She braced her hands on the wall when he pulled her slacks down her hips, leaving her in her plain white panties. “All of you against all of me,” he said gruffly.

“Yes.”

Paige jerked her arms out of her shirt, tossing the garment aside as he unhooked her bra. Her breasts tumbled free, and Zach cupped one globe with one hand and swept her hair aside with the other, heatedly kissing her nape. “Me inside you.”

“Yes.”

“Fuck, come here.”

She shrieked in surprise when he scooped her up wearing nothing but her panties, and carried her to the bed, him in his jeans.

The mattress creaked as he climbed over and gently settled her on the bed. Propping up on one elbow, he took a long, thorough assessment of her nakedness. It took less than a second for his attention to catch on the slash cutting across her hips and abdomen; and it stayed there for a heart-stopping moment.

A ball of humiliation settled in her throat.

She didn’t know what crossed his mind as he absorbed the sight of her scars—the long gash across her hips, the dulled centipede slashes running up each of her thighs—but she knew if he stopped touching her she’d weep. She’d weep from the need for him; she burned from inside out, could feel her heart pulsing between her legs, her very soul screaming for closeness.

His eyes flashed with unmistakable fury as he visibly strained to get himself under control. Mortified, Paige sat up, folding her legs to her chest. “I’m ugly.”

“No, baby, no!”

Reacting fast, he firmly urged her back down and slid a gentling palm up her thigh, around her hip, and stroked the scar running side to side with his thumb.

“You’re not … not ugly. Never.”

She might have been hesitant to believe his words, but he’d ducked his head and was eating at her neck with his mouth, sounding so aroused, sliding his fingers across her waist as he brought his whisper to her ear. “The thought of you in pain makes me want to kill.” He made a fist over her stomach, then loosened his hand. “Sweetheart, you’re lovely. Look at me. Look at me, Paige.”

When she did, his stare felt like a bonfire in her chest.

“You’re lovely.”

The denim of his jeans chafed parts of her legs as he pressed into her side. His hands began roaming, igniting the skin they touched.

And now she wanted to weep not because he didn’t touch, but because he did. And he touched her as though his whole life he’d been waiting to touch her. Whispering over and over again that she was lovely, felt amazing … that she was his.

His words rendered her even more vulnerable than her nakedness. She had an urge to brace herself, felt her body set protectively against how fragile she felt.

“Shh. Relax.” Zach cradled the underside of one breast with his hand and kneaded out the tip. “God.” He nuzzled her with his nose. Gave a lick. “Delicious.”