I’m no less forceful, my hands fisting piles of his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, sliding them through eyelets to expose a smooth hard chest as I edge myself closer. His hands push at the bottom of my dress and find their way underneath to clutch my bare hips. I release a small gasp as his fingers skate up and around my thighs to my pelvic bone, fitting under the elastic of my thong and sliding forward and down.
I’m sure this entire ‘going slow’ plan of his is effectively quashed, but then his finger grazes the ridge of another scar and his hand freezes. His lips break free of mine and he pushes my body to the edge of his lap.
“I can’t.”
“You already are,” I mumble, grappling with hands so I can resume my position against him.
But it’s too late. He’s already ducking his head, looping his arms around my legs to lift and reposition me, pulling me to him in a protective embrace. We stay silent for a long moment, his forehead pressed against my shoulder. “I’d fix it all for you if I could. You know that, right?” He whispers. I wonder if he’s talking about my scars or the last four years of my life.
“Yes,” is all I say. Yes to all of it.
Chapter Eleven
I wake up to silver curtains and an early dawn sky peeking in. I’m in Storm’s bed, still wearing my dress. Rolling over, I find Trent laying on his back, bare-chested and in boxers, sound asleep. One arm is tossed over his head while the other rests across his torso. I guess I fell asleep on him last night and he carried me in here.
There’s just enough light that I can study Trent’s body unabashed and see that it is as gorgeous as I expected. It’s long and muscular and flawless, with just a thin line of dark hair trailing down a sculpted abdomen. A tiny silver line along his collar bone catches my eye. It’s so faint and narrow that I never saw it before. Peering closer, I look for stitch marks to identify it as a surgical scar, but I don’t see any.
“See something you like?” Trent’s low teasing voice startles me and I jump. Grinning, I look up to see a sexy, crooked smile. His mood has switched back to playful.
“Not really,” I murmur, but my cheeks flush, giving me away.
His hand cups my face. “You blush a lot. I’d never have taken you for the blushing kind.” After a pause, he offers, “go ahead. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
I feel my eyebrow arch. “Carte blanche?”
His other arm stretches back to nestle under his head. “Like I said …”
I decide that Trent really doesn’t get the meaning of taking it slow, but I’m not going to argue. “Okay.” An idea strikes me. Curiosity, actually. “Roll over.”
His eyes narrow slightly, but he obliges, smoothly flipping over so I can admire the ripples in his back, his broad strong shoulder, and the span of script that stretches from blade to blade.
My finger trails it softly, spiking goose bumps across his skin. “What does it mean?”
He starts to answer, but then he pauses, like he’s hesitant about telling me. That makes me want to know a hundred times more. I wait quietly, tracing it back and forth with my fingernail. “Ignoscentia. It’s Latin,” he finally whispers.
“What does it mean?”
“Why do you have five ravens on your leg?” he throws back at me, a rare hint of annoyance in his tone.
Dammit. Of course he’d ask that. I’d do the same if I were him. I bite my bottom lip as I weigh my options. Do I shut him down again or do I give him a bit to get a bit? My interest in Trent outweighs my need to keep everything hidden.
“They’re for all the important people in my life who I’ve lost,” I finally whisper, hoping to God he doesn’t ask me to name them. I don’t want to name the one that represents me.
I hear his sharp intake of breath. “Forgiveness.”
“What?” That word hits me like a punch to the chest. Just the sound of it—so impossible—leaves me nauseous. How many times had the counselors pushed me to forgive those guys for killing my family?
“My ink. That’s what it says.”
“Oh.” I exhale slowly, my fists balling up to stop my hands from trembling. “Why do you have that on your back?”
Trent rolls over and spends a long moment gazing at me with a grim mask, eyes full of grief. When he answers, his voice has turned husky. “Because forgiveness has the power to heal.”
If only that were true, Trent. I struggle hard to keep from frowning. I wonder how different our pasts must be for him to have a tattoo promoting forgiveness when I’m wearing one symbolizing the very reason why I can’t forgive.
There’s another long pause and then Trent’s sly grin is back, his arms nestling his head again. “Clock’s ticking here …”
I shake the seriousness away. Propping myself up onto my knees to get a better view, my eyes drift over his lips, his jaw line, his Adam’s apple. They roll leisurely down his chest and I make a point of leaning in and parting my lips near his nipple. I hear his breath hitch, and I’m sure he can feel my breath against his skin. I pull back as I continue further down, checking once to see if he’s watching me. He sure is.
A nervous twinge stirs in my stomach and I focus on the feeling for a second to realize that I adore it. It makes me feel alive. And I decide I want more than just a twinge so I push it, sending it into overdrive as I reach up and skim the elastic band of Trent’s briefs with my index finger. It’s not hard to see that he’s aroused. I curl my finger underneath the elastic band …
And find myself on my back in a split second, with both my arms over my head, my wrists pinned beneath one of Trent’s strong hands. He’s hovering over me, holding all of his weight up by that one arm, grinning. “My turn.”
“I’m not done yet,” I fake pout.
He smirks. “Tell you what, if you can last five minutes with the same level of scrutiny—without moving at all—I’ll let you finish.”
I make a tsking sound but inside I’m screaming. “Five minutes. Easy.”
Trent cocks his head, his arched brow telling me he can see through my bullish exterior to the melting pile of goo beneath. “You think you can handle it?”
“Can you?” I ask, twisting my mouth to fight the stupid nervous grin ready to expose itself. Just those heated blue eyes boring into my face is enough to unravel me. “What if I lose?” I realize this might work to my advantage either way.
Somber eyes flash and I sense the shift in the atmosphere. “If you lose, you agree to talk to someone about the accident.”
Sexual blackmail. That’s what Trent has up his sleeve. He’s breaking his going slow rule in hopes of making me talk. My teeth grind in response. No way in hell I’m agreeing to this. “You’re a natural at ruining the mood,” I force out, squirming beneath him.
But he grips me tightly. He leans forward, his lips grazing mine as he begs, “Please, Kacey?”
I close my eyes, trying not to let that gorgeous face glamour me. Too late. “Only if I lose, right?”
“Right,” he whispers.
My competitive side answers for me before I can think this through. “Fair enough.” I. Will. Not. Lose.
I see the wide grin stretch across Trent’s beautiful face and my body tenses up. “You’re going to play fair right?”
