“Perfect.” It was as if she’d read his mind. They clinked glasses and he sipped on the fuzzy liquor while he watched her.
He needed a fresh start with a woman that might not see him like a broken piece of furniture. Yes, he had scars, scars he wasn’t going to get rid of to make someone else happy. Those scars were part of him. Of the experience he’d lived during a very ugly war. He hadn’t fully adjusted to them, but whatever woman he ended up with would need to understand that he and the scars were one.
“So what do you do?” He asked, interested to hear more words come out of those sinful lips.
He bit back a groan when her tongue made an appearance, all pink and wet, sliding over her bottom lip. Arousal sparkled in her brown eyes. They way she licked her lip and glanced at his mouth brought vivid images of some of the things he’d have her do with that tongue. And those images would be used later for some self-pleasure.
“I work with Kayla. I’m her office manager. I also volunteer at the hospital where she treats children. What do you do?”
That was the problem about asking about someone, they ended up asking you things too.
“Ryan and I were in the same unit. Some of us returned together, after a bomb attack.”
Why did he say that? Was he intentionally trying to push her away, to shock her with his life?
She leaned forward. Both hands dropped to her lap. “That’s terrible. What types of injuries did you suffer?”
Her low fuck-me voice played havoc with his mind. Multiple visuals of her begging him to do her racked his brain. He gulped down the champagne and was given a reprieve from answering when Carlos returned with their salad.
A gust of wind played with her curls, bouncing them over her shoulders. Her eyes lifted from her food to pin him with a sensual stare. “Tell me.”
His breath caught in his chest. “I suffered burns on my torso.”
She nodded, but said nothing. Then, much to his amazement, she stabbed her salad with her fork and started to eat. It wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Where was the pity? The sad eyes and trembling lip? Or the let me see questions? Followed by the “oh God, that looks awful” remarks.
“The burns were bad,” he added.
She glanced to the side where Carlos returned to refill their champagne. “I’m sure they were.”
And back to the food. What the heck? Confusion filled him. So he tried again. “Most people pity me, but I can’t stand that.”
“Pity sucks.” She continued eating. “Do you still work for the same group?”
“No. I was honorably discharged,” he answered, but his real interest lay in why she didn’t ask more about his injuries.
“If you’re no longer in that team, what are you doing now?” She pushed the salad plate away and took a deep breath. Her full breasts pushed up again the neckline of her strapless dress. He swallowed down the groan rushing up his windpipe. Hell, he almost swallowed his damn tongue to keep from drooling at the sight.
“I recently joined my good friend’s security team. Got my first job lined up in New York.” He smiled at the way she caressed the petals of the flowers on the table.
Her head snapped up. “I live in New York.”
Things just got better and better. “I have to ask. Curiosity is killing me. Why haven’t you asked more questions about my scars?”
She shrugged those gorgeous tanned shoulders. “Any type of scar leave a trail of pain behind. We never forget what hurt us. They’re an endless reminder of an experience so significant that they never go away.” She pinned him with her gaze. “Some people wear them on their bodies, while others carry them on the inside, but it doesn’t change the fact that once we get them, they’ll always be a part of us.” After a slow sip of her champagne, she sighed softly. “I only want to know what you want to tell me, Matt.”
Wow. Those words—her words—described his feelings perfectly. It was eerie. Almost like she knew how it felt first hand, which brought up more questions. “What happened to make you feel that way?”
Carlos retrieved the salad plates. Grilled fish, wild rice, and an assortment of vegetables followed.
“This looks fabulous.” She dazzled both men with her smile.
His mind ordered him to find out more about her. All about her. Had she lived through pain like him? Anything was possible. If Jessie related, even if by a small degree, to his pain, he knew she was special. “Do you have scars, Jessie?”
Another of those smoldering looks travelled from her to his side of the table. “Yes. I was married once. It was a short marriage, filled with too many issues.” She laughed a soft but dry sound. “The marriage wasn’t the worst part. The divorce was.”
He blinked at the change in her tone. Sorrow etched all over her features, but then she took a deep breath and it disappeared. The pain tugged at his heart. He knew pain. And she did too.
“Sometimes we learn from our mistakes.”
“Yes. Sometimes we do.”