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“Lucia, who did this to you?”
Chapter Six
Lucia lowered the mask as her hopes and plans slipped out the door and left her alone in the brightly lit hotel room with the only man who’d ever labeled her gorgeous—a man who now knew the one secret she’d thought he’d never discover.
He wasn’t the first who’d asked her this familiar question, but he was the first who didn’t make her feel like he was asking out of pity.
“It’s a long story,” she said softly. “I can’t…”
I can’t have this conversation. Not with you, when I can still taste you.
She glanced down at the mask, wishing she’d superglued it to her face for the evening. Without it, she felt stripped bare, her horrid past on display. And she was still very, very naked.
“I need my clothes,” she said. “And something to drink.”
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll get you a robe and a glass of water.”
“Thank you.”
She stood and listened as he moved about her bathroom. Would he press for answers when he came back?
“I should have ended this at the club,” she murmured, placing the now useless mask on the desk.
He returned with two robes tossed over one arm. His other hand held a glass of water. She took one of the robes from his outstretched arm, then wrapped the soft cotton around her body. She accepted the glass of water, and as she took a drink, he put on his robe.
She almost coughed out the water in her mouth and barely repressed a laugh. On his imposing frame, the fluffy white robe looked comical. The sleeves came up short on his well-defined arms, and the robe barely closed over his broad chest. His very sexy chest that her fingers were itching to touch.
“The mask,” she said, sitting down on the L-shaped sofa and drawing her legs up. “It’s not part of some kinky game.”
“Yeah, I figured that out.” He claimed a spot on the sofa, just out of arm’s reach. He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs, seemingly unconcerned that the robe splayed open in the front, revealing the parts of him she’d so recently had in her hands, in her mouth.
“Look, you can tell me to mind my own business,” he said. “You don’t owe me an explanation. But I won’t lie to you. If someone did this to you, I want to hunt that person down.”
No, she didn’t owe him anything. He was here for fun, wild sex. Nothing more. But looking at him now, she saw a warrior. This man was a soldier, trained to wipe out enemies. And she’d put his protective instincts on high alert.
Another man would make excuses and walk away. Most people stared at her scars, their eyes wide. If they asked anything, it was out of morbid curiosity and a big portion of pity. And then they stepped back, as if they needed to maintain a certain distance from her.
“When I find the person responsible, I’ll—”
“He’s in jail,” she said. “It’s over and done.”
Except when I look in the mirror or leave the house and feel everyone staring.
In those moments, it felt as if the bad guy behind bars had won.
“Did you put him there?” Cade asked.
“Yes.”
He took a deep breath. “Okay. As long as you’re safe now.”
She nodded, a piece of her pride returning. At least she could sit here and tell this man, this warrior, that in her darkest moment, she’d fought back. Maybe not right away. She’d been too young and weak. But afterward, when she’d been asked to press charges, to testify, she’d said yes. She’d done everything in her power to lock him up.
“Will you tell me what happened?” he asked.
Earlier, his skin to her skin, he’d issued commands with the blink of an eye. He’d demanded that she remove her shoes and spread her legs. But he wasn’t giving an order now. He was asking, plain and simple. The choice was hers.
She drew a deep breath. It had been years since she’d explained her scars. The people she worked with in Tennessee knew, and the children at the hospital never asked. They were suffering from the pieces of their individual stories that had landed them in art therapy, and so they simply accepted her as she was.
