Page 109 of The Hometown Legend

He kissed her then like she was a revelation, and she believed it. She believed it with her whole body. She believed it with all that she was.

Maybe she was desperate. Maybe.

But she didn’t think so.

She was done telling herself to stop dreaming big. She was done telling herself not to want the things she wanted most.

There was a lesson in this. He was the original source of her desire, and he was the one she was having now.

She had always told herself that Gideon, as a dream, was too much.

Then why was hehers? Why was he trembling almost as much as she was as he kissed her and kissed her until they were both breathless?

He moved one hand up to cup her breast, slid his thumb over her nipple, and she gasped.

She had never been touched so intimately. Of course she hadn’t; she had never even been kissed.

And she realized, with that well of anxiety rising up within her that was just so damned familiar, tonight was going to be nothing but a scroll of firsts. Touches, tastes and kisses. Her first time being possessed by another human being.

She had thought of it as a checklist item. As something simple. Lose her virginity.

It wasn’t. It could never be. Maybe that was because it was with Gideon. But whatever the reason, it felt infinitely complex, infinitely awe-inspiring and infinitely terrifying. But she wanted it all the same. Wanted him.

She clung to him because if she didn’t, she was going to melt right down to the floor.

Then he moved his hands down to push them up beneath the hemline of her T-shirt, which came off neatly over her head, his movements smooth. He might not have been with a woman in a while, but that he had been with one, with several, was evident in how easy his motions were as he divested her of her clothes. Her bra was next, and he managed it with the kind of finesse with which he did everything physical.

And she was bare in front of him, her nipples tight and hard because of the cool air, and the intensity of his gaze. And then he put his rough hands on her untouched, untried flesh, and she arched into him. Her need welled up within her, desire like she hadn’t experienced overtaking her entirely. She wanted him. She wanted this. There was no room for doubt inside her.

Not when there was Gideon. In front of her. Touching her, tasting her. He kissed his way down her neck and along her collarbone and moved his mouth down to fasten it to one tightened bud. She was unprepared for the intensity of the arousal. The sensation.

She cried out, arching against him, her entire body shaking.

“I want to touch you,” she said.

She began to pull at his shirt, getting it up over his head, the revelation of his bare torso almost more than she could bear.

His muscles were well-defined, covered by hair. His stomach rippled with strength. But there, just at his side and around toward his back, was fire-damaged skin. Rough and discolored. He looked at her, and turned around, showing her the extent of the damage. Then he put his hands on his belt, his button and zipper, and he pulled his jeans down.

She was caught between the shock and eroticism of seeing a naked man for the first time in her life, one that was thoroughly aroused by his desire for her, and what he was showing her. Where the burns and the shrapnel wounds extended down his hip, down to the top of his knee. It was such a significant portion of his body to have been burnt and damaged.

No wonder he hadn’t been able to cope without help. No wonder. No wonder he hadn’t...

And she hated Cassidy right then.

She’d never met the woman, and she never wanted to. But how could she look at him and see this pain and not understand? How could she want that symbol back more than she wanted him? This flesh and blood man who had put his body on the line for his country, for something that he believed in. This man who really was a hero. And who was altogether dear to her in ways that she could never quite express.

How could anyone turn their back on him? What she saw only made it seem miraculous that he had lived. That he wasn’t gone. That he hadn’t succumbed to the horror of it all, because she couldn’t blame him if he had.

If that was what it had done to his body, him, one of the survivors, then she knew there was more he’d left out. Because those who had died... The horror he had witnessed that day.

She reached out and she put her fingertips on his hip. On one of the deep gouges there. She looked up at his eyes. “You’re beautiful,” she said.

And he shuddered, lowering his head.

It was her turn to grip his chin and hold him steady so that she could kiss him. So that she could press her bare breasts to his chest.

He stepped out of his jeans, his shoes and everything else, completely naked. He wrapped her up in his arms and held her tightly. She was still wearing her own jeans and hiking boots but was only dimly aware when he stripped them from her body.

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