me.”
“But you tense up every time.”
He exhaled deeply. “I’ve been alone a long time. No one has touched me for almost twelve years. In fact, no one has ever touched me the way you do—my entire life. It…takes some getting used to.” His arm held me a little closer. “I’m trying, Megan.”
My heart ached with his quiet admission.
His whole life?
“I know you’re trying.” I paused, glancing up at his face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Zachary, or do something by accident to cause you pain. That’s why I’m asking.”
His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. “I don’t like to talk about this.”
“I need to understand.” Pushing up, I met his nervous eyes. “I need to know the boundaries.”
“Boundaries?” He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Things that make you uncomfortable—bother you. For instance, I’ve noticed you have no candles around. All your appliances are electric.”
His mouth tightened, his fingers pulling on the blanket, twisting it up tight. “Yes. I don’t like candles or things with open flames.”
“But you have the fireplace? That doesn’t seem to bother you as much.”
“It used to. It took me a long time, but I slowly overcame the fear. I couldn’t bring myself to brick up the fireplace, since it was one of the things I liked most about the house. It’s more contained with the hearth and screen; I like how it smells and the sounds it makes, and Elliott likes the heat. I never sit close.”
“And you’re able to light it.”
“I can control it. I’m very careful. I’m sure you saw the long fire-starter matches.”
I nodded and thought for a moment. “So, ah, some fire frightens you?”
His eyes shut, his face warring with emotions. He pressed his head down into the pillow, bringing me back to his chest, his voice tinged with weariness. “I don’t like it, but no, fire itself doesn’t frighten me. What it can do frightens me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You think I should be afraid of fire because I was burned?”
“I guess I thought you would be.”
“I’m sure some people are…afterward. It depends, I suppose—”
“On?”
Silence filled the room. I could feel his heart beating rapidly under my ear. Too rapidly. I was about to tell him I would stop pushing, when he spoke again.
“On how you were burned.”
My stomach knotted at the sound of his voice—distant, removed.
“It’s like guns, Megan. They don’t kill people. The person pulling the trigger does.” His voice dropped further, becoming more remote. “Fire itself didn’t set out to burn me. The person holding the flame did.”
Icy fingers of dread wrapped around my spine. I gasped for air, unable to catch my breath. Zachary’s arm tightened as he lifted his head. “Megan?”
“I thought…I thought you’d been in an accident?” I choked out, horrified. “Someone…did this to you? Deliberately?”
“Yes.”
“W…why?”
“To teach me a lesson.”
My heart hammered in my chest as my breath came out in small bursts of air. I shook my head in disbelief. “No.”
His eyes were flat, his voice cold.
“Yes. I deserved it.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Yes. I deserved it.”
I blinked at him in shock, not sure I’d heard him correctly. I struggled to draw in oxygen. It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. The weight on my chest was hard and heavy, as I tried to process his words.
He deserved it.
How could he think that? I couldn’t understand.
I couldn’t even fathom it.
After he uttered those words, my stomach heaved. I continued to stare at him, shaking my head, my mind running his words on a loop, hot tears streaming down my face. Zachary sat up, confused at my reaction.
“Megan?” He placed his large hand on my arm, squeezing my bicep, his grip gentle. “Why are you so upset? Don’t do this. Don’t cry.” He rested his forehead to mine, his warm breath washing over my skin. “I’m not worth it.”
I pulled back, horrified.
Don’t cry? Not worth it?
“You need to explain this to me,” I gasped.
His eyes narrowed; the intimacy we had shared evaporated and his gaze became stern. “I don’t have to explain anything to you. I told you my past wasn’t pretty.” He threw back the covers, his movements jerky as he grabbed his clothes, yanking them on, and headed to the door. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Not now. I’m not ready.”
My heart thundered in my chest. “Will you ever be ready?”
He paused, his hand gripping the doorframe, fingers wrapped tight on the wood. “I don’t know,” he admitted, walking out of the room.
Stumbling, I found my clothes and followed him downstairs, where he was shrugging on his overcoat, ignoring me. “Where are you going?”
“Elliott and I are going for a walk. It’ll give you time to calm down.”
“Calm down? You say that to me, refuse to talk anymore, explain, and you expect me to calm down? Do you really think it’s that simple? Talk to me, Zachary!”
He turned; his eyes so dark and filled with anger, I flinched. “I told you I wasn’t ready to talk about it. You keep pushing!”
“I wouldn’t push if you would open up to me! That’s all I’m asking!”
“That’s all?” he sn
eered. “Why don’t you ask for my soul on a plate?”
“The way you talk it sounds like you don’t think you have one,” I shot back, trying hard not to cry again.
“Not one worth this emotional outburst of yours.”
“Maybe I think you’re worth being emotional about.”
He shook his head. “You barely know me.”
“Because you won’t let me in.”
“Back to that again. You’re beginning to sound like a broken record, Megan. Do you think I owe it to you to talk? To open up, as you say? Because we slept together?”
I let out a sharp gasp at his hurtful words. “I think after what we’ve shared the past few days you owe me that, yes.”
“I owe you nothing. We’re both adults. You knew what you were getting into when we slept together. I didn’t promise you anything.”
I stood, frozen, gaping at him, not knowing what to do. How did we get to this point so fast? I could see him, us, dissolving right in front of my eyes. His pain, his self-loathing was so evident and heartbreaking. I knew he was scared. Something in his past held him in overwhelming fear and such panic, he was lashing out. He was pushing me away because I wanted to help. Zachary didn’t know how to accept help.
I held out my hand, not caring if he saw how hard it was shaking. “Please.”
He stepped back from my touch. “Stop looking at me like that!” he roared. “Stop trying so fucking hard! Drop it, Megan!”
“What if I can’t?”
His face transformed, his posture grew rigid; the warmth I had seen the past few days, gone. Standing in front of me, again, was the cold, dismissive man I met on the beach.
“Then you know where the door is.”
The walls shook as he slammed out of the house with such force I even felt the shudder through the floorboards. My shaking legs gave out and I collapsed on the sofa. Dixie whined by my feet and I picked her up, holding her close, seeking the comfort of her warm body and the unconditional love she offered. I shivered, my body icy, as I struggled not to cry. Looking around the room, my eyes were drawn to Tempest. Its powerful imagery hit me again. I was at a loss to explain how a man who could stir and express such emotions on a canvas, could shut them off so totally in his life, and be so cold in the face of my own.
I buried my face in Dixie’s fur.
I didn’t know how to cope with that—to cope with him.
Or how I’d deal with any of it when he returned.
I couldn’t get away from Megan quick enough. I broke through the tree line, not stopping until the dense forest swallowed me up, hiding me in its dark grip.
My legs gave out and I fell to my knees, gasping for air.
Her eyes.
The pain and horror of her eyes, when I told her I had been burned by someone—a deliberate act of cruelty I had, for the longest time, felt I deserved—was shocking. Of course, she assumed I’d been in an accident of some sort. Nowhere in that gentle soul of hers would she ever be able to imagine inflicting that sort of pain on another human being or someone doing that to me.
Watching her fold into herself at my statement, then the fresh pain I caused as I flung cruel words at her, was devastating. The want, need, for her to back off, before I dissolved in front of her—an utter emotional wreck—had torn me apart inside. It felt like long, tearing claws ripped at my stomach as I saw what I was doing to her—how my words were affecting her—but I couldn’t stop.
I had never wanted to speak those words out loud and allow myself to be comforted by her healing embrace, as much as I did in those moments. I wanted to feel her arms around me. I wanted her soft voice in my ear, telling me everything would be all right.
There was something holding me back, though. It was the knowledge that when she learned why I was burned—the type of man I had been years ago—her opinion of me would change.
It was her expressive eyes that haunted me at the moment.
No one ever looked at me the way she did. She hurt—for me. She felt pain because of what I had experienced, without even knowing why I had experienced it. From the moment we met, I was captivated by the emotions I saw in her eyes. Her gaze was soft, warm, calm. Always affectionate and accepting—never judging; even now, after I had yelled and cursed at her they remained judgment free despite the pain I caused.
How the hell was it possible someone like her even existed? I ran my hands through my hair, clutching and tugging the strands she had cut only hours prior, welcoming the pain as my scalp protested.
How the fuck had I let myself feel so much for her in such a short period of time? We barely knew each other, yet I felt closer to her than anyone who had ever been in my life—ever. Why my trust in her was so absolute I had no idea, but it was. She brought out feelings I didn’t even know existed. Tenderness raged in me when she was close. The need to care for another person was so new to me, but she brought it out in me with ease. I wanted her laughter and smiles. I wanted her close. I wanted her comfort and healing touch.
I wanted her.
In order to have her, though, I had to tell her everything—risk everything—in order to move forward. But if she chose to walk away? My heart beat frantically under my ribs at the mere thought.
Elliott butted my chest, a low whimper in his throat. I stroked his great head, realizing I was still kneeling on the damp ground and he was waiting for me to lead him.
I looked behind me in the direction of the house, where I’d left her alone and upset.
Megan was waiting for me to lead her, as well, to open up to her and let her in.
That was if I hadn’t broken our fragile bond.
I stood up, brushing the wet dirt from my pants, calling Elliott and walking farther into the forest. I needed to clear my head and give her time to calm down. Witnessing her emotions made me react in strange ways. I lashed out in fear, pushing her away when I should have been pulling her close, holding her as tight as I could as I told her everything. While I let out all the painful memories and allowed her tender strength to begin healing me.
I knew she was strong and could do it; she was stronger than she knew. She had suffered a huge loss because of her ex and she still pushed forward. She refused to allow me to ignore the feelings between us, winning me over with her sweet gestures and thoughtful gifts, which made me want to explore whatever this was with her.
She made me smile. She made me feel.
She gave me something I hadn’t felt in years: hope.
She made me want to be better—for her.
Instead of telling Megan all that, I had treated her to a hearty helping of my temper, and pushed her aside.
Even after all these years, I was still a bastard.
I broke into a slow jog, needing the physical release.
An hour later, I emerged from the forest, winded but calmer. I stopped on the deck, my throat catching as I noticed a light in the house at the end of the beach. It hadn’t been on earlier.
Walking into the house, I knew. It felt cold, empty. The silence surrounded me—intense like a painful scream.
I had pushed her too far. I was too late.
Megan had left.
I didn’t even know if I could get her back.
My heart ached when I realized I wasn’t sure I should even try.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I wrapped my hands around the coffee mug, trying to stop the shaking. I couldn’t get warm. I couldn’t stop the waves of nausea that kept rolling through my stomach as I thought about Zachary’s detached, cold voice, how empty his eyes had been. He had dismissed my emotions without a thought and walked away. I couldn’t stay there, in his house; the words he flung at me echoing in the empty room.
“You know where the door is.”
He had made it clear, his need to have space and me sitting there waiting for him, still upset, would do neither of us any good. He knew where I was. If he wanted to talk, he could come to me.
I wiped away the tears that flowed down my cheeks. I wa
sn’t sure he would come and find me. His anger had been so quick to flare, his defenses thrown up without a second thought. The gentler side to his personality disappeared in a heartbeat. The man who’d stared at me, cold and removed, wasn’t the Zachary for whom I was falling.
He was right; we barely knew each other, yet my feelings for him were so strong, they shocked me. My body hummed with electricity every time he was near. I wanted to touch him all the time; the way he stayed close, I thought he felt the same way. I knew he wasn’t used to being touched, but the more time we spent together, the more comfortable he was becoming with reaching out to me. He’d hold my hand or play with my hair; small, simple gestures most people took for granted, but for Zachary, were huge steps. I loved watching him talk, and listening to his laughter, something that seemed to come easier to him the past few days. He told me I made him feel lighter, almost normal. To me he was normal. When I looked at him now, all I saw was Zachary: a man learning to live again, one capable of great tenderness and warmth when he allowed himself to open up. What I didn’t see was the angry, pain-filled man with scars, who lashed out to push people away.
That was until he reemerged when we were arguing.
The sky darkened, night beginning to fall, and still he hadn’t come to me. I thought when he knew I had returned to Karen’s house and he’d calmed down, he would find me, but I waited in vain. Unable to take the silence, I turned on the radio and wandered the house, restless and edgy. The weather forecast came on predicting another storm headed our way. With a groan, I leaned my forehead on the cold glass while I stared out onto the beach below, wondering if that meant another migraine for me. There was such unusual weather—not only here—but all around the world. Zachary had mentioned it had been a colder, snowier winter than he’d ever experienced, and so far the spring had been one huge rainstorm after another.
Stepping on the deck, I glanced up at the house on the bluff. It had remained dark long after I came back, but now I could see the bright light on the top floor. Zachary was back home and in his studio, no doubt losing himself in his work. I wondered if he was still upset, or if our argument would be locked away in a corner of his mind, practically forgotten. If it was the latter, I wouldn’t even enter his thoughts again until he emerged from his studio; if I entered them then. I had no idea what would happen. He was, I knew, capable of cutting off his feelings when he chose. Pain rippled in my chest as I thought about him choosing to cut me off for good.
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