Page 21 of Twisting Beauty

I couldn’t tear my eyes off his back, at the scars crossed and recrossed over each other in layers, years of hurt laid down, one over the next like the rings of a twisted tree. My throat tightened so hard it hurt.

How could anyone do this to another human? How could Alistair do it to his own son?

The backs of my eyes were already stinging, disbelief and pity and sadness aching through me so hard it would have brought me to my knees if Lorcan wasn’t still holding me up.

The fingertips of my free hand grazed the edge of a scar where it wrapped around his ribs.

Fuck. What was I doing? I snatched my hand back so fast I nearly stumbled.

His gaze dropped to my hand, then came back up to my face. His eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong, Rua?”

The words were light. His voice was not.

“N-nothing.” I tugged my arm from his grip and stepped to the side to go around him.

He blocked my path, backing me up and bracing his left forearm against the wall beside me, caging me in, close enough that the heat from his skin smothered me. His scent thickened around me, masculine sweat and woodsmoke, and his orchestra of violins flared in my mind, making it hard to think.

Inside his forearm in smaller font was another tattoo.

I have not loved the world, nor the world me.

“Funny.” His gaze slid across my face. “You’re looking at me like you’ve never seen them before.”

Heat drained out of me just as quickly, leaving my skin cold and tight.

Rua would not have done that. Rua would not have looked at him like that, would not have touched him like that, would not have been shocked at the sight of scars that she’d seen for years.

Panic scrambled through me and my pulse spiked. I hadn’t just made a mistake. I’d made the kind of mistake that a predator like him fixated on.

I had to do damage control. Fast.

I rolled my eyes.

“Hard not to notice when there’s a new set,” I said, already hearing the strain in my cover-up. “What did you do to piss him off this time?”

Even as I said it, I hated myself for it. The words were cruel enough that I half expected him to turn on me for them.

Instead, he smirked and leaned closer and dropped his gaze between us, from his half-naked body to mine, fully clothed.

“Well, this feels unfair, doesn’t it?” His voice had dropped, unhurried and warm, his liquid tone setting off alarm bells in my head. “The least you could do is show me yours.”

“What?” The word came out as a squeak, and I pulled my robe tighter around me with both hands. “I’m not taking my top off for you.”

“Really?” He leaned in until his lips brushed my cheek. “Not even if I begged?”

The word begged, in his mouth, in that tone, made wetness trickle into my panties.

Fuck, I had to get away from him.

He’d given me very little space, forcing me to drag the length of my body against his, his damp skin hot through the thin fabric of my robe, his breath close enough to feel against my face as I pushed through.

Heat flared through me. Along with a stupid need to turn back around, untie my robe, and play along as Rua.

But I kept walking away, my cheeks burning, shaking hands clutching my robe around me like armor.

He called out after me.

“The real Rua would have begged me to ruin her.”