Page 136 of The Graveyard Girls (Detective Ellie Reeves #11)

ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-FIVE

Crooked Creek

Ellie had a good cry while she showered. And she hated to cry.

In fact, she never cried.

Exasperated with herself, she dressed in a T-shirt and pajama pants, then padded to the living room, started the fire then poured herself a finger of Ketel One.

The citrussy rich flavor slid down her throat, taking the edge off her nerves, and she finished it then poured herself another one.

Her stomach growled, and she gathered a plate of cheese and crackers and carried it to her sofa.

She curled beneath the blanket and nibbled on the snacks as she sipped her vodka.

The flames danced and glowed in the dim light and a mellow feeling swept over her. She’d solved a case. Girls in Brambletown were safe. And parents could sleep again tonight.

She’d done her job.

But she’d lost the man she loved.

The doorbell rang, breaking into her thoughts, and she set her drink on the coffee table and went to the door. Hoping it wasn’t another case, she checked the peephole.

Cord.

Her breath caught. He looked freshly showered in a denim button down shirt and jeans that hugged his muscular body. She couldn’t quite read his expression, but his jaw was tight, accentuating his sharp cheekbones.

God. He was so ruggedly handsome.

He knocked and Ellie whipped herself into some semblance of a normal heartrate. But when she opened the door, the scent of fresh soap on him and his sexy eyes nearly brought her to her knees.

“Can I come in?” he asked gruffly.

She could not say no to this man, so she waved him in then closed the door. When she turned back to him, a hungry look burned in his eyes.

He swallowed hard. “I do trust you,” he said.

Ellie titled her head to the side with an eyebrow raise.

“More than I’ve ever trusted anyone. It’s… just hard for me.”

Her anger faded. “I understand that, Cord. But I need it.”

He stared at her for a long moment, emotions crossing his face. Fear. Regret. Desire. Love?

Then he reached for the buttons on his shirt and began to unbutton them one by one.

“What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly.

“Going to show you who I really am.”

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. She was mesmerized by the deep amber flecks in his eyes and the sight of his bronzed chest. Then the scars. A few on his torso, then he inhaled and turned his back to her. Slowly he slid down his shirt and let it fall to the floor.

She drank in the sight of him. Strong. Bold. Courageous.

And so many scars. Deep, puckered, dark red and purple, jagged and rigid ones, cigarette burns, whip marks; a collection of the pain and abuse he’d endured. A sign of his strength in overcoming trauma and building a selfless life with SAR saving others.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes, and she wanted to lay down at his feet and sob like a baby.

But she blinked the tears away. She refused to let his scars intimidate her or show how much it hurt her to think that he’d suffered such cruelty.

In fact, she loved him even more for surviving them.

Desperate to hold him, she stepped closer to him, then traced her finger along the rigid flesh of one long jagged scar and kissed the puckered skin.

A shudder rippled through him, and she moved to the next scar, then the next.

Except for a slight tremble of his body and his breathing growing rapid, he stood ramrod still.

“This is who I am,” he said, his voice thick with emotions.

His breath whooshed out, and he spun around, and looked into her eyes, studying her intently. Searching for a sign she was repulsed.

She lifted her hands and cradled his face between them. “I love the man you are,” she said softly.

Emotions tinged his eyes, then a nervous smile.

“I love you just the way you are, inside and out.”

His face crinkled with emotions, and he groaned then scooped her up and carried her to the bedroom.

She kissed him thoroughly as he laid her on the bed and pulled her in his arms.