Beneath the Scars (14 page)

His voice was scratchy and thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

I glanced at the clock. “A little after eight.”

“Did I disturb you last night?”

“Um, no…well, other than when you woke me up to, ah—” My voice trailed off, shyness overtaking me. What should I call it? Sex? Making love? I had no idea how he saw what was happening between us. I didn’t even understand it.

A small grin lit his face, and I found myself trapped under a warm, heavy chest, pressed into the mattress. Zachary’s face was close to mine, his breath drifting over my skin like a summer breeze, hot and damp. “I slept so well,” he murmured.

I ran my fingers through his dark hair, the strands feeling like silk. “Is that a rare occurrence?”

His face became serious; his voice so quiet I had to strain to hear it. “I haven’t slept that well in years.”

“Nightmares?” I whispered, worried if I spoke too loud or too fast, he would pull away.

Lost in whatever memories he had trapped in his head, he nodded.

“That’s good then.”

Blinking, he looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time today. “It was you.”

“Me?”

“You were next to me all night. You let me hold you.”

I kissed the messiness of his thick scruff. “I liked you holding me.”

“I didn’t think there was anyone as sweet as you left in this world.”

“You weren’t looking in the right places.”

“I wasn’t looking at all,” he replied. “Yet, somehow you found me.”

I smiled up at him, loving his gentler, quiet side.

“All night,” he repeated in wonder, his grin becoming wider. “Well, other than the ‘waking up’ as you call it.”

I felt my face flood with color. “I, ah, liked that, too.”

He pushed closer, lifting my arms over my head and smoothing his hands over the skin. “You approved of the sleep interruptions, did you?”

“Um, yes.”

Brushing his mouth over mine, he chuckled—a dark, low sound. “I like it when you’re flustered.”

“Stop it.”

His hands tightened on my arms, his eyes darkening. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Zachary.” His name sounded more like a plea than a reprimand.

“Megan,” he whispered huskily, his lips tracing over my collarbones.

God, how was it possible I wanted this man again?

“Please.”

His mouth covered mine, and once more, I was lost.

“Are you sure you want to go in to town with me?”

Looking up from my purse, I frowned at his tense expression. “Would you rather I went in by myself, Zachary?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Trying not to feel hurt over his apparent aversion to my company in public, I strove to keep my voice neutral. “You didn’t have to. Obviously, the idea of me coming with you is bothering you, since it’s the third time you’ve asked me. I’ll go later and take my own car.” Grabbing my purse, I called for Dixie. “We’ll see you later”—I paused—“if that’s what you want.”

His arm shot out, stopping me from walking past him. “Stop it,” he growled.

“I’m not doing anything. Dixie and I are going home so you can go and take care of your errands. Alone.”

“I don’t want to go alone.”

My eyes found his, searching for answers. “Then why?”

“It’s Friday,” he said quietly, as if that would explain everything.

“And?”

“It will be busier in town, even in the off-season.” He hesitated. “I don’t usually go in this close to the weekend. I, ah, don’t like crowds.”

My disappointment vanished when I realized what he was saying; I shook my head at my own blindness. It wasn’t me going in with him. It was him going into town at all. More people meant more eyes from which he had to hide, and as I was thinking earlier, that made him nervous. I stifled a sigh, tugging on my ear, wishing I could understand his fear. He clearly thought himself hideous, which wasn’t true whatsoever, but I had no idea how to make him see that fact. Something,
someone
, from his past had that thought so firmly ingrained in his head it was like cement. I covered his hand that was gripping my arm, with my own in quiet support.

“I could help you, Zachary. Pick up your groceries while I get mine and you can go to the gallery. If we work together we can be done and home in no time.”

His shoulders lost some of their tension as he thought about it. “You could drop me at the gallery, I suppose.”

I nodded. “I’ll get your order and pick up what I need and meet you back at gallery. You said you had to speak to Jonathon when you dropped off your canvases. That will give you the time you need, right?”

He hesitated, then a small smile played on his lips, a mischievous expression lighting up his face. It happened so quickly I blinked at him, returning his smile. “What?”

“That means you’ll have to drive my SUV, Megan. Are you even tall enough to see over the dashboard?”

I huffed at him. “I’ve driven large vehicles before. I think you can trust me with your truck.”

“SUV.”

“Whatever. It’s a truck to me.”

“An SUV means it’s fully enclosed,” he explained, his voice patient as he educated me in the correct vehicle lingo.

I rolled my eyes. “Truck, SUV…I can drive it.”

He chuckled. “Maybe before I agree to this, we need to make sure I can move the seat up that far. You have short legs—shorter than a normal person, I believe.”

Then he winked at me, all saucy and teasing. I had to laugh with him, relieved he was feeling less stressed.

He drew in a deep breath. “Please come with me.”

Keeping my eyes locked with his so he knew what I was about to do, I stood up on my tiptoes, thrilled when he ducked his head down to meet me, and I ghosted my lips lightly to his rough cheek. “Thank you for asking.”

His mouth touched a warm kiss to my cheek. His quiet sigh said all he couldn’t with words.

Mrs. Cooper regarded me with a confused look on her face. “Sorry dear, I thought you said you were picking up Zachary’s order for him.”

“I am,” I assured her with a smile. “He’s at the gallery meeting with Jonathon, so I’m getting it for him. Could Mr. Cooper put it in his truck…I mean, SUV? I have it parked out back by the door.”

“You’re driving his truck?”

I wanted to laugh at the incredulous expression on her face and evident in her voice. Instead, I chuckled and nodded. “It wasn’t without reservations, I assure you. I think he almost had a heart attack a couple times on the way into town. He thinks it’s too big for me to handle. And, apparently, I drive too fast.”

She stared at me in silence for a moment. “I would have thought he’d be too big for you to handle—too big for anyone to handle.” Then she smiled—a warm, open grin. “The fact I’m wrong pleases me a great deal. I’ll have his order put in the back while you finish your shopping.”

“Thanks.”

I walked up and down the aisles, picking up the few things I needed. It wasn’t much—some fruit, cream for my coffee, and some snacks. I still had food left, since I hadn’t been eating much. Part of me was hoping I wouldn’t be eating alone for the next few days either. Zachary’s list had been long and detailed, so I knew his house would be well stocked. After I paid for my groceries, and Mrs. Cooper said she would add them to the boxes on the back seat of Zachary’s SUV, I went to the café to order some of their soup. It had been delicious when I had it the other day, and I thought maybe Zachary would enjoy some for lunch later. I also planned on running into the bakery for some fresh bread and cookies. Aside from banana bread, I wasn’t much of a baker, but I did have a sweet tooth I liked to indulge. The cookies and pie I had left for Zachary had been eaten, so I assumed he would indulge with me. I also picked up another bag of peppermints he seemed to constantly consume. He had a bowl of them in almost every room, it seemed, a few in his pockets, and even in his SUV.

Zachary had been right. The streets and shops were far busier than when I’d been to town last time. The café was full and sidewalks more crowded, bustling with people talking and laughing. I felt a small uneasy feeling stirring as I wondered if the gallery was this busy and if Zachary was all right. I finished my purchases as fast as I could and hurried back to the truck, glad to see all the groceries in the back.

I drove to the rear of the gallery and waited for a minute. When Zachary didn’t appear in the doorway right away, I shut off the engine and went in to find him. Several people were milling inside, but I didn’t see Zachary anywhere. The door to Jonathon’s office was shut, so I assumed Zachary was still inside talking to him.

A pretty color caught my eye, and I went over to a display of beautiful silk scarves. I picked up a brilliant red one, the design shot with gold and orange, thinking how much Karen would like it when a gentle voice spoke up. “Ah, one of my favorites. I only brought it in today.”

I met the eyes of a lovely woman, who came up beside me in a wheelchair. Her soft brown hair was a mass of curls, tied back with a scarf and hanging down her back. Dressed in a long flowing outfit, she reminded me of a bygone era with her bohemian look. Kind, smiling, blue eyes met mine as her hand smoothed over the silk of the scarf. “It reminds me of the exquisite sunsets we have here.”

“It’s beautiful. I was thinking how nice it would look on my friend. She would love it.”

“Karen?”

“Yes,” I answered, surprised. “How did you know?”

She extended her hand. “I’m Ashley. Jonathon’s wife and co-owner of this gallery.” I shook her hand as she continued. “You must be Megan.”

“I met your husband the other day.”

She laughed, a light trilling sound in the air. “It wasn’t my husband’s portrayal that made me recognize you.” She winked at me. “Zachary was far more…descriptive.”

I felt the blush creeping over my face. “Oh.”

“The artist in him, you know. Somehow the words, ‘the beauty with the melting copper-colored hair’ would never cross Jonathon’s lips. He is far too pragmatic. Zachary mentioned you would be here shortly.”

The room got a little warmer. That was how Zachary described me? Beautiful?

Unable to resist the chance, I edged a little closer. She seemed so familiar with him, at ease with mentioning his name. “You know him well—Zachary, I mean?”

She regarded me, a shrewd gleam in her eyes. “As well as he allows anyone to know him.”

“He speaks highly of you. He told me you were the reason he allows his paintings to sell here.”

A look of sadness crossed her face. “I understand Zachary.” Her hand reached up to brush a wayward curl away from her face, the loose sleeve of her dress falling away from her arm. My eyes widened as I took in the puckered, scarred flesh on her skin. She met my eyes calmly, nodding. “I
know
his pain.” Her arm lowered and she moved her wheelchair closer to the counter, untying the scarf I was looking at moments prior. “Those of us, who have known physical pain, tend to band together, so to speak. Besides”—she shrugged—“he’s too talented not to show his work. It took me a while to convince him to allow us to display it, but I refused to take no for an answer.”

My eyes drifted to the back where I could see
Tempest
hanging. “He’s amazing,” I murmured.