Free Hidden Scars by Amanda K. Byrne Page A

her chin up, she took a step forward, forcing his hands to slide from her hips to her lower back, the steady buzz of the room around them muting to a low drone as their eyes remained locked. She could stroke a hand up, over his chest, along his neck, tug his head down to hers. Find out if his lips were firm or soft or both. Find out if he ever lost control. She wanted to see it, wanted to be the one to make him lose it. Their kiss wouldn’t be tentative and searching. It would be pure heat, setting fire to the blood. Heart pounding furiously, mouth dry, she let her gaze drift to his mouth. Need trickled in and warmed her, softened her, had her leaning forward and inching a hand up his chest, imagining what he’d taste like. Temptation, she decided. Temptation and freedom.
           The sharp slap of dozens of hands clapping snapped her back to the present. Had she really been thinking of kissing him? In a crowded room? If their first kiss came anywhere close to what she’d built up in her head, she didn’t want to be here. They might end up arrested for public indecency.
           Desire a vibrant hum under her skin, she turned around and leaned against his chest, her hands coming down to cover his, bringing his arms tighter around her waist.
    * * *
           The words kept blurring. Blinking didn’t help. She was tired. And frustrated. Sexually frustrated, to be specific. Now that she’d had Taylor’s hands on her, on someplace other than her lower back, the need to feel them everywhere had morphed into a powerful craving. The restaurant was busy, Sunday brunch patrons chattering as Sara and Megan studied their menus. The reason Sara hadn’t canceled her brunch date with her friend was because she had no desire to be alone with only her thoughts for company.
           “All right. Spill.”
           Sara set her menu down. “Spill what?”
           Megan grinned at her, her blue eyes dancing. “Playing coy won’t work. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing someone before I made Brian come to the bout?”
           She frowned. “I’m not seeing anyone.”
           “Oh, come on. I’m not asking for all the dirty stuff. I think it’s pretty awesome. You never really seem to be interested in dating. Although he’s not the kind of guy I picture you with, you know? Pretty quiet. It’s new, isn’t it?”
           Christ. Megan was talking about Taylor. “Taylor and I aren’t dating. We work together. And we’re—”
We’re what?
Friends? Friends who were now officially awkward?
           He’d kept his arms wrapped around her while Rebekah Cross read from her newest book. Didn’t say a word when she had to wipe away the tears slipping down her cheeks.
Invisible Wounds
had torn her open in a way no other story had, and after hearing the passages Rebekah had selected from her newest,
Rafter Dancing
, she knew she’d have to stock up on tissue before she read it.
           She’d been on the edge of losing it and breaking down completely the rest of the afternoon. He must have figured something was off, because he’d taken her straight home instead of grabbing coffee like they’d planned. He’d tucked her loose hair behind her ear before she’d gotten out of the car, and it had been more than she could handle. She would either throw herself at him or run away screaming.
           The tears hadn’t freaked him out. He’d simply looked at her in that calm, intense way of his and told her he’d see her on Monday.
           “Hey.” Megan stretched a hand across the table. “I’m sorry. I thought you guys were together.”
           She pushed her lips up, hoping a smile would steer the conversation away from the topic of Taylor. “It’s fine.” It wasn’t fine. It so wasn’t fine. She rubbed her hands over her face. “Shit.” Her fingers twined themselves in her hair and yanked. “I’m fucking screwed. This isn’t what I