So he’d pulled on a T-shirt, noting that it made him a coward, but he couldn’t face her yet. Maybe he’d turn the lights off when he entered if she was already in bed and then he could strip out of his shirt before getting into bed, although that didn’t solve the problem of when they woke up because she’s most assuredly get an eyeful then.

But she’d asked him to trust her. It was a lot to ask even though he knew she was utterly sincere. But still, it made him uncomfortable to bare himself when he hadn’t ever let anyone else see the extent of the damage to his body from months of torture and degradation.

The psychological scars were every bit as bright in his mind as the daily reminder of his physical scars. In some ways the scars on his soul were more painful than the ones on his body, the ones that were visible. Those would take longer to heal. And maybe he’d never truly heal in heart and mind. But Eden gave him hope. Hope that he was afraid to allow himself to feel. She could so easily slip into his heart, and it would devastate him to see her expression change to one of pity or disgust, though he knew he was doing her a huge disservice by thinking she’d react that way. She’d shown him nothing but acceptance, had gone out of her way to convince him that his scars didn’t matter to her. And still, he found himself holding back, not wanting to give her any reason to back away.

He finally pushed hesitantly into her bedroom to see her propped in bed, covers to her belly. She presented such a beautiful sight that it took his breath away and he found himself momentarily unable to draw air into his lungs.

“Care if I get the lights?” he asked gruffly, trying hard not to allow his self-consciousness to be too evident.

She stared thoughtfully at him a moment. “Why are you wearing a shirt, Swanny? What are you afraid of me seeing?”

The way she seemed to be able to read his thoughts, had instantly picked up on his mood, rendered him unable to form a response. What could he say to that anyway?

She pushed away the covers and slid from the bed wearing the sexy but modest sleepwear. She had a pair of silky shorts that rode high, displaying the long expanse of those gorgeous legs. And the top covered her but had little strings over her shoulders that would be so easy to slip down, baring her br**sts. His need was a physical ache. Not want her? That she’d even questioned his wanting her? He’d have to be dead not to react to the sexy image directly in front of him and getting closer with every second as she walked toward him.

She placed her hands on his chest and looked up at him, such sweetness and understanding in her eyes that his throat swelled with emotion. She saw to the heart of him. What no one else ever saw. She saw past the front he displayed to others and he didn’t know if that contented him or scared the holy hell out of him. Maybe some f**ked-up combination of both.

Then she slid her hands underneath his shirt, pressing her palms to his bare skin. His breath quickened as did his pulse. His dick surged painfully and there was nothing to disguise it in the thin boxers he wore.

She pulled higher, gently removing his shirt, and he let her, standing there allowing her to do as she wanted.

With the shirt removed, she studied his torso, and then to his surprise, she pressed a kiss to one scar and then moved on to another and another until she’d covered every inch of his scarred flesh.

Now that he was down to his boxers, she took his hand, tugging him toward the bed, and he followed like a devoted puppy, eager to please his master.

She settled him into bed and then climbed in next to him, instantly curling her body into his, but she left enough space between them just so her hand would fit over his chest and the scars that dotted his torso.

“You don’t have to hide anything from me, Swanny,” she said softly. “Not from me. Never from me.”

She caressed the lines of every scar, exploring them with her fingers and then as she’d done before, she kissed a line up each one, so sweet and gentle that it made his heart ache.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “So very beautiful. I’ve never met a man as beautiful as you.”

His heart damn near exploded and it took every ounce of his willpower not to turn her over and thrust into her as hard and as deep as he could go, making himself a part of her. Sealing the growing bond between them.

But she deserved more than that. And she wanted time. She didn’t want to rush into anything and neither did he, but he knew that their making love was inevitable. It also wouldn’t be long. Every other aspect of their relationship had moved at lightning speed and he knew that neither of them would hold out much longer.

Anticipation would make it all the sweeter when they did finally come together. He’d savor every single minute of their lovemaking, spend hours lavishing attention on her, learning everything that pleased her. He’d bring her to orgasm multiple times before he ever took his own pleasure. Her needs came first.

She placed one palm flat against his chest and then nestled her head on his shoulder so her hair tickled his nose. Then she slid her leg between his thighs as if seeking his warmth and touch. He was more than happy to accommodate her. He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her even closer as he wrapped his leg around hers, trapping hers between his.

She let out a contented sigh, the soft exhalation blowing over his skin.

Never had anything felt so . . . right. Contentment settled into his bones, relaxing him as pleasure seeped into every part of his body. She lay in his arms, a perfect fit, like she was made for him. Like she belonged there.