Beneath the Scars (17 page)

Zachary’s damp head gleamed in the light. I stood between his legs, hesitating. “Off the top and sides?”

“Mostly the top. I, um, like it longer on the side. You can trim the back a little.”

His request made sense, of course, because keeping the sides longer helped to cover the scars.

Taking a deep breath, I picked up the comb. “Does this hurt?” I wondered. “Combing your hair, I mean?”

His eyes were nervous as he looked at me. “It’s sensitive in places.”

“Show me.”

He raised a shaky hand, clasping mine with it, and running my fingers over the uneven patches of skin. “There,” he whispered.

Softly, I kissed the marred skin. “Okay,” I whispered into his ear. “Hold on to me.”

I ran my fingers over his scalp, letting him get used to my touch, ignoring his intake of air. His hands settled on my hips, their grasp tight. Carefully, I combed his hair through and started cutting. For a few minutes the only sound in the room was the snipping of scissors and Zachary’s uneven breaths. As I worked away, I hummed, hoping it might soothe him. Gradually, his breathing calmed and he relaxed, his hold on my hips loosening.

“Have you done this before?”

I smirked a little. “Maybe you should have asked that earlier.”

“Maybe.”

“My friends and I cut each other’s hair when we were in college,” I chuckled. “It saved money and they never complained.” I paused to look and make sure both sides were even. “Of course, they had way more hair than you so let’s hope I get it right. Otherwise, you may not need another visit to Mr. Olsen until next year.” I winked at him. “Karen cuts mine, and she showed me the basics. I think we’ll be okay.”

He buried his hand in my hair, tugging on the strands. “You have beautiful hair, Megan. I love how it feels in my hands.”

My cheeks warmed at his sweet words.

He tugged again, bringing my face close to his, kissing me warmly. “I like doing that,” he murmured, releasing my hair.

“Making me blush?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” I asked, continuing to cut away, ignoring the increasing tempo of my heart.

“It’s an honest response. It tells me I’ve either pleased or embarrassed you.”

“I also blush when I’m angry,” I challenged with a grin. “So how can you tell I’m not just angry all the time?”

“It’s different.”

I set down the scissors and ran my fingers through his hair. “Different?”

“When you’re angry, you get…well, red. Instantly flushed. When you’re embarrassed or pleased the color is like a flower on your cheeks…it spreads out—pink and soft.”

I stared at him, my insides beginning to quiver, my breathing picking up. “You notice things like that?”

He nodded, tilting his head back. His eyes caught the light, swirls of blue and green staring at me. “You blush when aroused, too, Megan.” His hands began sweeping the backs of my legs, sliding higher with every pass, the heat of his fingers burning through the thin material of my yoga pants. “I do?” I sputtered, clinging to his shoulders, feeling the coiled muscles contract.

His voice became low and husky. “Yeah, you do, but it’s different. It starts on your chest and blooms up to your face, deepening the more turned on you get.” He paused, the tip of his tongue peeking out and teasing his bottom lip. “Sort of like what is happening”—he tugged me closer—“right now.”

I gasped as he lifted me into his lap, his mouth covering mine. His kiss was deep and carnal, his desire evident in the way his arousal pressed up against me. “God, I want you,” he groaned into my neck. “I want you spread out on my bed all pink and soft for me—everywhere.”

Yearning shot through me, hot and bright. I had no idea how he did this to me. One look, one sexy sentence uttered in his low, raspy voice, and I wanted him.

“Your hair,” I protested feebly.

“Fuck my hair,” he growled, thrusting into me. I moaned at his need, my own desire spiking. He could have anything he wanted.

“No,” I shot back at him. “Fuck
me
, Zachary. Now.”

He stood up, his arms holding me tight. “With pleasure.”

Zachary was curled around me, head resting on my chest, fingers caressing my hair, tugging at the mess he’d made with his hands during our frenzied lovemaking. He certainly did love my hair. Once again, the floor was strewn with pillows and sheets, but the remaining lamp had been put in a different place for safety. In a gentle sweep, I slid my fingers over the back of his neck, feeling the slight shiver that went through his body at my touch.

“Zachary?”

“Hmm?”

I paused, trying to keep my voice light and even. “Can I ask you some questions?”

His body tensed, fingers stilling, at my words. He rolled over, an arm covering his eyes. Immediately, I missed his warmth. I moved closer, laying my hand on his chest, over his heart, and the small spattering of scars around it. “Does this hurt?”

“No.”

I laid my head down on his chest, not speaking, unsure if he would elaborate.

The room was silent for a moment, save for his fingers drumming a restless beat on my arm. “My skin everywhere on the right side is incredibly sensitive, Megan. Some of the burns were worse than others. In some places, the skin around the scar is more reactive and the scar itself has no feeling in it at all. There’re times I’m in pain and when I am, I take pills. I feel temperature changes easily. I wear loose clothing, my showers are barely warm, and I never, ever go outside unless I’m fully covered. I can’t stand the feel of the sun. It’s like being burned all over again.”

“Oh.”

His lips brushed my temple; a tender pass of affection. “In answer to your question, none of your touches hurt. You are far too gentle for that.” He assured me, his voice quiet. “Your touch actually soothes me.”

“But you tense up every time.”

He exhaled deeply. “I’ve been alone a long time. No one has touched me for almost twelve years. In fact, no one has ever touched me the way you do—my entire life. It…takes some getting used to.” His arm held me a little closer. “I’m trying, Megan.”

My heart ached with his quiet admission.

His whole life?

“I know you’re trying.” I paused, glancing up at his face. “I don’t want to hurt you, Zachary, or do something by accident to cause you pain. That’s why I’m asking.”

His chest expanded as he drew in a deep breath. “I don’t like to talk about this.”

“I need to understand.” Pushing up, I met his nervous eyes. “I need to know the boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Things that make you uncomfortable—bother you. For instance, I’ve noticed you have no candles around. All your appliances are electric.”

His mouth tightened, his fingers pulling on the blanket, twisting it up tight. “Yes. I don’t like candles or things with open flames.”

“But you have the fireplace? That doesn’t seem to bother you as much.”

“It used to. It took me a long time, but I slowly overcame the fear. I couldn’t bring myself to brick up the fireplace, since it was one of the things I liked most about the house. It’s more contained with the hearth and screen; I like how it smells and the sounds it makes, and Elliott likes the heat. I never sit close.”

“And you’re able to light it.”

“I can control it. I’m very careful. I’m sure you saw the long fire-starter matches.”

I nodded and thought for a moment. “So, ah, some fire frightens you?”

His eyes shut, his face warring with emotions. He pressed his head down into the pillow, bringing me back to his chest, his voice tinged with weariness. “I don’t like it, but no, fire itself doesn’t frighten me. What it can do frightens me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You think I should be afraid of fire because I was burned?”

“I guess I thought you would be.”

“I’m sure some people are…afterward. It depends, I suppose—”

“On?”

Silence filled the room. I could feel his heart beating rapidly under my ear. Too rapidly. I was about to tell him I would stop pushing, when he spoke again.

“On how you were burned.”

My stomach knotted at the sound of his voice—distant, removed.

“It’s like guns, Megan. They don’t kill people. The person pulling the trigger does.” His voice dropped further, becoming more remote. “Fire itself didn’t set out to burn me. The person holding the flame did.”

Icy fingers of dread wrapped around my spine. I gasped for air, unable to catch my breath. Zachary’s arm tightened as he lifted his head. “Megan?”

“I thought…I thought you’d been in an accident?” I choked out, horrified. “Someone…did this to you? Deliberately?”

“Yes.”

“W…why?”

“To teach me a lesson.”

My heart hammered in my chest as my breath came out in small bursts of air. I shook my head in disbelief. “No.”

His eyes were flat, his voice cold.

“Yes. I deserved it.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“
Yes. I deserved it.”

I blinked at him in shock, not sure I’d heard him correctly. I struggled to draw in oxygen. It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. The weight on my chest was hard and heavy, as I tried to process his words.

He deserved it.

How could he think that? I couldn’t understand.

I couldn’t even fathom it.

After he uttered those words, my stomach heaved. I continued to stare at him, shaking my head, my mind running his words on a loop, hot tears streaming down my face. Zachary sat up, confused at my reaction.

“Megan?” He placed his large hand on my arm, squeezing my bicep, his grip gentle. “Why are you so upset? Don’t do this. Don’t cry.” He rested his forehead to mine, his warm breath washing over my skin. “I’m not worth it.”

I pulled back, horrified.

Don’t cry? Not worth it?

“You need to explain this to me,” I gasped.

His eyes narrowed; the intimacy we had shared evaporated and his gaze became stern. “I don’t have to explain anything to you. I told you my past wasn’t pretty.” He threw back the covers, his movements jerky as he grabbed his clothes, yanking them on, and headed to the door. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Not now. I’m not ready.”

My heart thundered in my chest. “Will you ever be ready?”

He paused, his hand gripping the doorframe, fingers wrapped tight on the wood. “I don’t know,” he admitted, walking out of the room.

Stumbling, I found my clothes and followed him downstairs, where he was shrugging on his overcoat, ignoring me. “Where are you going?”

“Elliott and I are going for a walk. It’ll give you time to calm down.”

“
Calm down
? You say
that
to me, refuse to talk anymore, explain, and you expect me to calm down? Do you really think it’s that simple? Talk to me, Zachary!”

He turned; his eyes so dark and filled with anger, I flinched. “I told you I wasn’t
ready
to talk about it. You keep
pushing
!”