CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Amber~
“Aw, honey. Don’t you know that there are some things you can’t control?”
“Lance Prescott, what in blue blazes are you talking about?”
“I’m a mass of ugly scar tissue, Amber. Never had the plastic surgery, so the wounds are as gross as field surgery can leave them. They’ll turn your stomach whether you want them to or not.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. He was perfectly serious. Here she was, ready to make love, and he was worrying that she might not find him attractive. But there was no point in pooh-poohing his dread.
He reeked of testosterone. He exuded arousal. Yet he had no erection. A girl might think there was something the matter with her. A bear knew better. He was afraid.
This soldier who had defended her with his body without a trace of fear, was afraid that she might be disgusted by his scars. Was she woman enough to get them past this?
This was no time to be blunt. She had better not approach this too directly. Men had fragile egos. And nothing was more fragile than a fellow’s feelings about his dick.
And yet, despite his evident misery, happiness was rising in her as effervescent as bubbles in soda pop. She had been uncertain, but suddenly she was sure. As if his hesitancy had solidified her feelings. She felt strong, vital, womanly. Her love for this man had released feminine power she hadn’t known she possessed.
“You can keep your shirt on,” she promised. She took his hand and tugged him to the bed. “Come on, you can tell me all the reasons I won’t enjoy this later.”
As she had hoped, he laughed.
She turned on the bedside lamp which cast only a narrow cone of light and slipped away to turn off the overhead light. “Dark enough?”
“There is no dark, dark enough.” His voice was bleak.
They had to get past this, or they could never have any kind of life together. While she had been moaning on about her dear, dead Willie, Lance had been dealing with his own demons and the deepest insecurities any man could face. It was true that he was disfigured, but it was a pretty poor sort of love that was dependent on looks. Looks might be enough for getting you to notice a guy, but character was what love was based on.
“Then you better undress me first. So I can see to hang my stuff up.” She kept her tone matter of fact, although she was blushing at her pushiness.
“Are you sure?”
“I have never been more certain of anything, my love.”
He cupped her face between his palms and bent to kiss her. This time his kiss was desperate. He kissed her as if she might vanish. He probably believed her feelings would evaporate once she saw his maimed flesh. She could see no way to persuade him of her love except to lay bare her own feelings.
Lance had not spoken of love. But she did not doubt that he loved her. Her bear could not be mistaken. His love was obvious in the way he spoke to her, the way he touched her. In his smell and taste. She did not think he would be convinced by words. What he needed was the evidence of his senses.
She let her bear loose. If the bawdy she-bear who lived in her heart was too much female for him she would know soon enough. But she had a feeling that this soldier who had survived wounds that ought to have killed him, could handle a bear even at her most passionate.
The passion she felt for Lance was a whole new sensation for her. She had always thought she and Willie had achieved a metaphysical blend of sexual desire and love. Now she realized that her teenage self would have been scared spitless by the emotions and passions she felt for Lance.
In the intervening years she had matured. This intense blend of lust and tenderness would have been beyond her and Willie. They had been children playing at love. This was the real thing. And she knew with a deep certainty that just as her love for Willie would have grown and matured if they had had the opportunity, her love for Lance would also grow and blossom in the years ahead.
He hadn’t yet moved to undo her shirt, but he was kissing her as if their lives depended on him getting it just right. The rich ripe scent of sexual arousal was heady in her nostrils, ramping up her urgency. She returned his kiss fiercely. She seized his exploring tongue and sucked gently and then more firmly, increasing the tempo until his skin was damp and his moans were deep growls.
For a few seconds she thought she might have miscalculated. But her ferocious hunger seemed to reassure him. He gripped her even closer and angled her head so that his tongue could reach the deepest recesses of her mouth. She suckled it more fiercely. Moved his hands to her snaps.
He pulled away panting. “You still have time to change your mind,” he said.
She smiled. “I want this. I want you.”
“You could have Bascom. I can never give you the kind of life he could.”
“I don’t want any kind of life with Calvin Bascom. I don’t want to be a rich man’s plaything, or anything else.”
“You’re his cousin’s sister-in-law, Calvin would marry you. He’d have to.”
“And divorce me just as easy. I don’t want to do this with that big, handsome brute. I find I have a taste for a different kind of man.”
Lance pulled her back into his arms. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
“You don’t mind that I’m jealous?”
“I mind that you’d think, even for a minute, that I’d be standing here doing this with you if I had any kind of hankering for that man. Now, can we put this whole Calvin nonsense to bed? This is my first time, and I don’t want to be sleeping three in a bed.”