Page 60 of Mistletoe

“Sweet pea?” He blinked, confused.

“I was committed to the bit but couldn’t think of anything green and edible,” she confessed.

He grinned, that smile twisting his lips in a way she had grown to love. Such a serious face needed to laugh as often as possible.

She could do that, she decided. Today. Tomorrow. All the days.

“Sweet pea,” he said.

The playful growl was all the warning she had before he lunged and pushed her back down onto the straw. She giggled as he covered her with kisses, beginning with her lips, straying down to her collarbone, and lavishing her breasts. He sucked on one nipple while teasing the other between his thumb and forefinger.

She sighed with pleasure, arching her back and enjoying how he worshipped her. As good of a distraction as he provided, she refused to lose sight of her goal. She wrapped his braid around her hand and tugged, pulling his face up to meet hers.

“I want to touch you,” she said with urgency. “I need you.”

Hal

She was a miracle. How could he deny her?

Hal rolled to the side and sat on his knees. He removed the shirt first.

Nothing she hasn’t seen already.

Knowing this did not calm his fear. What if he were too big, too disfigured,too green? It was one thing to kiss and cuddle. Seeing him naked was another level.

Lying on her side, her hair spilled across the blanket. The dim light caught the gold highlights and smoldered. She smoldered.

For him.

She smiled reassuringly. “Do you want to see my scars?”

“You’re perfect.”

She laughed softly, then sat upright. She drew up a knee and tapped the stretch of skin just before the kneecap. “I was fourteen, maybe fifteen, when I did this one to myself. I was arguing with Felix, because that’s what you do at that age, and I was cutting an apple on my lap. Except I was very angry and decided to stab the apple. On my lap. Ta-da!” She waved a hand over the pale oval scar.

“Why were you stabbing apples?” Hal touched the spot. The scar tissue felt harder, different from the softer flesh surrounding it, but it was not better or worse than any feature on her body. It was part of her, therefore perfect.

“Because I didn’t think it through, obviously.”

“My scars are not from thoughtless action.”

“I know, but they’re part of you. If you’re uncomfortable, you don’t have to.”

“No,” he said. “Yes, I am uncomfortable, but I will show you. I cannot deny you.”

He removed the shirt, held his breath, and waited.

The dim light would hide the worst of the scars. He had only caught a glimpse of his torso in the small mirror, but he saw the jagged line that cut across his face. The rest of him could only be worse.

She stretched her hand toward the scar that ran down his arm, hesitating to touch.

He repulsed her, just as he feared.

Flinching, he closed his eyes and turned away, shame burning in him.

“May I touch you?” she asked.

“You do not have to. I know my appearance is alarming.”

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