Page 63 of Pretty Little Scars

“I was angry for a while,” I confess, with my lips in her hair. “So pissed that I couldn’t play, and frustrated because it took a long fucking time to heal. But I did, and with a lot of PT, I can do just about anything. I’ll probably have some pain when I get older, but for now, I just have scars.”

“I have salve,” she says, making me grin.Of course she does.“I’ll put some on them for you. I use it on my own scars. It helps them fade and loosen and not ache.”

That has me sobering.

“I wasn’t expecting—” I have to clear my throat, and she tightens her grip on me, as ifshe’scomfortingme. “I’m so sorry, Duchess.”

“No one haseverseen my scars,” she confesses softly. “Not ever, Tucker. Even my family.”

“But you’ve been with men.”

“And I keep my shirt on. I can find excuses for that.” She shrugs and pulls back just far enough to look up at me. “And I wouldn’t have let you see them either.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I don’t like that.”

“It’s something that I hate about myself, and?—”

“No.”

I roll us both so she’s on her back, and I clear strands of hair from her cheeks as I stare down at her.

“No, baby. I don’t want you to hateanythingabout yourself. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I won’t have you thinking for one second that you’re anything but perfect, just the way you are.”

Her eyes well with tears again, and when they spill into her temples, I brush them away.

“I want you to show me everything there is to see, Duchess.”

“Well, you’ve officially seen it.”

“Good.” I kiss her nose and then her soft, plump lips before I reverse our position and arrange Darby on my chest. She sighs deeply and nuzzles closer, as if she just can’t get close enough. And I know the feeling. “Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She yawns, and without another word, I hear her breaths even out as she falls into sleep.

And within moments, I follow her.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DARBY

The sun is high in the sky when I wake up, and I realize two things.

One, this is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in in my life. It’s not too soft, and it’s cozy, and the blankets are perfect. I slept like the dead, with not one nightmare in sight.

And two, I’m not alone.

Tucker is behind me, his heavy arm draped around my waist and holding my stomach, as if he’s making sure I don’t run away in the middle of the night. His thigh is tucked between mine, and I can feel his breath on my neck. His cock is full and hard, and pressed against the cleft of my ass, and I want to wiggle against him, to move just slightly so he can push inside me.

But he’s still breathing deeply, slowly, still clearly in sleep, and that gives me time to take stock of ...everything.

I saw him naked last night, and I was too damn out of it to really enjoy him. Don’t get me wrong, I ogled the shit out of this incredible man. His body is something the Greek gods would be jealous of. Every inch is sculpted perfectly, as if from marble. I countedeightabs, which I thought was something romance novels lied about, and he’s so tall, so broad, so ...delicious.

I want to get my mouth on him.

I also wonder if that’s a mistake. During our time together over the past couple of days, Dr. Fisher talked about Tucker a lot. About what an incredible rancher he is and how much I can learn about the animals here. It reiterated to me that I shouldn’t be trying to pursue something physical with Tucker and blurring the lines of personal and professional.

But then, in the middle of a major freak-out last night, Tucker came to my rescue. I didn’t have to ask, he just knew that I needed him, and it was everything. He calmed me down, got me back here, and he took care of me.

I’ve never had someone other than a hairdresser blow my hair dry.