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He heard a distant shuffling noise. Her voice came out quiet and muffled. “Why don’t you just go away?”
“Because I love you.” He held his breath. Would she believe him? Would she let him in? “I don’t think your scars are ugly. I think they’re perfect. You’re perfect.”
The doorknob rattled. The door opened just enough for one eye to peer through. “You don’t have to do this. I won’t care if you go. You wouldn’t be the first.”
“No way in hell. I’m not leaving. You can’t make me. Not now, and not ever.”
She pulled the door open fully and stared at him, her pretty brown eyes wide—and he finally saw something in them, something raw and unguarded and vulnerable and beautiful.
Hope.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because. I. Love. You.” He’d say it until she believed it. He’d cherish her for every minute of every day, until she finally realized the truth. “I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. If you let me, I will. Especially since I’m pretty damned sure you love me, too.”
She bit her lower lip. God, she’d been driving him mad with that since the fourth grade. Every time she did it her mouth turned red and soft, until he wanted to lick that ripe, glistening fullness.
“You did look at my scars, right?” She searched his face, so wary, so careful.
He laughed. “Yes, ma’am. And I could care less about them. I’m just angry I wasn’t there to help you through the pain and agony. I wish I’d known. I’d have come back for you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t possibly want to be with me now.”
“Why not? Love isn’t about perfection or beauty. It’s not about how good you look in a bikini, or how perfect your skin is. Love is about…about…” He fumbled for words. “About needing that certain someone in your life—that someone who makes you feel whole. It’s helping the person you love when they need a hand to stand straight. Love is never giving up on the person you care about.”
He crossed the threshold. She stumbled back, clutching her hand to her chest.
“You’re that person for me, Erica,” he said. “Not only are you the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, but you’re just as gorgeous inside as you are out. And I love you. Every part of you.”
“I don’t see how,” she said, voice ragged with desperation. “I haven’t seen you in seven years.”
He cupped her cheek. “What’s seven years in a lifetime?”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can even try. You’re leaving soon.”
“I’ll be close enough.” He pulled her into his arms and held her tight against his chest. Her curves fit his body in all the right places, like she was made for him. “We can at least try. Can we give it a shot and see how it works out?”
She drew back and searched his face. He held his breath and silently begged her not to turn him away again. If she said no this time, it would be because she really didn’t want him. There were no secrets anymore. No doubts. He knew her fears. He’d seen her scars. But if she truly, honestly didn’t love him, there was nothing he could do.
Her lips trembled, and she nodded. “Okay. If you’re sure you really—”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said, and kissed her.
She sighed and leaned into him, and he crushed her close. He wanted to pick her up and shout his joy to the world. He’d show her. He’d show her how perfect they were for each other—from the way their lips melded and melted to the way their tongues twined, from the way their bodies molded to the tandem beats of racing hearts. And so much more, in the love he had to give her. The life he had to give her, that would be forever hers.
He traced her mouth with the tip of his tongue, and she moaned and clutched at his shirt. He’d never been this close to heaven before, and never wanted to crash to earth. When she released his shirt and trailed her hands over his back, her breasts pressed against his chest. His senses burned. Her fingers skimmed over his body, and he choked back a sound. Too much. More than he could handle. More than he could resist. He tore his mouth from hers.
“Jeremy,” she protested, and kissed him again.
He let her have her way with him for a few moments longer, then reluctantly pried himself from her grasp. She was breathing heavily, hands clenched before her. The desire in her eyes tore at him, eating him alive.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t want to rush you.”
He was trembling with so many years of repressed desire, but he couldn’t stand to pressure her. He closed his eyes. He’d wanted her—no, needed her—for so long, and she finally wanted him in return. But he had to give her space. Time. He’d loved her practically his whole life. There was no such thing as too fast for him, but he didn’t want to force her into anything she might later regret.
He let out a heavy breath and opened his eyes. “We can—should take our time.”
