Leave a Trail (Signal Bend #7)(28)

He pulled his arm out of her grasp and up so he could put it around her shoulders instead. “Come here, wuss. I’ll keep you safe from the big, bad, pretend monsters.” As soon as his arm was no longer between them, she snuggled close to his chest and put her arm around his waist. His cock went hard, totally, painfully hard, and he looked down to see how obvious that was.

Pretty obvious.

But she didn’t seem to notice. And then Neve Campbell and Skeet Ulrich were making out, and Adrienne’s hand slid under his shirt. Shirts. He could feel her realizing that he was wearing multiple t-shirts, looking for the end of them, and he put his hand around hers and stopped her.

She sat up, the movie suddenly forgotten, and looked at him. “I don’t want to watch the movie, Badge.”

She pulled her hand from his and went for his shirts again.

And again, he stopped her. “Wait. Adrienne, wait.”

“No. I know what you don’t want me to see. I saw. It’s okay.”

“What?” He pushed her away and sat all the way up. “What do you mean?”

“At the clubhouse. That day. Your shirt got torn. I saw.”

His head did somersaults. He couldn’t think of anything to say, but now he wanted to leave. Right now.

As if she could hear his thoughts, she said, “Don’t go. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You don’t know. It’s not okay.”

Rising up on her knees before him, she leaned in and kissed him. His heart thumped once, hard, and then resumed its usual rhythm. When she leaned back, she did something astonishing.

She pulled her top over her head. She was wearing a plain, light pink bra. Satin—it shone a little in the ambient light of the room. “Me first, then.”

Nothing in the whole world was as beautiful as Adrienne was. Her wild hair cascading over her shoulders, her slim, small body, little round tits wrapped in pink satin. Freckles lightly dusted her chest and shoulders, fading out as they approached her little tits. No, not tits—it sounded wrong to use that word to describe her. Cheap. Jerri Rae had tits. Adrienne had breasts. Her stomach was flat and fair, with a subtle indentation down the middle, like an arrow pointing to the delights of her chest. He swallowed, and his dry throat made a rough, stuck sound. So badly he wanted to touch her, to feel the silk of her skin. To taste her.

In a million lifetimes, he could not allow the corruption that was his own body anywhere near the perfection that was hers. Her top was still in her hand; he took it from her, turned it right-side-out, and handed it back. “No. You should put this back on.”

Hurt bolted through her eyes. She sat back on her heels and took her top, holding it over her chest like a shield. “Badge, please. Don’t say that.”

“You’re beautiful, Adrienne. God. You’re so perfect. I can’t—you don’t want—you don’t know.”

“Badger. Pretty much the only thing I know that I want in my whole life right now is you. I know what’s under your shirt. It’s okay. I promise it’s okay. Trust me.”

Her last plea is what settled him. Trust was almost all he’d been thinking about since he’d been able to think clearly again. How to become trustworthy. How to trust. What trust even was. He got off the bed and stood, his back to her.

“No! Badger—”

“Just wait.” He grasped the hems of his shirts in his fists and took a deep breath, deep enough that he felt the blasted pull of skin and scar tissue fighting each other. He pulled the cotton in triplicate over his head and tossed it away. And then he was stuck. He looked down at his bare chest and couldn’t turn around.

The bed squeaked softly, and he felt Adrienne’s small, soft hands on his back. She was standing behind him. She pulled the band from his ponytail and combed his hair out. He closed his eyes at the gentle tug of her fingers through his long hair, and the light, tickling touch of her little nails on his skin. With a sweep of her hand, she pushed his hair over his shoulder, and then she caressed his back and shoulders, kneading gently. He groaned—it had been months since he’d been touched in this way, his bare skin. And really, he’d never been touched like this. Not ever.

She kissed the middle of his back. “Your back is beautiful, Badge. You shoulders are broad and strong.

You’re so strong.” Her hands slid over his waist and pressed them flat to his belly. Only inches from the horror, which began not far above his navel.

He could feel the satin of her bra, and the swell of her breasts, against his back.

“Turn around, Badge. Please. Trust me.”

He turned around, his eyes closed.

They opened at the strident sound of her gasp, and he saw her hand over her mouth.

“Fuck. Fuck. I’m sorry.” He stepped back quickly, out of her reach, and bent to grab his shirts and get the f*ck out. He needed to get out. Get out. Out.

“No wait—Badger, wait. I’m not—I’m not scared. I’m just—I’m sad. I’m so sad for you. I can’t think of how that must have hurt. Please don’t go.” She was crying.

Fuck! Everything was wrong. He would never have anything like this, like her. Ever.

But then she grabbed his arm. “Don’t go. Please.”

“You deserve more than this. Than me.”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached back, unhooked her bra, and drew it from her shoulders. While he was stunned to stillness by the mesmerizing beauty of her body, she stepped up close and rose up on her toes. She looped her arms around his neck, pressing herself tightly to his body, her perfect skin on his deformity. She laid her cheek on his chest.