Chapter 27
She slept half the night, waking to him kissing her neck and slowly moving to her mouth. When was the last time she’d been kissed like this?
Never.
She arched her back, pressing her breasts against his hard torso and giving him better access to her mouth.
His lips were full and sensuous, and he tasted faintly of spice and mint.
A soft sound of pleasure came from the back of her throat as her nails fingered the hair at his nape and she kissed the side of his neck.
She was struck by how vital these feelings were to living—really living—and how she never again wanted to live her life without them.
Her eyes opened.
It wasn’t just the sex she wanted in her life, it was Ian.
The future was something they hadn’t discussed, the potential for a real relationship. But she suddenly realized they were already in one, and she desperately wanted it to continue.
Her stare settled on his face, his wide hands spanning her lower back, caressing the muscles along her spine before moving lower to lift her ass and fit her tightly against him.
The intensity of their stare was more intimate than his touch. In the dim golden light spilling from the window, she saw one patch of altered skin led to another, the surface both silky and rough, and she brought her hand up to touch his face.
This man had paid a heavy price for his country, and she was struck by the difference between the two men she’d held in her arms who claimed to love America.
Only one of them was a hero.
She lightly kissed his scarred cheek, moving slowly past his eye to kiss a large patch of scarred skin before returning to his mouth and kissing him deeply with her own.
She was savoring him, tasting his sacrifice, wanting to drink him up like an antidote to everything that had gone wrong before this moment.
He pulled her hand away from his face. “Don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Just don’t.”
“It’s a part of you.”
He pulled back. “It’s ugly.”
“Is that what you see?”
“That’s what everyone sees.”
“Not me. I look at your face and I see a hero, a warrior. You’re beautiful.”
He sighed, dropping his arms and sitting up. “You really know how to kill a mood.”
She sat up. “By telling you I admire you and what you stand for?”
“By patronizing me.”
“Patronizing you?”
“Yes. I have a mirror. I can see. Nothing about this face is beautiful. Don’t treat me like a charity case who needs to feel better, Jackie.”
“I wasn’t! I—”
He laughed without humor. “That’s exactly what you were doing.” He stood.
“I meant what I said. Those scars are a testament to who you are as a person.”
He put his hands up and backed away. “All right, you know what? Let’s just forget about it.” He picked his sweatpants up off the floor. “It’s getting late.”
“Ian.” She got up and crossed to him, reaching to touch his face, but he pushed her hand away.
“I said stop.”
She frowned, watching as he pulled on his pants, another barrier between them. “You’re shutting me out. Over this.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I wasn’t talking, I was touching.”
“Don’t do that, either. Don’t even look at it.” He pulled a shirt from a cart similar to the one in her room, tugging the material over his head. “You’re always staring. You think I don’t notice? Like it doesn’t matter to me?”
The scars had been in front of her all along, but now she was seeing the wound. “I never tried to hide it. Why does it upset you?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously? I walk around with the worst day of my life where my face should be, and you’re asking why it upsets me when you stare at the scars?”
That did make her sound rather insensitive. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“You should get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
It was her turn to laugh. They’d just been snuggled in his bed for the past four hours. “You’re kicking me out?”
“You’re the one who wanted separate rooms.”
It was tempting to retreat, but she couldn’t let a misunderstanding be the reason. “Well, I don’t anymore. This is a ridiculous argument—”
“It isn’t an argument, it’s my life.” He shook his head. “Don’t you get that? I live in a world outside of yours, with my own problems.”
“So then tell me what they are. I want to know what you’re thinking. I’ll listen to you.”
“Why?”
“Because I like you.”
I care about you.
The absurdity of the words and his certain rejection stopped her cold.
She didn’t know he felt this way about his face, didn’t know anything about him.
The man she thought he was wouldn’t be saying these things to her, wouldn’t be shutting her out over something that was so unimportant in the grand scheme of things.
“Cowboy was right,” he said. “I should’ve had another one of the guys take over when we left Texas.”
His words were like a door slamming in an empty room. He wished he wasn’t even here, and the ease with which he did so hurt her deeply. She was naked while he was clothed. She was cold and alone, he pushing her out of his life with an efficiency that spoke of great practice.
She wished she could rewind time. “I can’t make it better for you, Ian. I can’t fix what the world has taken away. But I won’t pretend not to see, and you shouldn’t ask me to.”
He met her stare, his face expressionless. “Look, it’s all right. Okay? No big deal.” He looked away. “You should get some sleep.”
“That’s it? You’re kicking me out, just like that?”
“It’s late, Jackie.”
She reached for her panties and bra, her mind going numb as she walked to the door. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said quietly.
He opened the door wider, and she walked back through it. “Good night,” he said.
She hesitated. This wasn’t really happening. Razorback hadn’t really just asked her to leave and shut her out in the time it took to brush his teeth. She opened her mouth to protest, to fight for what she wanted, to make him see—but the door clicked shut behind her.
She was alone.
It was the night before she would destroy her former husband before his allies, friends, and the American public, and she was worried about Ian Rhodes.
She blinked several times, refusing to cry for the man who didn’t want to be near her, who would rather wallow in despair than accept a new beginning.
She turned off the light and climbed between cold sheets, reminding herself of what was truly important. Safety. Selena. Creating a home. She didn’t need Razorback. She was a strong, independent woman. She was used to being alone.