Susan Mallery - Only Yours

“Sounds impressive.” A more polite response than the reality—which was that he wouldn’t be in town come fall.

“I’m sure you’ll like whoever comes.”

They chatted a few more minutes, then he excused himself. He walked purposefully now, searching for the one face he most wanted to see.

He heard laughter by the carousel and turned. He caught a flash of blond hair, but it was only one of her sisters. The one with the baby.

He took two more steps, then stopped. She was close—he could sense it. And then she was walking toward him. She smiled as she spotted him.

He stayed where he was, letting her come to him, letting it be her choice. When she was in front of him, she took his hand, as if this had been their plan.

“Let’s go home,” she said and led the way.

THEY WENT TO HER HOUSE. Simon noticed very little about the short walk through a quiet residential neighborhood. He could see the houses were small but well maintained. Montana’s was a single story, set back from the sidewalk. They climbed the two steps to the tiny porch, then she used her key to let them in.

The living room was about half the size of his hotel room. She’d left a single lamp on to illuminate the space, but didn’t stop there. He saw a dining room, a kitchen, then they were in a short hallway. The door on the left led to a bedroom that had been converted into an office. Next was a bathroom. The door at the end of the hall led to her bedroom.

There was no moon and they’d long left the light of the living room behind. As they walked through the doorway, Montana reached for a switch on the wall. Two nightstand lamps went on.

Simon glanced around, positioning the dresser and the bed in his mind before turning off the lights. He sensed more than saw her turn toward him.

Desire held him in an uncomfortably tight grip. He was aware of his blood pounding in his ears, the rush of need that made him hard to the point of pain. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman, but having her would come at a price. The point was driven home further when she turned the light back on.

“I thought men liked to see as well as do,” she said lightly, her brown eyes searching his.

“It’s better in the dark.”

She pressed her hands lightly on his chest. “I’m not like them.”

“Like who?”

“The ones who didn’t want to see your scars. I’m not intimidated by them.”

“You should be.”

She was determined, he realized. She thought that her ability to see what had been done to him would change things. She was right in that, but wrong in the outcome. The scars would horrify her. She might try to get through it, but she would be stiff and unable to respond. He should know.

Most of the women he’d spent time with had agreed that it would be best if he left on his T-shirt. Easier for both of them. But he already knew that Montana wasn’t like other women.

“I want you,” she said, her expression earnest. “I want to be with you. Now. Here. I want all of you.”

For reasons he couldn’t explain he had trouble telling her no. As if the act of refusing might hurt her and he couldn’t risk that. But to show her the scars…

Montana wore a summer dress in some floral fabric. The top outlined her curves while the skirt was full and fell to her knees.

As he watched, she unfastened the buttons down the front, then shrugged out of her dress. Underneath she wore a lace bra and bikini panties. Both were a soft pink.

Every part of her was beautiful. Her full breasts, the curve of her hips, the slight roundness of her belly. His erection throbbed. Need nearly suffocated him. But before he could reach for her, she stepped back.

“My last serious boyfriend was also a doctor. I was in Los Angeles, thinking I needed to see something beyond Fool’s Gold. While he wasn’t a plastic surgeon, he was very into perfection. One night, after we’d made love, he put his hands on my body and showed me everything that was wrong.”

She raised her chin as she faced him, but he heard the hurt in her voice.

“He said he could ‘fix’ my breasts,” she began. “That there were laser treatments to get rid of my freckles. He said I would be really pretty, if I lost 15 pounds on top of all that. The best part was that he seemed to think he was helping me in some way…. I know it’s not the same, but it’s not unusual to be judged by your appearance.”

Her eyes were overly bright, as if she were holding back tears.

“He was an asshole,” Simon growled, beyond furious. The need to lash out, to find the man who had tried to break Montana’s spirit burned as hot as his passion. She was everything a man could want. What kind of low-life bastard did that to anyone, let alone a woman like her?

“You intimidated him in some way,” he continued. “He didn’t think he was enough so he had to make you less.”

She smiled, but her lips trembled. “I didn’t intimidate him, believe me. He wanted perfection and I could never be perfect. Worse, I wasn’t that interested in being perfect. Perfect is boring. At least that’s what I tell myself. Most of the time, I even believe it.”

He moved toward her and cupped her face in his hands. “You are so beautiful that sometimes it hurts just to look at you. Your eyes are a thousand shades of brown and gold with hints of blue and green.” He touched her cheekbones with his thumbs. “Your freckles are like the girl-next-door fantasy brought to life. Your mouth is sexy and soft and when you smile, the world seems like a better place. Swear you’ll never change anything. Swear it.”

More tears filled her eyes. “Wow. That was really good. I wish you’d been there back then. I was pretty heartbroken. I’m better now. I figured out he was a jerk and not for me, and I came home.

“I can’t begin to know what it was like for you,” she continued. “But please, Simon. I want to make love with you. With all of you. Not just some parts of you.”

His desire disappeared as if it were a fire suddenly crushed by snow. Giving in to the inevitable, he nodded once and stepped back.

He worked quickly, knowing there was no point in drawing out the moment. He pulled his shirt free of his jeans and unbuttoned it. After shrugging out of it, he tossed it onto a chair in the corner of the room. Then he grabbed the bottom of his plain white T-shirt.

“Whatever you’re imagining,” he said flatly, “it’s worse.”

She nodded once. There were no visible signs of her bracing herself, but he suspected that she did so. That the voice in her head warned her not to show any emotion.

He ripped off the shirt and stood there, exposed. He bunched up the fabric in his hand, squeezing it tight, as if by sheer will he could make this all go away.

He told himself to close his eyes, that watching would only make it worse. But he found it impossible to turn away from Montana’s face.

He had to give her credit. Nothing much changed. Her mouth tightened a little—although not, he would guess, in revulsion. She looked more thoughtful, a little sad. Then she moved closer and raised her hands.

He knew what she was seeing. The burns on his face and neck weren’t that bad, but those on his torso were angry, ugly scars. Burns on burns, he thought, remembering his frantic scramble from the flames and how his mother had pushed him back a second time.

Montana would see the different colors, the places where red faded to an unnatural gray. What she wouldn’t know and what he wouldn’t tell her was that some days they still ached. That if he moved wrong, he felt pain and limitation in his range of movement. That his hands had been spared but not his psyche, and when he least expected them, the nightmares returned.

She moved her fingers slowly, lightly, feeling every part of the scars on his chest. When she leaned in closer, he had no idea what she was going to do and was startled by the feel of her mouth on the scars.

His body stiffened, locked immobile by a single brush of her lips. She kissed him again and again, then moved slowly to his back, where he felt her gentle touch and the sweet caress of her mouth.

It was a form of acceptance he’d never imagined. An instinctive desire to heal. The task was impossible but the intent was so pure, the last of his reserve, his fear, disappeared like smoke in the wind. In that moment, there was only the night and the woman he wanted with a desperation he’d never experienced before.

He continued to hold himself still, mostly to be sure, but also to give her time to complete her journey. When she faced him again, there were more tears.

“The scars are a part of you,” she said simply, then wrapped her arms around his neck, raised herself on tiptoe and kissed him.

Her willingness to see him for himself was something he hadn’t expected. He pulled her close and hung on, wanting her but perhaps also needing her as well.

MONTANA FELT THE SURPRISE in Simon’s kiss. He held back a little, at first, as if her reaction was unexpected. The scars were worse than she’d imagined, but she only had to look at them. He had to live with them and the memories of what had caused them.

She drew back and stared into his gorgeous eyes. “Are you thinking I’m a bad person because here you are, showing me your burns, but I’m too distracted by your body to notice? Should I be more sympathetic?”

Instead of getting mad or telling her she was an idiot, he started to laugh. A deep sound that rose from his chest and filled the room. There was relief in his laughter and something that sounded very much like sheer happiness. She found herself smiling along, then he scooped her up in his arms.