Playing With Fire (Tangled in Texas, #2)(30)
His face lingered near mine, and his gaze landed on my mouth as I licked my lips with nervousness. Okay, anticipation. So I wanted to kiss him. Big deal. Who wouldn’t?
But it wasn’t a good idea. And, judging by his expression and the tightening of his grip on the back of my neck, it seemed we were both grappling with the decision to take the innocent kiss on the cheek one step further.
“Anna, I—” He lowered his gaze, his whole body becoming rigid. Cowboy’s eyes widened and his mouth fell dormant.
At first, I wasn’t sure what caused the reaction. Once my gaze followed his, it only took me a fraction of a second to realize what had taken him by surprise. My heart flatlined. My robe had parted on my thighs, baring them, and Cowboy had gotten an eyeful of much more than I’d ever intended for him to see.
Panicking, I grasped the skirt of my robe and covered myself, but his hands shot out and grasped mine. “Don’t.”
Before I could argue with him, Cowboy shoved my hands aside and carefully slid the fabric from my legs, revealing the large, irregular patchwork of ropey pink scars that marred my slim thighs. The unsymmetrical planes of skin were thickened with grotesque, disfiguring reminders of exactly why I avoided fire…and men.
As he focused his attention on my legs, my chest tightened with the strong urge to escape, but I was unable to move. The last person to look so closely at my deformities was the plastic surgeon who’d performed several painful corrective surgeries on me over the years in the form of agonizing skin grafts and laser resurfacing. That was, until I finally refused further treatment.
A tentative touch jarred me from my thoughts as Cowboy’s hand fell lightly upon my right knee. His fingers inched upward, carefully considering the texture of each mark before tracing one blemish to the inside of my leg. His gaze heated as his fingers whispered over my deformed skin. Though there had been some nerve damage, and the skin in that area wasn’t particularly sensitive, the sight of seeing Cowboy’s hand between my legs caused me to tense and a strangled sound bubbled from my throat.
Our eyes met.
His calloused hand flattened, covering my thigh with warmth. He stopped exploring the marks, but didn’t pull back. For a moment, we sat there in a deadlock, his hands on my thighs and neither of us moving. His face tightened with a cornucopia of emotions: anger, protectiveness, understanding, and pity.
I wasn’t sure if I should say anything or not. Thankfully, he made the decision for me by releasing me and lowering his gaze, severing the intense connection between us. “I have to go,” Cowboy volunteered in a hasty voice much deeper than before. “Right now.”
“Oh,” I said as my cheeks flushed. “Um, okay.” I yanked the robe to cover my legs, while he extended the courtesy of looking away. I shot to my feet and faced away from him, not wanting him to see the disappointment and confusion in my eyes.
When I opened the front door and moved aside, he stepped through it and out into the warm night air. Darkness had fallen quickly, as it usually does when you’re surrounded by nothing but trees and no streetlamps.
“Thanks for, um…listening, I guess.”
“You’re welcome.” He started off the porch, without looking back. “Have a good night,” he called out over his shoulder.
“You, too,” I said softly, watching him stroll out to his truck.
Once he reached it, I closed the front door and leaned against it, blowing out a long, slow breath. I probably should’ve been relieved he hadn’t pressed me for more details about the fire. And realistically, I didn’t even know why I was bewildered by his reaction to seeing my scars. From the beginning, I’d predicted—if not projected—the outcome. Although he hadn’t appeared exactly repulsed by them, he was obviously distancing himself from me, which was close enough to the same thing.
At least he’d demonstrated some compassion by not drawing out a long, awkward good-bye littered with excuses and insincere apologies. Not that it mattered, since I could already feel a stinging sensation as the first tear pricked my eye.
If I can’t see past the scars, then why should he?
I was still leaning against the door moments later when someone rapped lightly on the other side. What the hell?
I opened it to find Cowboy filling the space with unnerving eyes, a strange look of desperation on his face, and his mouth held in a grim, firm line. “I should keep my hands off you,” he said with a hoarseness to his voice.
“Um, okay.” Guess he was more repulsed than I thought, because he was going ahead with the insincere apology, after all. “You came back to tell me that?”
“No, I forgot something.” He sounded even more irritated than when I first opened the door.
“Oh. What’d you forget?” I started to turn to look for a set of keys or something else that could be his, but he gripped my arm to stop me.
“This,” he said, spinning me back to him and covering my mouth with his.
Instantly, I froze.
Since I’d first met him, I’d always wondered what it would be like to be under that perfect mouth of his, and now that I was finding out, I stood there stupidly with my fish lips smashed against his in the most unflattering way.
But that didn’t deter him. He moved his lips slowly against mine, patiently awaiting my response. And he got one. Within seconds, my passive lips became soft and pliant against his as our mouths began a seductive dance together. His warmth tempered my body, bringing it to just the right degree, until I melted into him, my fingers gripping his shirt as I kissed him back with no physical hesitation.