Hot Winter Nights (Heartbreaker Bay #6)(66)

“Yeah . . .” She squeezed her hands together and stared down at her white knuckles. “About that. Um . . .”

Holding her gaze, he glided his hands up and down her thighs. “You’re beautiful, Molly. Let me show you how much.”

“See, I was sort of planning to skip the show part.”

He took her chilled hands in his warm ones, a question in his eyes, though he didn’t say speak.

She blew out a breath. “Okay, so I have a . . . thing.”

“A thing.”

“A hang-up thing,” she said.

“Okay, well, that’s better than what I thought you were going to say. A hang-up we can work with.”

“I—Wait,” she said. “What did you think I was going to say?”

“That you didn’t want to get me naked again.”

She snorted. “Have you seen you naked? I’d have to be dead to not want to get you that way again.”

He didn’t smile. Instead he rubbed her still chilled hands between his and then pressed them to his chest. “Molly.”

“Right,” she murmured. “You realize I’m trying to scare you off.”

“Yes, but I don’t scare off easily.”

“I’m starting to get that.” She blew out a breath. “Okay, it’s just that . . . You know what happened to me, about the surgeries.”

“Yes, and it sucks you went through that, but they helped, right?”

“Some,” she said. “They’ve gone in from my front, from the back, and in through my side. And there are scars. Ugly ones. And I don’t know if you know, but if you’re not a size two with zero body fat, and if you have a bunch of scars in some of your . . . problem areas, things don’t look quite right once you heal. There are bulges where there shouldn’t be bulges and—”

“I’ve felt your scars,” he said. “They don’t matter. They’re just a road map of your life. I have plenty myself. Nothing changes the fact that I think you’re incredibly sexy and absolutely perfect.”

“But that’s because we were in the dark,” she said, “and you were highly motivated to get to the good stuff.”

He flashed a smile at that. “Still highly motivated. But, Molly, it’s all the good stuff.”

Damn, he was good. “Okay, so here’s the real thing,” she said.

“Finally.”

“So when I’ve been in this situation before . . .” God, this was awkward. So awkward. “People sort of freaked out on me and then I couldn’t . . . um, finish, so to speak, and I ruined everything.”

Still on his knees before her, butt-ass naked, he didn’t budge. Maybe he didn’t even blink. “People?”

“My first boyfriend.” She grimaced. “And my second.” She’d been nineteen when she’d dated Ben. They’d both been inexperienced and it’d been several times before they’d had sex with enough light for him to really get a look at her. There’d been no missing his reaction—and she’d only had two of the surgeries at that time—but he’d gone from aroused, to horrified, to pity.

Pity was her kryptonite.

And maybe the worst part of it was later, when he’d tried to deny his reaction, they’d petered out before trying again.

Her second boyfriend, Tim, had been four years later. She’d been twenty-three. They’d dated for six months, during which time she’d managed to make it so they’d only had sex in the relative dark. If he ever questioned the feel of her scars, he’d never said a word. She’d liked him. A lot. Probably too much. She’d let her guard down and allowed herself to be talked into going out on his family’s boat on Lake Shasta. He’d taken one look at her in her bathing suit and gotten that expression in his eyes.

Horror. And then pity.

It’d been a lot harder to dump Tim than Ben.

And it would be even harder to dump Lucas. She drew a deep breath and told Lucas the bare minimum about both Ben and Tim.

“Dumbasses,” Lucas declared. “Anyone else?”

“No. Well . . .” She squirmed a little bit at having to admit this. “I did have a one-night stand once, but we didn’t, erm, undress all the way.”

He smiled. “Nice.”

She had no idea what she’d expected, but it hadn’t been this easy acceptance of her choices.

“Show me,” he said.

Holding his gaze, she bit her lower lip in indecision.

“Molly, I just saw you single-handedly handle Bad Santa on your own. You’re kickass. What are you afraid of?”

Oh so many, many things . . .

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll show you mine first.” He pointed to a scar on his left pec. A puckered, half inch divot in his skin. “From a bullet back when I worked at the DEA. I cornered a bad guy. He didn’t like it.”

It was so close to his heart it nearly stopped hers. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to the spot.

He made a very low, very male noise and slid a hand up her thigh. “Show me,” he repeated softly. “Please?”

She hesitated, but her body wanted his and overruled her brain. Her elf costume was snug. Pulling her arms free of the material, she pushed the dress down to her hips, revealing her black strappy sports bra. She pointed to a six-inch long horizontal scar on her side at her waist that had sliced her from front to back. You couldn’t miss it as it’d puckered a little bit and cut inward, which made her look like she had a panty line there, even though her panties were far lower. As far as her other scars went, though, it was her most minor. “Surgery on my L2-L4,” she said.