His head came up and his sated eyes caught mine.

“Unh-unh,” he muttered, not happy I let him go.

“I need to clean up,” I declared.

His head tipped slightly to the side. “You never clean up right after.”

“I need to clean up,” I repeated.

He grinned at me.

That was two that day.

Both of them sublime.

I had to get out of there.

“You’re freaked.”

“Sebring, get off.”

He shoved his hand in at my back, still grinning. “Totally liked bein’ pinned to the bed, taking your fucking.”

“Get off,” I demanded.

His grin got bigger.

It was a smile.

His eyes danced with it.

Oh God.

Those eyes got closer.

God!

“Fuckin’ loved it,” he whispered.

His hand shifted down.

I went completely still.

His hand kept going down.

No!

I bucked violently.

“Off,” I demanded.

“Olivia.”

“Get off me!” I snapped.

He didn’t move.

Except his hand.

I felt my lower lip tremble and to stop it, I pressed both lips together as his fingers trailed the scar at my back.

No.

“Off,” I whispered.

He seemed distracted, but at my word, he looked to me.

“Olivia—”

“Get off me.”

“I saw them last night.”

I shut my mouth.

His gaze dropped there then lifted back to my eyes.

“How’d it happen?” he asked like it was a normal question. Like my scar wasn’t an unspeakable shame, declaring to the world what I was, what was in my blood, who I belonged to.

I didn’t speak.

“It looked bad,” he noted.

My mouth was filling with saliva so I forced myself to swallow. He watched my throat work then returned his attention back to my face.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

“No,” I lied shortly.

Or semi-lied.

The pain was there.

It just wasn’t physical.

“Then why won’t you let me touch it?” he asked.

“It’s hideous,” I pointed out the obvious.

“Only caught a glimpse of it but it just looked like a scar to me.”

Yes, to him that was all it would be.

“Scars aren’t attractive,” I remarked.

“Anything about anyone is attractive as long as they’re the kind of person who can be attractive however that comes about. Including scars. You got beautiful hair, Olivia. Unbelievable eyes. An amazing body. That scar’s just a part of you. It’s not hideous. It’s like you. It’s fascinating.”

There was beauty in what he said, and that beauty intensified if he actually believed it and wasn’t spouting rubbish.

Still, my response was, “That’s easy for you to say, not having such a scar or having the time when you earned it.”

Everything about him changed. Focused. Grew alert.

And his voice was deceptively low in a way I didn’t know him well enough to read when he asked, “Earned it?”

I’d said too much.

“Will you please get off me?” I requested.