Page 46 of Lady of Charade
Because her heart wanted nothing more than to be close to David, to be with him again. A place where she felt warm, safe, and loved. As much as her mind told her it would be wrong, her heart, her body, and her soul were crying out that this was not a mistake at all, but where she was supposed to be.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she said, not realizing until afterward that she had spoken the words aloud, and he caught her hands within his.
“Then I will leave you,” he said without any hesitation. “I apologize. I simply… wanted to see you.”
He brought his hands around her waist as though to lift her from him, but she stopped him, covering them with her own.
“We shouldn’t. But I want to.”
Then she leaned down, cupped his face within her hands, and kissed him.
She could feel stubble beneath her fingertips, so masculine, and yet, in a strange way, causing him to seem somewhat vulnerable.
He tasted so good, a mixture of brandy and…heat,she thought as a bolt of longing shot through her. She placed her hands on the arms of the chair, her feet on the floor, and without breaking contact with him, she encouraged him to rise from the chair, and he backed her up toward the bed.
This time, their movements were of two people who were that much more familiar with one another, as their bodies were aware of just how one another yearned to be treated. David had her undressed before she even realized it, and when she shyly attempted to dive beneath the covers, he shook his head, taking seconds to simply stare at her. It felt as though her whole body was on fire beneath his gaze, but she trusted him, allowing him to take his time. As he eyes roamed over her, a slow smile began to spread across his face. If she hadn’t come to know him and his expressions as well as she did, she would have worried for a moment that he was laughing at her, but no — he was smiling in satisfaction.
“You are perfect,” he said, running a hand over her skin, causing fire to trail in the wake of his fingers.
“I am far from perfect,” she said with a bit of a self-conscious laugh. “I have scars.”
“Show me.”
She sat down on the bed then, pointing to the remnants of what had been a deep gash in her thumb.
“Here, I sliced through my finger while attempting to cut down a plant. My mother sewed it back together.”
He took her hand within his, kissing her thumb as though that would complete the healing.
“Where else?”
She pointed to her shoulder, where a long pair of lines ran down a few inches.
“I had an encounter with a bear.”
“What?” he exclaimed, his shock so acute she had to laugh.
“She was protecting her cubs,” Sarah said with the shrug of that same shoulder, smiling as she remembered the incident, which seemed to confuse David. “She was injured, her paw caught in a trap. I freed it, and she returned to her cubs nearly immediately, but in the process, she lashed out in her pain and I caught a bit of it.”
He shuddered, which she understood. Yet somehow, at the time, she hadn’t been afraid. It was as though she understood where the bear was coming from — the need for protection, the vulnerability it felt, the concern over who Sarah was and what she had been doing.
“Any others?”
“Here,” she pointed to her hipbone. “I fell on my own knife.”
“You what?” he asked with eyes so wide she laughed again.
“You have lived quite the protected life, David Redmond, have you not?”
“I’ve spent plenty of time with a sword in my hand,” he defended himself, but then with a look of chagrin, amended his statement. “I have also almost always been covered in full protection during such situations.”
“Fencing, correct?” she asked, and he nodded.
“It seems somewhat inconsequential after all that you have faced.”
At his look of embarrassment, it was her turn to tip her face back up to look at him.
“Not at all. I was never in any danger. My scars are a result of where I lived, what my day included. You should not be ashamed of not holding any.”
