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“Hey,” he said, attempting to use his right hand to turn her face back to his, but the IV wouldn’t let him reach that far. Frustrated, he said, “Cate. Sweetheart. What is it?” When she still refused to look at him, he suddenly realized what the problem was and mentally cursed. He shifted his left arm so his hand was at her waist, then he was tugging her T-shirt out of her jeans.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was breathless.
He slid his hand beneath her shirt and ran his fingers up her back. Slowly. Gently. Feeling the scars he knew were there. The scars she’d shown him once, but never again.
“Don’t,” she choked out, but she didn’t try to escape so he refused to obey. Instead, he continued to caress her with his fingertips until she shivered with sexual awareness. Until her nipples betrayed her body’s reaction to his touch.
“Look at me, Cate.” When she did, he knew from her expression that her arousal warred with shame that her body was no longer model-perfect...and why. Fury again slashed through him at the man who’d done this to her, the same fury that had possessed him when he’d heard Vishenko yesterday. I didn’t kill him, he reminded himself as he fought his fury down, just as he’d done the day before. I wanted to kill him. And I could have. But I didn’t.
But he wasn’t sorry Vishenko was dead.
“I know the scars are there,” he said, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “But they don’t have a damn thing to do with you, sweetheart. They don’t affect my love. And they damn sure don’t affect my desire for you—couldn’t you tell the other night?”
“How can you say that?”
“Because it’s true.” He drew a deep breath—as deep a breath as he could with his damaged lung—as he searched his heart for the words. “The shame is his, Cate. Not yours. Don’t be ashamed. Not of the scars. Not of what you did to survive, to escape. You did what you had to do...because you were the only one who could do it.”
After several moments she said, “You’re right.” Her voice was low, but firm. “For the longest time I blamed myself...despised myself for giving in. But yesterday...when I saw him...when I thought I was going to die, I realized I was wrong. It’s like you said. You can only do the best you can do at the time.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I did the best I could—the only way I knew how.”
“I know you did.”
Her eyes met his, and his heart was gladdened by the new expression he saw there. “It’s not easy, though,” she said. “Letting go of the past. It’s not easy changing how you think of yourself.”
“I know that, too.”
She shifted in his embrace so she was facing him fully, looking down at him, her hands resting on his shoulders. “Yesterday, when you were in surgery, Keira said that if you loved me, then I deserved to be loved.” He waited, unsure how to respond, but she wasn’t done. “And I realized Keira was right. Not because of me—but because of the man you are. You couldn’t love the woman I thought I was. You could only love the woman I really am.”
She touched his face with reverent fingers, her eyes misty. “You saw things in me I never saw in myself. And you made me see them, too. That’s what makes you unique, Liam. That’s what makes me love you.”
“Does that mean you’ll marry me?”
“What?” Her fingers stilled, and her stunned expression told him he’d taken her completely by surprise.
“I know,” he said quickly. “We haven’t even known each other two weeks—I know that. But I also know you’re the one. I know it, Cate. If you’re not sure...if you need time... I can wait. But I’m committed—that’s not going to change. Believe it.”
“I do,” she whispered. “I do believe it. And I am sure I love you, but...”
“I want to be your husband,” he said stubbornly. “I want the rights that come with it—the right to be at your side, keeping you safe. The right to love and cherish you, now and forever. The right to expect the same from you.”
But there was something else he wanted, too. He finally understood why Cate no longer wanted to be called Caterina—even though she hadn’t been on the run for nearly a year and no longer needed to hide her identity. He’d heard the way Vishenko had called her by that name—and it had sickened him. How much worse was it for her? “I want to change your name to Jones...legally. Cate Jones.” His voice dropped a notch. “Say yes, Cate. If you want to wait, I’m good with that. Just say you’ll marry me.”
