from the bath, her hair curling even more from the
steam, cheeks rosy, gaze shy. She hadn’t gotten dressed
again, nor had she slipped into a little negligee. Instead
she wore flannel pajama pants and a simple white
camisole. Without—a flicker of a glance told him—
having put a bra on beneath it.
He’d been aroused even before he kissed her. Now
that he had… He wished like hell he’d had sex some206
time within the last two years. It had been so damn
long, he didn’t know if he had the self-control not to
come the minute he got inside her.
Slow things down, he told himself, lifting his head.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured.
“You know I’m not…” She stopped, humor briefly
lighting her face. “Never mind. I’m not really dumb
enough to try to convince you I’m ordinary looking. It’s
okay for you to think I’m beautiful. Gorgeous. Ravishing.”
Wanting her to believe him, John covered her mouth.
“You have these fine bones.” He traced a fingertip over
her cheekbone, along the delicate line of her jaw. “Big
eyes that flash a thousand emotions. And questions. I
can always see them crowding your head.”
Right now she watched him helplessly, as if he held
power over her.
“Do you know how shiny your hair is?” His fingers
slipped into the strands. “You turn your head and it
shimmers.”
She let out a tiny sound.
“Your voice. Gentle but with steel beneath when
you’re in schoolmarm mode.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest, and he
silenced her by kissing her. Lightly, ending with a tug
at her lower lip.
“And your lips,” he whispered, “are perfect. Not thin,
not pouty, just…sweet. And sexy.”
“You know,” she said, voice thready, “you don’t have
to flatter me. I was already yours with the ‘should I take
your suitcase upstairs?’”
“Yeah, I do.” John knew he wasn’t very good being
romantic, but he felt he owed her the words. The next
ones, though, he didn’t know how to say. They came out
sounding awkward. “Mostly, though, it’s not the way
you look. It’s…you.”
Her forehead crinkled. “What do you mean?”
“Your optimism. The way you want to believe in
everybody. Your honesty, your kindness…” His throat
clogged. “You have a gift for seeing people. Looking
past the outside.”
“You mean, your scar.” She reached up and stroked
it, her fingers as gentle as an early spring breeze.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “My scar.”
“Well, it’s my turn. This scar, it doesn’t disfigure
you! It made me worry about how much it must have
hurt, and how close that shrapnel or whatever it was
came to your eye. But you’re as handsome as you were
before. You’re, um, a hunk.” She blushed. “Even the
girls noticed, believe me.”
Crap, he was blushing at the idea of teenage girls observing him that way.
“Don’t worry.” A smile lightened her voice. “They’re
just hoping the boys their age come out nearly as well.”
“God,” he muttered.
Any humor fled. “And…and I’m not here because of
how you look, either. I’m here because of you. ”
That was the part he didn’t get. He knew what he
was: bad-tempered, withdrawn, and, yeah, a little bit
crazy. Sane men didn’t see blood soaking pristine white
snow. They didn’t wake up shouting warnings that came
a year too late.
But he was sane enough to want to take what she was
offering. Acceptance, friendship, healing. And, yeah,
sex. He wanted the sex something fierce.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” John said gruffly.
“I was about to make reservations here.”
“I haven’t put anyone in your room since the day you
left.”
“Uh-oh.” Tears sprang into her eyes. “Darn it, now
I’m getting weepy!”
He caught a tear from her lash on his fingertip. “Have
I killed the mood here?”
With sudden fierceness, she said, “Not on your life,”