“Hey,” he said. “Hey.” His eyes were locked on hers, his hand on her face, nowhere dangerous. His voice was soft. “Your scars aren’t all you are, Layne.” He settled back into the grass a bit, though his face was still close to hers. A smile played on his lips. “And I swear I’m not just saying that to get to second base.”

She laughed, but it came out like a sob, and she was terrified she was going to cry.

Gabriel shifted closer again, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone. “Do you really think I’m going to run if I see your scars?”

She turned her head to look at him. “Do you really think I’m going to run if I know your secrets?”

That chased the gentle humor off his face. It reminded her of Friday night, sitting on the tailgate of his car, when they’d played truth or dare. When she’d made a decision to jump, praying he’d be there to catch her.

She reached for his wrist, pulling his hand away from her cheek, drawing it down the front of her body. She held her breath again, sliding his fingers under the edge of her shirt. Her palm flattened over his hand, holding his skin against hers.

“Breathe,” he whispered.

She shook her head quickly, and he laughed.

Then he slid his hand out from under hers, stroking the length of her abdomen. His thumb traced the line of her bra. She sucked in a quick breath.

“See?” He leaned in to speak against her ear. “I still think you’re beautiful.”

She knew exactly what his hands were feeling, exactly where the scars turned smooth skin into something that felt like melted rubber. She waited for him to jerk his fingers away, to make a sound of disgust, to recoil.

Instead, he slid her shirt higher, then bent to kiss his way across her stomach.

Every nerve in her body was firing. She thought she might hyperventilate.

Especially when his teeth found the skin at the base of her rib cage.

At that moment, he could have told her he was a bank robber, and she wouldn’t have cared. An arms dealer. A foreign spy.

All she knew was that suddenly clothes were in the way.

She started yanking at the shoulders of his sweatshirt, trying to drag it over his head. He laughed again, but this time it was a slow sexy growl of sound as he lifted enough to help her yank the hoodie free.

The contents of his pockets spilled across her bare skin, and she giggled, grabbing for keys and his iPod, tossing them on top of the abandoned sweatshirt. Then her fingers closed on something slick and metal.

She frowned as she held it up. “A lighter?”