“Okay,” he answers easily. Too easily and in one swift move to his feet, he’s shirtless. Out here on Casey’s deck—the rest of our friends scattered down on the beach right below us—he’s half-naked.
I find myself eye-level with his strong, dark chest. No butterfly. But then he pivots, slowly, until I find myself staring at a bright, colorful monarch on his left shoulder. Without hesitating, I reach my fingertips and touch it; like I might lure it nearer, or capture it as my own. But it’s Michael’s warm, soft skin I’m feeling beneath my hand, not an exotic, winged creature.
“Beautiful,” I whisper, tracing my finger over the detailed design, not caring who sees. “You are so beautiful, Michael.”
I lean close, up onto my tiptoes. Until my lips press against his back and I kiss him, right on that shoulder, burning hot beneath the butterfly tattoo.
“I want to make love to you,” he says, the words spoken out into the ocean wind. “I’m crazy with it, Rebecca.”
“Me, too,” I agree, slipping my arms around his waist.
He turns, until he’s holding me close against his bare chest. “Everyone’s going out tonight,” he tells me. “Did you realize that?”
I swallow hard. “No. No I didn’t.”
“This could be the night we stay in,” he says. “Let’s ask Marti to take Andrea with them to dinner, but you and me, let’s stick around here.” He brushes my hair beneath his fingertips, and there’s something different in his eyes. Something I first noticed the other night at his dinner party.
Below us a tinny radio overlays the lulling sounds of the ocean and crying gulls. In the distance, there’s laughter.
This is freer than I’ve felt in such a long time.
“Michael,” I remind him quietly, “you should know that…I don’t look like I did. Before.”
“You’ve said that.”
“I want to be sure that, well, that you know.” I press my eyes shut, feeling the muscles of his arms, closed tight around me. Secure. “You know, just how it looks with the scars and all. I mean, it wasn’t just Ben—there were the surgeries to save my life.”
“Thank God,” I hear him whisper under his breath.
“It’s just not as simple as you think.” There, now I’ve explained the situation, I think. Still, it’s easier to keep my eyes shut than to see his obvious disappointment.
I feel him cup my face, tilting it upward, until slowly I have to open my eyes. “Rebecca,” he says, his voice quieter than usual. Like he’s trying to still all my raging doubts. “It is simple because I love you,” he says. “And it doesn’t get any simpler than that.”
Chapter Twenty-Two: Michael
Rebecca and I stand together at the large window of Casey’s bedroom, quiet, staring out at the dark ocean. The full moon reaches silver fingers across the surface of the water, reflecting all the churning emotions inside of me.
“Moon’s almost full,” I breathe, kissing her exposed shoulder. It’s warm beneath my mouth, silver beneath the moonlight. Delicate and soft, and I have to bend low even to kiss her there. “Yes.” She shivers at my kiss. “No wonder we’re crazy.”
I run my fingers down the length of her bare arm. “Nope, been crazy for months now,” I murmur, feeling my groin tighten. “Moon’s no excuse. I’d say it’s all you, Rebecca O’Neill.”
That lacy little camisole she’s wearing with blue jeans isn’t hurting things, either. Thank God everyone is gone for a few hours.
Slowly she pivots until she’s facing me, pressed up against my chest. Her breasts are luscious and round, her nipples already jutting out with her arousal. I dip my fingers beneath the strap of her camisole, exposing a long scar along her breastbone. With a quiet gasp, she covers her heart with her hand, stepping backward from me.
“Rebecca, it’s okay.” Being naked with me is a safe place to be; she should know that.
She nods, swallowing, and cautiously drops her hand away. There’s a second scar, smaller beside the first, like an unequal twin.
Taking my fingertip, I trace the biggest one, following the thick length of it like a map to her heart. “Becca, I love you,” I reassure her. “You. Not some perfect Hollywood chick.”
She stares at me, her mouth open in shock, then begins to laugh. I frown, puzzled. “I’m serious,” I say.
“I know.” She touches my cheek, still giggling happily. “It’s just that everyone in Hollywood wanted me to be perfect,” she says with a gorgeous, sideways smile. “Until you.”
“I’m not everybody.”
She kisses me slowly, whispering, “I’m starting to figure that out.” For a brief moment, I remember my first kiss with Allie out on that dance floor, lights and sound and heat drumming through my body as his lips touched mine.
I have that exact same forbidden, upended feeling with Rebecca right now.
In an explosive flurry, we back toward the bed; I tug at my T-shirt, yanking it over my head. Together, we collapse in a heap of warm flesh, exploring every inch of one another.
“Show me that butterfly,” she groans in my ear, as I roll her onto her back.