She nodded. “Yeah. It’s a career high for me. It’s a huge account and I had some stiff competition. No way I’d miss it because some jerk went off his meds and started shooting at people.”
A smile quirked the corner of his mouth. She noticed that on the scarred side, his upper lip didn’t really move, resulting in sort of a half smile. It was a crooked grin she found endearing. She wondered if there had been nerve damage, resulting in the inability to move that corner of his mouth.
And then she wondered how it would feel to kiss him. To have that mouth on her skin. Betraying heat crept up her neck and she forced her thoughts back to the mundane. The curse of having fair skin was that she blushed vividly.
“I don’t want you to worry, Eden,” Swanny said, his expression growing serious once more. “We’ll make sure nothing hurts you. It’s what we do. And not to discount the importance of this mission, but we’ve faced a hell of a lot worse.”
She cocked her head to the side. “Is that what I am? A mission?”
He looked surprised by her question, and as if only just realizing that he was completely facing her, he turned his scarred cheek away from her, presenting his profile.
“Why do you do that?” she asked softly.
His brow furrowed and he turned slightly in her direction once more. “Do what?”
“Turn away from me so I won’t see your scar.”
He looked surprised at her bluntness, and he went silent for a long moment.
“It’s habit,” he admitted.
“It doesn’t bother me,” she said, eager to ease his self-consciousness around her. “And if it bothers other people, that’s their problem, not yours. If they judge you because of your scars, then they’re ass**les who don’t deserve your respect or your regard.”
He laughed, startling her with the rumbling sound that welled from his chest. The lines around his eyes eased and his gaze lightened to one of amusement.
He fingered the scar absently and then dropped his hand.
“Does it still hurt you?” she asked quietly.
He shook his head. “Only the memories.”
He looked immediately chagrined, as if he regretted sharing something so personal with her. But she was delighted that he was actually talking to her. A real conversation that didn’t revolve around the job he was hired for.
“How did it happen?”
He paused a long moment, shadows chasing away the lightness in his eyes. Then he expelled a long breath and sat forward in his chair, seemingly ill at ease.
“If I’m prying too much, just tell me to mind my own business,” she said quickly. “It’s not morbid curiosity. I’d like to know more about you . . .”
She trailed off before she said something really stupid, like that she was fantasizing about his mouth on hers and tracing the lines of that scar with her own fingers. She wanted to soothe away any lingering pain, though it sounded ridiculous that she could offer him anything at all.
“On our last tour, Nathan and I and a few more from our team were captured. We had split off from Joe and his team. They got out. We didn’t. We spent months being tortured and starved before we were rescued.”
He put his fingers back to the scar. “They carved me and Nate both up, and they did this. By the time we got out and to a hospital, there was little they could do except patch it up the best they could. They said I could see a plastic surgeon, but I opted not to. It’s a reminder.”
He went silent again, a faraway look in his eyes as if he were back there in hell and not here.
She slid to the end of the couch so not much space separated them. Tentatively, she reached out and put her hand on his knee, squeezing gently.
He flinched, sucking in his breath, his eyes suddenly glittering with fire. Her pulse ratcheted up several beats because she realized he wasn’t unaware of the chemistry between them.
“How is it a reminder?” she prompted gently.
“That I was a victim and I’ll never be a victim again,” he said simply.
“It’s not ugly,” she said in a sincere voice. “It’s a mark of courage. Of survival. I think you’re beautiful.”
He reared back his head, surprise flaring in his eyes. He stared at her like she’d lost her mind.
“Beautiful?” he said hoarsely. “You’re beautiful. Not me.”
She leaned in, knowing she was being bold—too bold—but she simply couldn’t resist showing him with more than words that his scar didn’t put her off in the least. She cupped his face and slid her fingers down the puckered ridges.
He flinched and tried to withdraw but she leaned farther, following him back as she continued her gentle exploration.
“I disagree,” she murmured. “I think you’re beautiful. Strong. A warrior. Your scar is a badge of honor. You forget, my father and brothers served in either the military or the police force. They have scars. They don’t bother me in the least.”
Swanny looked at a complete loss for words, but he remained frozen in place. Then he leaned slightly into the palm of her hand as if he enjoyed her touch.
“Can I kiss you?” she whispered.
Shock registered in his eyes. She knew she was being forward. Practically forcing herself on this man. But she knew he felt it too. This inexplicable pull between them. She wasn’t imagining it.
“We shouldn’t,” he began. But she hushed him by fitting her mouth to his.