Chapter 34
Roman
Tears swam in Palmer’s eyes, but something else was behind the sadness in them. A determination that I barely recognized. It distracted me from the pain inside me.
Her hands slid from my face, and she hesitated before she took half a step back. I instantly missed her comfort and warmth, but her jaw locked.
“I also carry the hurt of the night,” she whispered, and her trembling fingers reached for the ties of her robe. “You aren’t alone, Roman. It marked me too.”
She inhaled deeply, and then undid the knot around her waist. Her robe fell open, and she pushed the pink satin from her shoulders.
The fabric slid to the floor and pooled at her feet.
My breaths stalled as I took her in.
I hadn’t thought about it before, but I’d never seen the bare skin of her arms. She always wore sweaters or long sleeves, but it was winter.
Now, though, she stood in front of me wearing a thin, short-sleeved top patterned with tiny blue flowers. She held her arms toward me, and something deep inside me twisted as I took her in.
The skin along both of her forearms was uneven and mottled, the texture subtly different from the rest. The pattern of it told a quiet, brutal story, one of skin that had once been badly burned and painstakingly repaired.
The kind of scars that only came from fire, and from surviving it.
My fingers brushed her skin before thinking better of it.
Palmer shuddered.
“Does this hurt?” I asked.
She shook her head.
So I kept going, letting my hands slide over the altered texture of her scars. They were beautiful. A testament to her strength and resilience.
“Why do you hide them?”
The moment the words left my mouth, I wondered whether I’d crossed a line. She didn’t seem bothered, though. She stared at my hands, watching the way they moved over her skin.
“They make people look at me differently,” she whispered. “I don’t want to be pitied or make people uncomfortable.”
A flare of anger sparked in me that she felt like she had to hide anything about herself at all. But when she lifted her gaze to meet mine, something in my mind clicked.
A memory crashed to the surface.
A small woman in a smoke-filled hallway.
I remembered her hair, and the hazel of her eyes as she blinked blearily up at me through the haze.
I remembered dragging her through the smoke and heat, pulling her toward the exit, but I didn’t know what happened to her after that.
She had lost consciousness and had bad burns, but the moment I handed her off to the paramedics, they’d pushed me aside and I’d had to turn around and rush right back into the building.
I blinked, and the memory dissolved as I came back to the present.
Back to her.
I stared at her with a newfound awe.
She had survived it too, and somehow, she still carried light in places I’d only ever held darkness. Palmer was soft and open and full of life. She had seen the worst parts of me—the ugliness I’d kept buried for years—and she was still here, reaching for me.
The truth struck through all my confusion and fear, bringing clarity. When I looked at Palmer, at her scars and her beautiful eyes, I didn’t feel guilt or shame…I felt seen. I felt understood.
Our pain wasn’t the same, but there was still something in it that made me feel less alone.
I closed the little distance she made between us and cradled her face in my hands.
“Palmer,” I said with a low huskiness that almost stole the next words.
“For so long, I’d thought that night had only taken from me.
” I stared at her, alive and breathing by some miracle.
“Now, I realize that it has given something back, too. Not something to replace what I had. Not something better, but something…good.”
Her expression softened. Some of the sorrow morphed into hope. “Roman—”
I pressed a thumb against her full lip, silencing her. I just needed to get this out. “For once, wanting something good doesn’t feel wrong.”
After holding on so tight to my suffering, carrying it all alone because I believed I didn’t deserve happiness after what had happened…I let go. I cut loose the brambled, thorny mess around my heart and opened myself to comfort instead of punishment for the first time in almost eight years.
She stared at me, throat bobbing as she swallowed.
My thumb caressed her bottom lip; there was a small gash from where she’d bit it. Without thinking, I leaned forward and kissed it.
She gasped, a small intake of breath, but it was enough.
Heat sparked in my chest as all the emotions I’d been too ashamed and scared to face rolled over me all at once.
My lips moved against hers, kissing her with every ounce of desire I’d been tamping down.
The world narrowed to the warmth of her mouth, and the way her body leaned into mine like she’d been waiting for this moment. Palmer had come into my life so unexpectedly, but she made everything better—like the warm, golden beams of sunlight melting the snow in the spring.
My tongue caressed the seam of her lips, and she opened for me, letting out a moan that sent jolts of electricity through me.
She shifted closer, her chest brushing mine as her fingers slid into my hair.
For so long, I’d kept myself locked away from this, afraid of letting anyone else in. I was terrified to fail and lose someone so vital to my very existence.
But with Palmer, it was impossible not to reach for more.
I broke the kiss first, not because I wanted to but because I needed to see her.
Her breathing had quickened. A faint flush colored her cheeks.
My hands moved carefully along her arms, my thumbs grazing the places where the fire had rewritten her skin.
Palmer tensed, as if it were a reflex to shy away from this part of her.
I wouldn’t let that happen anymore. Gradually, I lowered my mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to one of the grafted patches along her forearm. She inhaled sharply. I kissed another. Then another.
Every one felt like a promise. She was not broken. She was not something to hide.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured against her arm.
She made a small sound, like something between a whimper and a sigh. The look on her face was doubtful, like no one had said those words to her before.
I meant every one. Every inch of her told a story of survival.
My hands slid to her waist as I guided her back toward the bed. She went willingly, and when the backs of her knees hit the mattress, she sat down and shifted until she was lying against the pillows.
She tracked me as I settled above her, staring down at her open, trusting expression. God, I needed her. Every molecule of my being was drawn to her, longing for her to take whatever pieces of me were left to give.
I leaned down, my lips finding the curve of her shoulder and trailing up her neck. The sharp gasp she let out sent a shudder down my spine. I was so ready for her, but I forced myself to pull back.
She gazed up at me beneath her lashes, cheeks flushed. Her pulse thrummed visibly at the base of her throat, and I had the urge to press my tongue to that spot, to taste her skin and feel that heart beating wildly because of my touch.
“I want you,” I ground out between my teeth, my voice wrecked. “Can I have you, Palmer?”
That lovely blush deepened, and she nodded.
I smiled, a self-satisfied smirk, but when I leaned down close to her, I didn’t touch her. Instead, I whispered low into her ear, “Use that mouth of yours, Golden. Tell me.”
“Yes.” The word came out in a breathless sigh, hurried and impatient. “You can take me, Roman.”
And that was all the invitation I needed.