Try Me (8 page)

She shook her head frantically. Her tears blinded her. “You have to. You can’t love me. You don’t know about my scars—”

“So tell me about them!” That self-control snapped to leave him surging to his feet, gesturing sharply. “What could possibly be so bad that you’re afraid to tell me? Did you get them while murdering someone? Robbing a bank?”

“Don’t be a melodramatic ass.” She swiped jerkily at her cheeks and straightened her shoulders. He wanted to know the truth. She wanted him to leave her alone. She knew one fast and easy way to take care of both. She rose, dread settling deep in her stomach and crawling down her legs to leave them numb. “You want to see them? You want to see my scars?”

“Yes. A few marks on your skin won’t scare me away. It drives me crazy that you think it would.”

“That’s because you’re a naïve, idealistic fool.”

She untucked her shirt, her hands shaking. His eyes followed her movements. She forced down her foolish hope that he might still want her, after this. He made his promises now, but he hadn’t seen her yet.

“Two years ago,” she said, “I was driving home from work. It was late, and I was tired. I remember the pizza on the seat next to me. I remember thinking about getting home and eating. I even remember how the pepperoni smelled. The cheese, too. It was fabulous. The memory’s so strong I can smell it even now.”

The words came out in a rush. They’d been held inside for so long she couldn’t contain them anymore. She wanted him to know what had happened to her—but she clung to the hem of the shirt. Her security blanket. Maybe for too long, but she needed something to hide behind. Now more than ever.

“I didn’t even see the truck coming,” she whispered. “I still don’t remember the moment it hit. Just the lights, the horn. They didn’t even register until it was too late.”

Jeremy’s face paled. “What happened?”

“I dropped my phone. I was waiting for an important client call, and I was at a red light, so I figured I’d just grab it really quick and buckle back up. When I bent over to reach my phone, a semi lost control and T-boned my passenger-side door. My last memory is of the lights. I thought ‘Oh, good, I see my phone.’ Then…nothing.”

With a rough sound, he dragged her into his arms. His tall, powerful body trembled against hers. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry.”

She let herself rest against his chest for one heartbreaking moment, then pulled away. She couldn’t let herself be weak now. This wasn’t even the worst of it. “I’m not done.”

He reached for his dog tags again. She was making him nervous. Good. He should be.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m listening.”

She made herself look at his face. Made herself see every terrible emotion there, even if it broke her. The love she craved. The hesitation she feared. The compassion she needed, and the sympathy she never wanted.

“My shirt was polyester. Flammable. I didn’t get out of the car fast enough. My shirt caught on fire, burning my stomach and back. I’m told I was only on fire for a very short time, but it did more than enough damage.”

“You don’t have to show me if you’re not ready,” he said. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. I love you.”

He reached for her again, but she jerked back. “No! You need to see it. Then you’ll know why you have to go.”

“Erica, I don’t
care
if you have scars, damn it! I’m not leaving you.”

“Spare me. My fiancé left me because of them. I’ve lived like a nun since the accident. Don’t patronize me when you haven’t even seen them yet.”

She lifted her chin and gathered her courage. This was the moment when everything would change. All the love and desire in his eyes would change to disgust and pity.

She wanted to close her eyes and shut him out, but she wouldn’t. She refused to back down now. If nothing else, the horror in Jeremy’s eyes would reinforce her reasons for never letting anyone close again.

Her hands were frozen, unresponsive. Slowly, moving like a creaking doll, she pulled her shirt up and waited—waited for him to recoil and turn away in disgust.

But his eyes remained on her face, his jaw clenched, his fists tight. “You don’t need to do this,” he said. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I’m sorry for upsetting you so much. Put your shirt down.”

She shook her head. She could barely see him through the tears, but she held her ground. “No. Look. Or leave now. Either way, you’ll go.”

His gaze dropped slowly, inch by agonizing inch. She knew the moment the reality of her twisted body struck him. He paled and sank down on the arm of the couch, shaking. His eyes squeezed shut. Of course they did. Closing out her ugliness. Her repulsiveness. He wasn’t the first to be disgusted by her—but he would be the last, damn it all to hell.

She’d known how this would end. She’d tried to avoid it, but he wouldn’t give up. He’d made her expose herself—her shame, her disfigurement—and made her let him in. For what? What had she gained from this besides pain and mortification?

She dropped her shirt back into place. The salt taste of her tears choked her. He still hadn’t moved. He just sat there like a statue, amazingly crafted, beautiful and untouchable. She couldn’t stand to look at him right now, so handsome when she was so ugly. Her heart lurched. She couldn’t breathe.

Why had she let him in?

She needed to escape. Even another second with him was too much. “You know your way out,” she choked out and, turning, bolted up the stairs.

In the safety of her room, she closed the door, locked it, and threw herself on the empty bed. Curling into the fetal position, she clutched her legs tight to her chest. Maybe if she made a small enough bundle, she could squeeze all the pain down into a tiny knot she could stuff away in the smallest corner of her. Maybe then, she’d feel better.

And maybe if she scrunched her eyes shut and blocked out the world, it would just…disappear, and take Jeremy Addison with it.

She was here. And damn it, she was his.

He’d waited too long to love her the way she deserved. He wasn’t about to wait a second longer. The pain in her eyes when she’d bared herself to him, the determination when she’d refused to look away from his scrutiny, only made him love her more. Her bravery and honesty in the face of what she’d thought was certain revulsion and rejection impressed him far more than flawless skin ever could.

Did Erica really think he was shallow enough to run from her? Like her yellow-bellied, pathetic excuse for an ex-fiancé? He curled his fists. That bastard. He’d like to show that coward how it felt, after he’d made her feel so inferior. But Erica needed him. Needed more than his anger. She needed his honesty, his love, and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t give them to her.

Marks on a body didn’t matter. The marks she’d left on his heart were more permanent than scars, and eternally more binding.

He took the stairs two at a time and tried every room upstairs until he found one locked at the end of the hall. Hers, without a doubt. He took a calming breath and knocked.

“Erica? Can I come in?”

He heard a distant shuffling noise. Her voice came out quiet and muffled. “Why don’t you just go away?”

“Because I love you.” He held his breath. Would she believe him? Would she let him in? “I don’t think your scars are ugly. I think they’re perfect. You’re perfect.”

The doorknob rattled. The door opened just enough for one eye to peer through. “You don’t have to do this. I won’t care if you go. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“No way in hell. I’m not leaving. You can’t make me. Not now, and not ever.”

She pulled the door open fully and stared at him, her pretty brown eyes wide—and he finally saw something in them, something raw and unguarded and vulnerable and beautiful.

Hope.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because. I. Love. You.” He’d say it until she believed it. He’d cherish her for every minute of every day, until she finally realized the truth. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. If you let me, I will. Especially since I’m pretty damned sure you love me, too.”

She bit her lower lip. God, she’d been driving him mad with that since the fourth grade. Every time she did it her mouth turned red and soft, until he wanted to lick that ripe, glistening fullness.

“You did look at my scars, right?” She searched his face, so wary, so careful.

He laughed. “Yes, ma’am. And I could care less about them. I’m just angry I wasn’t there to help you through the pain and agony. I wish I’d known. I’d have come back for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t possibly want to be with me now.”

“Why not? Love isn’t about perfection or beauty. It’s not about how good you look in a bikini, or how perfect your skin is. Love is about…about…” He fumbled for words. “About needing that certain someone in your life—that someone who makes you feel whole. It’s helping the person you love when they need a hand to stand straight. Love is never giving up on the person you care about.”

He crossed the threshold. She stumbled back, clutching her hand to her chest.

“You’re that person for me, Erica,” he said. “Not only are you the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but you’re just as gorgeous inside as you are out. And I love you. Every part of you.”

“I don’t see how,” she said, voice ragged with desperation. “I haven’t seen you in seven years.”

He cupped her cheek. “What’s seven years in a lifetime?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can even try. You’re leaving soon.”

“I’ll be close enough.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight against his chest. Her curves fit his body in all the right places, like she was made for him. “We can at least try. Can we give it a shot and see how it works out?”

She drew back and searched his face. He held his breath and silently begged her not to turn him away again. If she said no this time, it would be because she really didn’t want him. There were no secrets anymore. No doubts. He knew her fears. He’d seen her scars. But if she truly, honestly didn’t love him, there was nothing he could do.

Her lips trembled, and she nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure you really—”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said, and kissed her.

She sighed and leaned into him, and he crushed her close. He wanted to pick her up and shout his joy to the world. He’d show her. He’d show her how perfect they were for each other—from the way their lips melded and melted to the way their tongues twined, from the way their bodies molded to the tandem beats of racing hearts. And so much more, in the love he had to give her. The life he had to give her, that would be forever hers.

He traced her mouth with the tip of his tongue, and she moaned and clutched at his shirt. He’d never been this close to heaven before, and never wanted to crash to earth. When she released his shirt and trailed her hands over his back, her breasts pressed against his chest. His senses burned. Her fingers skimmed over his body, and he choked back a sound. Too much. More than he could handle. More than he could resist. He tore his mouth from hers.

“Jeremy,” she protested, and kissed him again.

He let her have her way with him for a few moments longer, then reluctantly pried himself from her grasp. She was breathing heavily, hands clenched before her. The desire in her eyes tore at him, eating him alive.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I don’t want to rush you.”

He was trembling with so many years of repressed desire, but he couldn’t stand to pressure her. He closed his eyes. He’d wanted her—no, needed her—for so long, and she finally wanted him in return. But he had to give her space. Time. He’d loved her practically his whole life. There was no such thing as too fast for him, but he didn’t want to force her into anything she might later regret.

He let out a heavy breath and opened his eyes. “We can—
should
take our time.”

Her lips curled up at the corners, and she tilted her head. “I could have sworn we already covered this territory about the ‘stranger danger’ conversation.”

She closed the distance between them and tugged at his shirt. He tensed.

“Erica—”

“Don’t,” she said, and something in the hoarse catch of her voice stopped him. “Please don’t push me away now.”

She sank to her knees and smoothed her hands over his stomach, then walked her fingers down. When she traced the hard shape of his erection, he groaned and closed his eyes.

Yet nothing could erase the image of her kneeling before him and stroking him. His entire body shuddered with each gentle touch. He gritted his teeth. Capturing her hand, he drew her to her feet and cupped her face in his palms, memorizing every detail. Every curve and hollow of her features. Every fleck of tawny hazel in her eyes. Everything.