Chapter 25
25
VAUGHN
M y eyes roamed every inch of Hope’s gorgeous body. The mischievous smile on her face was almost enough to bring me to my knees.
The longer I spent with this woman, the harder it was to recall why I kept pushing her away. Then I remembered to add virgin to the already long list of logical arguments for why I couldn’t touch her.
What the hell had I been thinking last night? The brain between my legs had taken over with the sound of that toy buzzing, and I’d turned into an even more uncivilized version of myself. My behavior should’ve repulsed Hope, but it hadn’t, and that terrified the ever-loving shit out of me.
She likes it when I’m dominant in the bedroom.
Now, I couldn’t stop contemplating the possibilities that presented, and how torturous it was that I could never act upon any of them.
“Please.” Hope gave me puppy-dog eyes while beckoning me toward the shore.
“Gatita, you don’t fight fair.” Could those scraps of red material even be called a swimsuit?
At this point, even if she asked me to wade into frigid arctic waters, I’d still say yes, because only a moron would turn her down. “Lead the way.” I gestured to the small waves, hoping she’d go first so I could stare at her ass.
Instead of heading for the water, she cast me a pitying look. “You’re not going to wear your shirt and jeans in again, are you? I’ve seen your scars, Vaughn. You don’t have to hide them from me.”
She was right, but that wasn’t my primary concern.
I glanced at my jeans and long-sleeve T-shirt. They really were cumbersome to swim in.
My gaze returned to Hope’s. “You have to promise to stay clear of me.”
If I had to help her like I had yesterday but without clothes as a safety barrier, I didn’t know how I’d react.
Hope frowned. “Vaughn, exactly how bad is your condition?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. “It’s bad.”
“That’s not very helpful. Can you at least tell me what it’s like when someone touches you?”
I contemplated how best to explain. Usually, I’d get uptight discussing this stuff, but for some reason, talking about it with Hope didn’t cause me to freak out.
I cleared my throat. “If someone reaches for me with their hands, it sends me into fight-or-flight mode. Contact while I’m wearing clothes is uncomfortable. Skin on skin is…triggering.”
“How so?”
“It sets off flashbacks to my time in captivity and either ends with me having a panic attack or lashing out violently. There’s a name for it. Haphephobia. An irrational fear of touch.”
Hope shifted on her feet. “Have you tried therapy? There must be some kind of treatment.”
I nodded. “Exposure therapy. Tried it, and my shrink ended up with his arm broken in two places and a dozen stitches in his face.”
Hope winced.
“Now do you understand why you need to keep your distance?”
She tilted her head. “Are you worried you’ll hurt me?”
“Damn right I am,” I said bluntly. “Did you not hear the part about bleeding wounds and broken bones? Hope, a professional tried to help me, and he ended up in the ER.”
“Yes, I heard you, and I can see you’re filled with guilt over it. Who else have you accidentally hurt?”
“A couple of guys on the team when they caught me by surprise. Nothing they couldn’t handle.”
“And how many women?”
My jaw tightened because her line of questioning concerned me. “None. Yet .”
“Because you don’t let them close to you, and those you do have their hands bound.” A statement. Not a question. Hope had learned of that particular requirement for intimacy last night.
“It’s too risky otherwise.”
“Oh, Vaughn.” Pain filled her expression, and she took a step closer before catching herself and pausing her advance.
“I don’t want your pity.” I held my hand up. “You of all people should understand that.”
“Fine. But answer me this. A man hurt you, right?”
“More than one.” Standing here on the beach, I did my best to block their faces from my mind.
“Maybe a woman’s touch would be less confronting.”
No. Nuh-uh. No fucking way.
“If you’re about to suggest something stupid and dangerous, forget it.”
“Hear me out.”
Fuck .
“I think you should let me try.”
She couldn’t be serious. “Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Why?” I recoiled. How could she even ask that? “If I hurt you, I’d never forgive myself.”
“You won’t hurt me,” she replied, as though the notion were inconceivable. “And I know this because you’ve been protecting me from the moment we met, so I don’t believe for a second that you’d do anything to harm me.” She folded her arms. “Think about it. The circumstances are completely different. You’re out here in the open with a woman, not caged inside a therapist’s office with a man.”
I wasn’t sure where her confidence came from. How could she be so certain I wouldn’t lose my shit and overreact? Except, maybe she was right, because the thought of hurting Hope seemed so repulsive, so utterly nauseating, that I couldn’t imagine raising a hand against her for anything. I’d sooner walk through flames.
Still, I didn’t understand why she’d put herself at risk for me. She owed me nothing.
“Why are you offering this?”
“Because I can see how much your condition troubles you. The clothes you wear, the way you act, your relationships—your fear of touch impacts every part of your life. I want to help, Vaughn.” She gestured to the strays all around us. “Caring and healing is what we do here, and I’m pretty good at it.”
I arched a brow. “Are you comparing me to an abused dog?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure at least some of the same rehabilitation principles apply.”
Hope made it sound so easy. We both knew it wasn’t.
“Do you want to get better?” she asked.
Yeah. I really fucking did.
I nodded and swallowed against my parched throat. “In some ways, it feels like I never left that cage. Like no matter what I do, those assholes still have control over me. I don’t want to feel…imprisoned in my skin. I hate it. I hate the way it feels. I hate the way it looks. Sometimes, I wish I could tear it off and let new skin grow so I wouldn’t be reminded of what they did to me every time I look in the mirror.”
It was a disturbing thought I sometimes had, although I’d never told anyone before. I wasn’t sure why I mentioned it now. Maybe it was because Hope and I both had vicious scars and there was a chance she felt the same. Maybe it was because she was the first person I’d been able to drop my guard and talk about my haphephobia with and not feel like a complete freak. Or maybe it was because she didn’t look at me with trepidation like most people did when they realized how screwed up I was.
“It would be a shame to lose all of that beautiful ink.” Her eyes traveled down my neck and over my T-shirt-covered chest as though she were recalling what she’d seen in the shower. Then her neck and cheeks flushed, giving away exactly what kind of thoughts were running through her mind.
Christ, I could take her face in my palms and kiss her for the timely distraction her heated gaze offered. Not that I ever would, but the idea of it kept entering my head lately.
Weird.
“My tattoos aren’t supposed to be pretty.” I’d chosen the most fear-provoking images to cover my scars, and I’d never imagined someone would find them appealing, let alone describe them as beautiful. “You really like them?”
“Men are so clueless,” she muttered, and rolled her eyes. “Women lose their minds over tattooed men.”
I stepped closer. “I didn’t ask what other women think. I want to know what you think.”
“I’ll tell you if you take your clothes off and get in the water.”
“Nice try. The T-shirt stays on.”
“Lose the tee, and I promise to go slowly.”
“Go slowly?” I blinked. “You want to start exposure therapy right now? In the water?”
“Why not?”
“It could end badly.” Yeah, I was already chickening out.
“Or it might not. If you become too uncomfortable, we’ll just stop. Simple.”
Was I actually considering letting her do this? The thought of Hope touching my scars sent conflicting emotions raging through me. Fear of hurting her, anxiety over the inevitable skin contact—which could spiral into a full-blown panic attack, something I absolutely didn’t want her to witness. But there was something else I hadn’t felt in a long time: desire. Because I really liked the idea of Hope running her hands over me without my phobia taking over.
We faced each other as our arms swirled through the water. The sun remained hidden behind gray clouds, but there wasn’t a breath of wind.
“Maybe we ought to Google how to do this first,” I said.
“I think we should just go with our gut. Do whatever works for you.”
My gaze slipped to the low neckline of Hope’s red bikini.
“Hey.” She snapped her fingers in front of my nose. “My eyes are up here.”
Those honey-gold irises were equally as stunning as her cleavage.
I pursed my lips. “You know, a distraction might work?”
She shook her head and laughed. “Let’s keep that up our sleeves. Stand up.”
I rose to my full height, the water now reaching just above my navel.
With her wet hair trailing down her back, Hope craned her neck to maintain eye contact. “Sweet Jesus. I keep forgetting how tall you are.”
There was no holding in my smirk. “Admit it. You like that, don’t you?”
“Stop gloating. Are you ready?”
“Almost. I have a suggestion.”
“I’m listening.”
“If I have my hands on you before you touch me, it might ground me. Remind me who I’m with and that you’re not a threat.” I placed my palms on the unmistakably feminine flare of Hope’s soft hips. “Is this okay?”
Her lips parted when I dug my fingers into her flesh a little. “It’s a compromise I can work with.”
“Okay. I’m ready.”
Hope’s eyes roamed my chest, and her brow pinched. “Will this hurt? Sometimes my scars tingle because the nerve endings didn’t heal properly.”
“I get that, too. But no. There won’t be any pain. It’ll just make me”—unhinged, enraged, overwhelmed—“uneasy.”
“What if I start by touching somewhere you’re not scarred?”
I glanced down at the raised lines along my arms and crisscrossing my torso. “That leaves you limited real estate.”
Hope pressed her lips together. “What about your neck? I’ll start there.”
My heart hammered inside my chest at a frantic pace, and my mouth turned dry. “Okay. Let’s give it a shot.”