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“The scars have turned into something beautiful.” I dropped kisses all over her back.

“Arrow . . .” she whispered, turning to face me.

Emotions filled her eyes as she touched my face. The delicate gesture signified something more. It was more intimate than I could explain. It was as if her touch whispered something to me. Like an appreciation that words couldn’t express.

“I want to see your scars,” she said.

“Whatever you want.” I shifted so my back faced her.

The cushion dipped when she rose to her knees. I heard a soft gasp, but she didn’t touch me. Her scrutiny warmed my back.

I’d seen my scars before. They looked like intersecting lines all over my back. I’d gained several other wounds during my days with the Navy, but the original scars from my childhood carried more weight. Pain caused by a loved one was difficult to heal.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-SIX

VIVIAN

Words clungto my throat as I tried to figure out what to say to him.

His scars were just as bad as mine. My heart ached. The last thing I expected coming to his home tonight was this—that we were similar. We both swam in misery in our life.

I placed my palm on the crisscrossing lines. I pressed my palm into it, wanting to absorb his pain.

“Who did this to you?” I asked, placing a kiss on his back the way he had mine.

It sounded strange, but something had lifted from me when he’d pressed his lips to my scars. I didn’t expect that tendernessfrom the powerful, and magnetic man he presented to the world—the man I had initially feared would break my heart.

When he didn’t reply, I wrapped my arms around him, my body pressing into his back. This gesture was more intimate than any sexual encounter I’d ever experienced. He had touched a part of my soul tonight. But I wasn’t going to share that.

I kissed the side of his face. “Whose butt do I need to kick for you?”

Laughing, he shifted and somehow dragged me onto his lap easily. I was cradled in his arm while completely naked.

But I wasn’t even insecure about it. Something shifted between us tonight. Maybe it was because we both saw each other’s darkest wounds. Nothing else could measure up to that.

He looked down at me. Emotion swirled in those irresistible gray eyes that seemed to tell me an entire story of his life.

“Would you do that for me?” he asked, brushing strands of hair from my face.

“Yup.” I ran my fingers along the light stubble on his chin. “I need a name and an address. Then I’ll start my attack plan.”

His smile widened. “Using what?”

“Haven’t you read theArt of War?”

His eyes gleamed with amusement. “You’ve read it?”

“Let me tell you a secret, pal.” I lowered my voice. “The comic book version is fabulous.”

His laugh roared through the living room. His body shook with me still cradled in his arms.

“Didn’t know there was one. I read the English translation of the book when I was in the Navy.”

“The comic book version is out of print. But the strategies and philosophies are still the same. You just have to apply it to modern contexts. People don’t ride horses into battle anymore.”

“No. We use cars, planes, and other advanced technologies.”

I poked him in his abdomen. “So . . . who gave you those scars?”