Beneath the Scars by Melanie Moreland Page B

side of his face away, I knew he must have experienced many painful reactions to his appearance. People could often be cruel in their prejudices and the words they used to express them. I had the feeling Zachary had been at the receiving end of many unwelcome stares and words, which explained his regimented way of dealing with the world around him. I understood only being able to handle so many painful words or so much unwanted attention. He acted the way he did to keep people away, to keep hurt away.
    I didn’t want him to keep me away, though.
    He woke slowly, blinking in the morning light. For a moment he was motionless, then turned his head toward me. “Hi,” I whispered, unsure of his reaction.
    His voice was scratchy and thick with sleep. “What time is it?”
    I glanced at the clock. “A little after eight.”
    “Did I disturb you last night?”
    “Um, no…well, other than when you woke me up to, ah—” My voice trailed off, shyness overtaking me. What should I call it? Sex? Making love? I had no idea how he saw what was happening between us. I didn’t even understand it.
    A small grin lit his face, and I found myself trapped under a warm, heavy chest, pressed into the mattress. Zachary’s face was close to mine, his breath drifting over my skin like a summer breeze, hot and damp. “I slept so well,” he murmured.
    I ran my fingers through his dark hair, the strands feeling like silk. “Is that a rare occurrence?”
    His face became serious; his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear it. “I haven’t slept that well in years.”
    “Nightmares?” I whispered, worried if I spoke too loud or too fast, he would pull away.
    Lost in whatever memories he had trapped in his head, he nodded.
    “That’s good then.”
    Blinking, he looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time today. “It was you.”
    “Me?”
    “You were next to me all night. You let me hold you.”
    I kissed the messiness of his thick scruff. “I liked you holding me.”
    “I didn’t think there was anyone as sweet as you left in this world.”
    “You weren’t looking in the right places.”
    “I wasn’t looking at all,” he replied. “Yet, somehow you found me.”
    I smiled up at him, loving his gentler, quiet side.
    “All night,” he repeated in wonder, his grin becoming wider. “Well, other than the ‘waking up’ as you call it.”
    I felt my face flood with color. “I, ah, liked that, too.”
    He pushed closer, lifting my arms over my head and smoothing his hands over the skin. “You approved of the sleep interruptions, did you?”
    “Um, yes.”
    Brushing his mouth over mine, he chuckled—a dark, low sound. “I like it when you’re flustered.”
    “Stop it.”
    His hands tightened on my arms, his eyes darkening. “What are you going to do about it?”
    “Zachary.” His name sounded more like a plea than a reprimand.
    “Megan,” he whispered huskily, his lips tracing over my collarbones.
    God, how was it possible I wanted this man again?
    “Please.”
    His mouth covered mine, and once more, I was lost.

    “Are you sure you want to go in to town with me?”
    Looking up from my purse, I frowned at his tense expression. “Would you rather I went in by myself, Zachary?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    Trying not to feel hurt over his apparent aversion to my company in public, I strove to keep my voice neutral. “You didn’t have to. Obviously, the idea of me coming with you is bothering you, since it’s the third time you’ve asked me. I’ll go later and take my own car.” Grabbing my purse, I called for Dixie. “We’ll see you later”—I paused—“if that’s what you want.”
    His arm shot out, stopping me from walking past him. “Stop it,” he growled.
    “I’m not doing anything. Dixie and I are going home so you can go and take care of your errands. Alone.”
    “I don’t want to go alone.”
    My eyes found his, searching for answers. “Then why?”
    “It’s Friday,” he said