Page 63 of Her Redeemed Protector

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” I ask.

He pauses, casting a look down at his chest. “No, not at all.”

“It’s the scars, isn’t it? You don’t have to worry about those with me, Hux.”

“I know.” He sits beside me on the edge of the bed. “I guess I’ve just gotten into the habit of covering them up.”

Conventional wisdom says it’s imprudent to ask about a man’s past girlfriends, but I can’t help wondering why he developed that habit. “Did any of my predecessors inspire that routine?”

He touches my nose, a faint smile touching his lips. “When women dated me, the scar on my face was sort of what-you-see-is-what-you-get. But these scars?” He touches his upper chest. “They tended to draw surprise reactions. Most women ignored them, but one got turned off.”

I cringe, wondering how anyone could be turned off by Huxley Cometti. But what catches me is that it sounds like he’s had a lot of girlfriends. But I let him continue.

“Some thought the scars made me look tough.”

A pang of guilt hits me. I might fall into that category.

“Andthatgot me uncomfortable,” he adds.

I pride myself on being different, yet I’ve committed the same folly of thinking like any other girl.

He chuckles—and I hope it’s not because I show my guilt to him. Then he caresses the side of my neck. “What doyouthink of them?”

I compose myself, ditching the superficial and looking for a deeper answer. “I think… it must be hard not being able to talk about them with anyone.”

He holds his breath, looking into my eyes.

I’m desperate to get some kind of confirmation, but he remains silent. I dare myself to find out the truth and to give him my truth. “So, you don’t like it when I kiss that part of your chest? Because, to be honest, those scars do turn me on.”

“Frankly, my lady, I’ll let you get away with anything,” he murmurs, reversing what he’s done to his shirt. First, it’s his tantalizing, strong abdominal muscles flexing. Then, as more buttons become loose, he leans down, presenting his chest to me.

I kiss his shrapnel scars the only way I know, and his moans remind me that he’s not just letting me get away with compromising his comfort zone—he relishes it.

As the dayfades into a cool evening, I find myself counting the moments until Huxley returns. There’s something eternally thrilling about waiting for him, even more so tonight since we had to delay our plans from last night.

The bell chimes, and with as much grace as I can muster, I push the door open.

And there I am, draped in a dress that’s as fiery as my mood. Red, strapless, and daring, stopping just above the knees.

“My God, Sav. You’re killing me!” Huxley’s tone is a mix of awe and excitement as his eyes sweep over me. He’s a vision himself, swapped from his boxers-only attire this morning into a suit that spells relaxed sophistication, his shirt slightly unbuttoned at the top in a tempting invitation.

He holds my hands and pulls me closer, his touch careful, as if I’m a delicate piece of china. “You look… you know, I love your makeup.”

Hell, I spent hours on my hair and makeup, fumbling through the step-by-step process I last tried when I was a teenager. Mascara, eyeshadow, eyeliner, meticulous brow grooming.

“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs, his eyes and breath converging on my lips.

Fair question. I discovered applying scarlet lipstick required more grit than herding a bull in heat. But perfect pout be damn!

Our kiss is electric as if we’re discovering each other all over again. I inhale, savoring his familiar scent blended with a hint of cologne. He holds something behind his back, a tease in his posture.

“What’s hiding there?” I whisper against his lips, my thumb brushing away the red stain. It gives him the air of a peculiar hero, but he’s no Joker. He’s far too gorgeous for that.More stunning than Heath Ledger, Jared Leto, or Joaquin Phoenix.

With a dramatic flourish, he presents his gift—a basket brimming with baked goods wrapped in familiar paper. Our favorite bakery in Lakefall Valley!

“No way!” I can’t help but gasp, delighted and surprised. “Didn’t you just come from work?”

“I might have told a little fib,” he confesses with a grin. So when I thought he was holding back something this morning, it wasn’t his damn scars, it was this surprise. “Mark told me to take leave.”

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