been exhausted, curled up in sleep by the time he moved from the bed.
"Taking my shirt off could have other consequences, sweetheart," he warned her, as her fingers moved down the shirt, the material parting as she moved lower.
Her gaze lifted to his as the last button released and her shaking hands moved to part the edges of the shirt. Then her eyes lowered and he watched her grow pale. He saw the tears that filled her unusual eyes, the trembling of her lips as her fingers whispered over the worst of the scarring.
He'd taken two bullets, and the bastard that wielded the knife as he was bleeding to death on the ground had sliced not just his face, but his chest and upper arms as well, before Cam could use the sidearm he'd had in his hand.
That night had been hell on earth. Half his team had been lost in the ambush. Cam had been certain he would die before the extraction team made it in.
Silken-soft hands smoothing the material of the shirt back from his shoulders drew him from his thoughts. The fine cotton slid over his muscles, clearly revealing the damage, as the auburn-haired little sprite let a single tear fall.
"Hey, no tears." He frowned, reaching out to wipe the tear from her face. "It was a long time ago, baby. Barely remembered."
She shook her head, the soft fall of dark fire whispering across her cheek as her lips trembled again and her fingertips, like a breath of fiery sensation, eased over the slashed scars.
They weren't as bad as they had been, but they were still pretty horrific. Deep slashes had forever marked his flesh. He'd been damned lucky the enemy had poor aim that night. The one bullet had done the worse damage, so close to his heart that just a breath closer and there would have been no saving him. Angels must have been watching over him, because the bullet had nicked a lung, missed everything else vital, and tore through his back. But he'd lived.
"I would have come if I had known." Another tear fell as Cam watched her in confusion.
Chase had come to him, but there had been no one else to call, no one else to care that he existed for weeks within the shadow land of his own mind.
"Why?" He watched her expression carefully.
He had wanted her then. He barely remembered anything from those pain-ridden months, except the pain and his need for Jaci. And later, he struggled with his fear that the scarring would disgust her. Women were strange creatures at times, he had learned. The brutal slashes along his chest and back weren't a pretty sight. And women did like their pretty things.
There was no disgust in Jaci's eyes, though. The only horror was for what pain he may have felt, not the physical imperfection he now carried.
"Why?" Disbelief filled her eyes as they lifted to him. "Because I cared, Cam. I wouldn't have left you alone."
"Chase was there." Who else was supposed to be there?
She shook her head, her lips pressing together to still their trembling. He wanted to lower his head and kiss them, to steal the saddened curve of them and fill her with hunger, instead of with pain.
"I would have been there, too. For as long as I could have been."
For some reason, he believed her. Or maybe he just wanted to believe her.
"You would have been there for that, but you couldn't stay, the night I brought you home from that party?"
Fire flashed in her eyes for a second. "One has nothing to do with the other," she snapped. "Don't be a moron."
Now, there was his Jaci. Fiery, confrontational, speaking her mind, as she should be.
"It's a logical question. Why would you have flown half a world away to be with me while I was dying, but refuse to share my bed?"
"Yours and Chase's? I was only twenty-one, Cam." She sniffed in distain. "Oh, shut up. I was just starting to like you again."
She was kneeling between his thighs, her generous breasts brushing against his lower stomach as she berated him, and Cam couldn't help but smile. How long had it been since a woman had done more than close her eyes in
"Taking my shirt off could have other consequences, sweetheart," he warned her, as her fingers moved down the shirt, the material parting as she moved lower.
Her gaze lifted to his as the last button released and her shaking hands moved to part the edges of the shirt. Then her eyes lowered and he watched her grow pale. He saw the tears that filled her unusual eyes, the trembling of her lips as her fingers whispered over the worst of the scarring.
He'd taken two bullets, and the bastard that wielded the knife as he was bleeding to death on the ground had sliced not just his face, but his chest and upper arms as well, before Cam could use the sidearm he'd had in his hand.
That night had been hell on earth. Half his team had been lost in the ambush. Cam had been certain he would die before the extraction team made it in.
Silken-soft hands smoothing the material of the shirt back from his shoulders drew him from his thoughts. The fine cotton slid over his muscles, clearly revealing the damage, as the auburn-haired little sprite let a single tear fall.
"Hey, no tears." He frowned, reaching out to wipe the tear from her face. "It was a long time ago, baby. Barely remembered."
She shook her head, the soft fall of dark fire whispering across her cheek as her lips trembled again and her fingertips, like a breath of fiery sensation, eased over the slashed scars.
They weren't as bad as they had been, but they were still pretty horrific. Deep slashes had forever marked his flesh. He'd been damned lucky the enemy had poor aim that night. The one bullet had done the worse damage, so close to his heart that just a breath closer and there would have been no saving him. Angels must have been watching over him, because the bullet had nicked a lung, missed everything else vital, and tore through his back. But he'd lived.
"I would have come if I had known." Another tear fell as Cam watched her in confusion.
Chase had come to him, but there had been no one else to call, no one else to care that he existed for weeks within the shadow land of his own mind.
"Why?" He watched her expression carefully.
He had wanted her then. He barely remembered anything from those pain-ridden months, except the pain and his need for Jaci. And later, he struggled with his fear that the scarring would disgust her. Women were strange creatures at times, he had learned. The brutal slashes along his chest and back weren't a pretty sight. And women did like their pretty things.
There was no disgust in Jaci's eyes, though. The only horror was for what pain he may have felt, not the physical imperfection he now carried.
"Why?" Disbelief filled her eyes as they lifted to him. "Because I cared, Cam. I wouldn't have left you alone."
"Chase was there." Who else was supposed to be there?
She shook her head, her lips pressing together to still their trembling. He wanted to lower his head and kiss them, to steal the saddened curve of them and fill her with hunger, instead of with pain.
"I would have been there, too. For as long as I could have been."
For some reason, he believed her. Or maybe he just wanted to believe her.
"You would have been there for that, but you couldn't stay, the night I brought you home from that party?"
Fire flashed in her eyes for a second. "One has nothing to do with the other," she snapped. "Don't be a moron."
Now, there was his Jaci. Fiery, confrontational, speaking her mind, as she should be.
"It's a logical question. Why would you have flown half a world away to be with me while I was dying, but refuse to share my bed?"
"Yours and Chase's? I was only twenty-one, Cam." She sniffed in distain. "Oh, shut up. I was just starting to like you again."
She was kneeling between his thighs, her generous breasts brushing against his lower stomach as she berated him, and Cam couldn't help but smile. How long had it been since a woman had done more than close her eyes in
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