Montana wore a summer dress in some floral fabric. The top outlined her curves while the skirt was full and fell to her knees.
As he watched, she unfastened the buttons down the front, then shrugged out of her dress. Underneath she wore a lace bra and bikini panties. Both were a soft pink.
Every part of her was beautiful. Her full br**sts, the curve of her hips, the slight roundness of her belly. His erection throbbed. Need nearly suffocated him. But before he could reach for her, she stepped back.
“My last serious boyfriend was also a doctor. I was in Los Angeles, thinking I needed to see something beyond Fool’s Gold. While he wasn’t a plastic surgeon, he was very into perfection. One night, after we’d made love, he put his hands on my body and showed me everything that was wrong.”
She raised her chin as she faced him, but he heard the hurt in her voice.
“He said he could ‘fix’ my br**sts,” she began. “That there were laser treatments to get rid of my freckles. He said I would be really pretty, if I lost 15 pounds on top of all that. The best part was that he seemed to think he was helping me in some way…. I know it’s not the same, but it’s not unusual to be judged by your appearance.”
Her eyes were overly bright, as if she were holding back tears.
“He was an ass**le,” Simon growled, beyond furious. The need to lash out, to find the man who had tried to break Montana’s spirit burned as hot as his passion. She was everything a man could want. What kind of low-life bastard did that to anyone, let alone a woman like her?
“You intimidated him in some way,” he continued. “He didn’t think he was enough so he had to make you less.”
She smiled, but her lips trembled. “I didn’t intimidate him, believe me. He wanted perfection and I could never be perfect. Worse, I wasn’t that interested in being perfect. Perfect is boring. At least that’s what I tell myself. Most of the time, I even believe it.”
He moved toward her and cupped her face in his hands. “You are so beautiful that sometimes it hurts just to look at you. Your eyes are a thousand shades of brown and gold with hints of blue and green.” He touched her cheekbones with his thumbs. “Your freckles are like the girl-next-door fantasy brought to life. Your mouth is sexy and soft and when you smile, the world seems like a better place. Swear you’ll never change anything. Swear it.”
More tears filled her eyes. “Wow. That was really good. I wish you’d been there back then. I was pretty heartbroken. I’m better now. I figured out he was a jerk and not for me, and I came home.
“I can’t begin to know what it was like for you,” she continued. “But please, Simon. I want to make love with you. With all of you. Not just some parts of you.”
His desire disappeared as if it were a fire suddenly crushed by snow. Giving in to the inevitable, he nodded once and stepped back.
He worked quickly, knowing there was no point in drawing out the moment. He pulled his shirt free of his jeans and unbuttoned it. After shrugging out of it, he tossed it onto a chair in the corner of the room. Then he grabbed the bottom of his plain white T-shirt.
“Whatever you’re imagining,” he said flatly, “it’s worse.”
She nodded once. There were no visible signs of her bracing herself, but he suspected that she did so. That the voice in her head warned her not to show any emotion.
He ripped off the shirt and stood there, exposed. He bunched up the fabric in his hand, squeezing it tight, as if by sheer will he could make this all go away.
He told himself to close his eyes, that watching would only make it worse. But he found it impossible to turn away from Montana’s face.
He had to give her credit. Nothing much changed. Her mouth tightened a little—although not, he would guess, in revulsion. She looked more thoughtful, a little sad. Then she moved closer and raised her hands.
He knew what she was seeing. The burns on his face and neck weren’t that bad, but those on his torso were angry, ugly scars. Burns on burns, he thought, remembering his frantic scramble from the flames and how his mother had pushed him back a second time.
Montana would see the different colors, the places where red faded to an unnatural gray. What she wouldn’t know and what he wouldn’t tell her was that some days they still ached. That if he moved wrong, he felt pain and limitation in his range of movement. That his hands had been spared but not his psyche, and when he least expected them, the nightmares returned.
She moved her fingers slowly, lightly, feeling every part of the scars on his chest. When she leaned in closer, he had no idea what she was going to do and was startled by the feel of her mouth on the scars.