Page 69 of Scarred Ruin

Three words to describe the way Maxsim made me feel and tonight, the difference in the man and the moment was as breathtaking as he’d described what I did to him seconds earlier. I shouldn’t remain, just as I’d told him. I should insist on leaving and stay away. Just as I’d intended.

But I knew in my heart and soul that he’d meant what he’d just said. With him, everything was all or nothing. Black and white.

As he pulled me onto my toes, cupping the side of my face, I sensed him searching my soul. While I doubted he was asking for permission, I knew instinctively he was worried that his words of ownership would warrant hatred.

How could I hate him after what he’d been through?

I was taken back to the night I’d saved his life, remembering how I’d been drawn to his handsome face. I’d meant what I said. The scars had never mattered. They’d never frightened me. They’d simply been a sign of the horrors the man had lived through.

As I lifted my hand, he held his breath. When I lightly brushed my fingertips across the scar on his cheek, his expression softened.

This wasn’t love as there was no chance I could feel such a deep, emotional bond with a man like Maxsim. Even the heartfelt words he’d just said, exposing a part of himself that I knew no one else except his wife had seen, weren’t enough to outweigh all the reasons we could never be together.

But as far as desire?

Want?

Need?

There was a strong sense of longing that transcended common sense.

The deep, husky growl coming from the darkness within him brought quivers to every inch of my body. He gripped my fingers, using them to paint the mottled deep crevices on his face. When he brought them to his lips, a tiny gasp slipped past mine.

He took his time pressing kisses against my knuckles before twisting his other hand in my hair.

“All mine.” The two words were possessive as well as defining.

Another reminder that no matter my objections, I’d never be allowed to escape.

As soon as he let go of my fingers, he slipped his arm under my bottom, lifting me off the floor. I draped my arm over his shoulder while wrapping my legs around him. He was a man of few words, zero explanations.

But I didn’t need them.

I knew exactly what to expect.

There was defiance in his actions as he walked up the stairs, taking me into his bedroom and closing the door.

In that moment, it was as if he was determined to shut out the world.

If only he could.

He flicked a switch and a single warm glow accentuated the space, but in surreal ways as if we were somewhere else.

His bedroom was the perfect representation of a man full of passion yet determined to hide every emotion from the rest of the world. It was that moment I understood how much showing care for anyone was a dangerous weakness in his world.

The bed was king-size, carved, and very ornate dark wood accented by similar pieces of heavy furniture, various hues of sapphire creating a passionate tone. One wall was clear glass, a bank of doors leading to a massive deck overlooking the ocean.

He lowered me onto my feet, his eyes never leaving mine. The moment was surreal in how the moonlight cast a haunting shimmer across the space.

I twisted my body as he walked around me, throwing open the two sets of doors. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was more violent than normal.

As if a thunderstorm was on the horizon, Mother Nature matching our tumultuous relationship.

Every movement he made was predatory, taking his time to return to where I was standing.

As soon as he cupped both sides of my face, his lips were crushing mine. There was no pretense about what was happening between us. This wasn’t romance, although with the way his lips were pressed against mine, with purpose yet determined to take his time, there was an argument to be said that he could become a romantic.

His grip was firm, his fingertips digging into my face. But the kiss itself was soft and inviting, his tongue finally sweeping inside.