Page 52 of Tattered and Torn

His jaw tightens, but nevertheless he nods. “All right.” After tugging it off, he lays it on the coffee table. First his hat, and now his glove. He’s removing his shields, one by one.

I reach for his scarred hand, holding it in both of mine. Like his face, the skin is tight and smooth, almost shiny in places. There are slight puckers and ridges on the back of his hand. Gently, I run the tip of my index finger across the back of it, following the contours. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“No, it’s fine. It feels strange, but I’m used to it by now.” He slips the fingers of his other hand into my hair and lets the strands of my hair run through his fingers. “It’s beautiful.” His gaze latches onto mine. “You’re beautiful. Not just physically, although that’s certainly true, but in here.” He taps my temple and then my chest. “You’re smart and talented and kind. And above all, brave.”

“Brave? Me?”

“Sure. You rode a horse up into the mountains without a second thought.”

I laugh. “You’re giving me way too much credit. I was petrified. I’m just good at hiding it.”

He smiles. “Plus, you put up with the L.A. trio.” His expression sobers. “Gabrielle, I’ve wanted you since I spotted you in the airport. The moment I first saw you, I thought I was gazing upon an angel.”

I reach for his hand. “John, would you like to stay the night?”

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing before he finally nods. “Yeah, I would. I’d like that.”

“Me, too.”

He kisses me, only this time it’s different. It’s hotter and hungrier. His guard is down. He turns to me, sinking both of his hands into my hair and pulling me close to deepen the physical connection. His grip is strong, almost demanding, and my body responds, my nerve endings lighting up. It’s been a while since I’ve been intimate with someone, but my body hasn’t forgotten what to do. My pulse speeds up and my breasts tighten, my nipples puckering almost painfully. My belly clenches in delicious anticipation of what’s to come.

Oh, crap. “Do you have a condom? I don’t.”

“Shit, no.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Let me think. I have some in my cabin. I can run back there—no, wait. There are some downstairs in the men’s restroom.” He stands. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

And then he’s out the door, moving faster than I’ve ever seen him move. He didn’t even bother to put on his hat or glove.

I smile, enjoying the sense of excitement I’m feeling. Then I jump up from the sofa and race to the bathroom to freshen up. Having spur-of-the-moment sex was not on today’s Bingo card, so I need to get ready. I wash up quickly, and just as I finish brushing my teeth, I hear my apartment door close.

“Gabrielle?” He sounds almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid I’ve changed my mind and run for the hills.

“Just a sec! I’m in the bathroom.”

“Oh, okay.” He sounds relieved. “No problem. Take your time.”

When I return to the living room wearing only my top and underwear, his dark eyes widen. Then he skims the length of my bare legs, from my thighs to my toes. He’s breathing hard, and I realize he hurried to get back.

We both move forward as if gravity is drawing us together. I step into his embrace, loving the feel of his strong arms wrapping around me and holding me close.

I breathe in his scent, and my body starts to tingle all the way down to my toes. I like the way he smells—masculine and tantalizing. I detect a hint of soap and maybe a touch of cologne, but what I really like is his own scent.

I shiver. This is really happening.

I reach for his hand—it just happens to be his left hand—and lead him to my bedroom at the end of the hall. I flip the light switch, which turns on a lamp on the dresser.

He immediately switches it off. “Do you mind if we skip the lights?”

“No, I don’t mind.” I could kick myself for not realizing he’d feel more comfortable with the light off. “Can we leave the door open?” The light in the living room is still on, casting the tiniest bit of illumination into the bedroom. At least enough that I can navigate the room without running into the bed and stubbing my toe.

“Sure, that’s fine.”

I sit on the bed and watch as he starts to unbutton his shirt. When he hesitates, I wonder if he’s having second thoughts. I don’t say anything. I wait patiently, letting him decide. Finally, he releases the last of the buttons and lets his shirt fall to the floor. Then he whips off his T-shirt, leaving his torso bare. He drops his arms to his sides and stands still as I look my fill.

He watches me study him, patient and resigned to reveal himself. On impulse, I pull my top off and toss it to the floor, too. Now I’m sitting on the bed in my underwear and bra—and they don’t even match.

His eyes lock onto my newly bared body, and my actions have the desired effect. He’s so preoccupied looking at my body that he’s not paying any attention to the fact I’m looking at his.

His fingers go to his belt buckle, and he pulls the leather strap free from his jeans. He unsnaps and unzips, then pushes his jeans down his long legs. Belatedly, he realizes he still has his boots on. He laughs as he bends over to remove them, and his socks, before he can finally step out of his jeans.

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