Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Jif blinked, her gaze following his to the damp patch spreading across his shirt. Heat flooded her cheeks. “Oh, no!”
She tugged at the hem. “Here, I’ll go pop it in the laundry for you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He gripped the bottom edge, dragging it firmly down. “I’ll go change.”
She bit her lip as he heaved himself to his feet with a hiss and strode out of the living room, dropping the wad of towels in the garbage as he retreated down the hallway.
Until he’d admitted his insecurity to her, she’d never given much thought to his tendency to wear long sleeves, no matter how warm the weather. Likewise, he’d mentioned his scarring to the kids, but he kept the marks so well hidden, she couldn’t picture what they might look like marring his skin.
She had absolutely pictured his body; the glimpses of his stomach when his shirt rode up, the pull of fabric across his shoulders, and the deliciously muscled weight of his arm gave her imagination plenty of fertile soil to work with. But his scars had never been something she considered.
He’d come so far. When he walked, she rarely noticed his limp anymore, and though he’d occasionally make a painful sound when first standing or rub his thigh after he’d been sitting for a while, he’d spent every spare moment at the gym, retraining his body to do what it once had so easily.
Would the disfigurement of his skin matter when the strength of his body fully returned? And were either more important than the fortitude, resilience, and tenacity of his recovery?
Plenty of big, burly guys could sweep her up in their arms, but far too few made her feel safe in their embrace.
No, his scarring wouldn’t matter to her, whenever he felt safe enough to share it.
Glancing down, she wrinkled her nose at the splatters staining her shirt.
Grateful for the tank top she wore beneath, she slipped it over her head, following Miles down the hall.
She’d run their clothes through the wash, then maybe find enough courage to tell him she didn’t care about the damage to his body, so long as she could press herself against it.
She lifted her hand to knock on his bedroom door, but it flew open, and Miles stumbled straight into her, propelling them both across the hall.
Her breath left her in a quick whoosh as his weight pressed her into the wall, but before he could catch himself and push away, she tangled both hands in his new, clean shirt and tugged his head down, sealing her lips to his.
Maybe if she couldn’t find the words to say his injuries didn’t matter to her, she could show him, instead.
Without missing a beat, he braced one hand beside her ear and tangled the other in her hair, tipping her head back until he could explore her mouth at leisure.
The tight pressure on her scalp and the slide of his lips sent tingles down her spine, curling her toes even as his tongue swept in to possess her mouth, replacing the memory of Corey’s violence with the heat of Miles’s passion.
Her eyes fluttered closed as she fully surrendered, almost forgetting why she’d followed him to his room in the first place.
And she’d have happily continued to forget it if she hadn’t shivered, the rough touch of his palm running up her arm and cupping her bare shoulder zinging electricity through every cell in her body.
“You’re cold,” he murmured.
“Not cold,” she corrected, arching against him and pulling his head back down to nibble his ear.
Their shirts could wait. Who cared about laundry when she could be kissing Miles?
She eased the pad of her thumb beneath the hem of his shirt and followed the line of his hip bone, her lips trailing down the column of his neck.
His breath stuttered, ghosting over her temple, and she smiled against his skin, but a moment later, he stepped away.
She froze, the heat of passion turning to ice at his rejection.
Oh. Okay then.
Numb, she didn’t resist when he twined his fingers in hers and squeezed, then rescued her shirt from where it had fallen to the floor. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to abandon you. Let’s get this clean.”
It was fine. Really.
Miles had continued as he’d started: slowly, not assuming anything, respectful, despite his passion. And she didn’t have any complaints. After her experience with Corey, she could certainly appreciate his approach.
Still, if his reticence came from fear of her reaction to his body, she needed to tell him it didn’t matter.
“I want...” She swallowed.
What if he didn’t? What if he wasn’t nervous, but he maybe, somehow, didn’t want her? Didn’t want to be with her in the same way she wanted to be with him.
Or maybe he wanted to be the one to lead.
He’d said no when she’d asked him to coffee, but they’d ended up dating, anyway. If he pulled away when she initiated a kiss, maybe he wanted to be the one in charge.
Her toes curled.
Oh yeah, she could work with that.
He glanced back at her, waiting.
She shook her head. “Never mind.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but the clicking of toenails coming down the hall interrupted his words.
Nix danced between them and licked his chops.
“Uh oh. Is that peanut sauce on his nose?”
Miles’s eyes widened, and he hustled to the kitchen.
“Umm, Jif?”
She followed him to find two pristine plates on the floor, every last drop of sauce licked completely clean.
Standing over them, Nix wagged his tail slowly, his head up and ears high, clearly proud of himself.
Like earlier, when she’d returned to the living room to find Miles fending off the dog as he slid deeper into the couch cushions, she couldn’t quite help the laughter bubbling up inside her. She slowly sank to the floor, arms out to Nix.
He head-bumped her chest as she folded him into an embrace, one paw rising off the floor in a one-legged hug.
“You naughty puppy,” she whispered in his ear, but she scrubbed her nails down his shoulders.
A snort caught her attention, and she glanced up at Miles, then her mouth dropped open. He laughed so infrequently, but now he hunched over, shoulders shaking as a wheezing chuckle filled the small room.
“You mutt!” he managed to eke out between laughs.
“Don’t be mean.” Jif hugged Nix’s head and pressed it into her chest, blocking out Miles’s words. “He didn’t mean it. He really does love you.”
“He’s lucky I do,” Miles groused.
“And I love you, too,” Jif spoke to Nix, not quite under her breath, but quiet enough she could pretend they were words for his ears alone.
A test of the flavor and shape of them on her tongue.
Savory, like peanut sauce, sweet like a delicate Moscato.
She wasn’t ready to say them to Miles yet, but soon.