THEY WENT TO HER HOUSE. Simon noticed very little about the short walk through a quiet residential neighborhood. He could see the houses were small but well maintained. Montana’s was a single story, set back from the sidewalk. They climbed the two steps to the tiny porch, then she used her key to let them in.
The living room was about half the size of his hotel room. She’d left a single lamp on to illuminate the space, but didn’t stop there. He saw a dining room, a kitchen, then they were in a short hallway. The door on the left led to a bedroom that had been converted into an office. Next was a bathroom. The door at the end of the hall led to her bedroom.
There was no moon and they’d long left the light of the living room behind. As they walked through the doorway, Montana reached for a switch on the wall. Two nightstand lamps went on.
Simon glanced around, positioning the dresser and the bed in his mind before turning off the lights. He sensed more than saw her turn toward him.
Desire held him in an uncomfortably tight grip. He was aware of his blood pounding in his ears, the rush of need that made him hard to the point of pain. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman, but having her would come at a price. The point was driven home further when she turned the light back on.
“I thought men liked to see as well as do,” she said lightly, her brown eyes searching his.
“It’s better in the dark.”
She pressed her hands lightly on his chest. “I’m not like them.”
“Like who?”
“The ones who didn’t want to see your scars. I’m not intimidated by them.”
“You should be.”
She was determined, he realized. She thought that her ability to see what had been done to him would change things. She was right in that, but wrong in the outcome. The scars would horrify her. She might try to get through it, but she would be stiff and unable to respond. He should know.
Most of the women he’d spent time with had agreed that it would be best if he left on his T-shirt. Easier for both of them. But he already knew that Montana wasn’t like other women.
“I want you,” she said, her expression earnest. “I want to be with you. Now. Here. I want all of you.”
For reasons he couldn’t explain he had trouble telling her no. As if the act of refusing might hurt her and he couldn’t risk that. But to show her the scars…
Montana wore a summer dress in some floral fabric. The top outlined her curves while the skirt was full and fell to her knees.
As he watched, she unfastened the buttons down the front, then shrugged out of her dress. Underneath she wore a lace bra and bikini panties. Both were a soft pink.
Every part of her was beautiful. Her full breasts, the curve of her hips, the slight roundness of her belly. His erection throbbed. Need nearly suffocated him. But before he could reach for her, she stepped back.
“My last serious boyfriend was also a doctor. I was in Los Angeles, thinking I needed to see something beyond Fool’s Gold. While he wasn’t a plastic surgeon, he was very into perfection. One night, after we’d made love, he put his hands on my body and showed me everything that was wrong.”
She raised her chin as she faced him, but he heard the hurt in her voice.
“He said he could ‘fix’ my breasts,” she began. “That there were laser treatments to get rid of my freckles. He said I would be really pretty, if I lost 15 pounds on top of all that. The best part was that he seemed to think he was helping me in some way…. I know it’s not the same, but it’s not unusual to be judged by your appearance.”
Her eyes were overly bright, as if she were holding back tears.
“He was an asshole,” Simon growled, beyond furious. The need to lash out, to find the man who had tried to break Montana’s spirit burned as hot as his passion. She was everything a man could want. What kind of low-life bastard did that to anyone, let alone a woman like her?
“You intimidated him in some way,” he continued. “He didn’t think he was enough so he had to make you less.”
She smiled, but her lips trembled. “I didn’t intimidate him, believe me. He wanted perfection and I could never be perfect. Worse, I wasn’t that interested in being perfect. Perfect is boring. At least that’s what I tell myself. Most of the time, I even believe it.”
He moved toward her and cupped her face in his hands. “You are so beautiful that sometimes it hurts just to look at you. Your eyes are a thousand shades of brown and gold with hints of blue and green.” He touched her cheekbones with his thumbs. “Your freckles are like the girl-next-door fantasy brought to life. Your mouth is sexy and soft and when you smile, the world seems like a better place. Swear you’ll never change anything. Swear it.”
More tears filled her eyes. “Wow. That was really good. I wish you’d been there back then. I was pretty heartbroken. I’m better now. I figured out he was a jerk and not for me, and I came home.
“I can’t begin to know what it was like for you,” she continued. “But please, Simon. I want to make love with you. With all of you. Not just some parts of you.”
His desire disappeared as if it were a fire suddenly crushed by snow. Giving in to the inevitable, he nodded once and stepped back.
He worked quickly, knowing there was no point in drawing out the moment. He pulled his shirt free of his jeans and unbuttoned it. After shrugging out of it, he tossed it onto a chair in the corner of the room. Then he grabbed the bottom of his plain white T-shirt.
“Whatever you’re imagining,” he said flatly, “it’s worse.”
She nodded once. There were no visible signs of her bracing herself, but he suspected that she did so. That the voice in her head warned her not to show any emotion.
He ripped off the shirt and stood there, exposed. He bunched up the fabric in his hand, squeezing it tight, as if by sheer will he could make this all go away.
He told himself to close his eyes, that watching would only make it worse. But he found it impossible to turn away from Montana’s face.
He had to give her credit. Nothing much changed. Her mouth tightened a little—although not, he would guess, in revulsion. She looked more thoughtful, a little sad. Then she moved closer and raised her hands.
He knew what she was seeing. The burns on his face and neck weren’t that bad, but those on his torso were angry, ugly scars. Burns on burns, he thought, remembering his frantic scramble from the flames and how his mother had pushed him back a second time.
Montana would see the different colors, the places where red faded to an unnatural gray. What she wouldn’t know and what he wouldn’t tell her was that some days they still ached. That if he moved wrong, he felt pain and limitation in his range of movement. That his hands had been spared but not his psyche, and when he least expected them, the nightmares returned.
She moved her fingers slowly, lightly, feeling every part of the scars on his chest. When she leaned in closer, he had no idea what she was going to do and was startled by the feel of her mouth on the scars.
His body stiffened, locked immobile by a single brush of her lips. She kissed him again and again, then moved slowly to his back, where he felt her gentle touch and the sweet caress of her mouth.
It was a form of acceptance he’d never imagined. An instinctive desire to heal. The task was impossible but the intent was so pure, the last of his reserve, his fear, disappeared like smoke in the wind. In that moment, there was only the night and the woman he wanted with a desperation he’d never experienced before.
He continued to hold himself still, mostly to be sure, but also to give her time to complete her journey. When she faced him again, there were more tears.
“The scars are a part of you,” she said simply, then wrapped her arms around his neck, raised herself on tiptoe and kissed him.
Her willingness to see him for himself was something he hadn’t expected. He pulled her close and hung on, wanting her but perhaps also needing her as well.
MONTANA FELT THE SURPRISE in Simon’s kiss. He held back a little, at first, as if her reaction was unexpected. The scars were worse than she’d imagined, but she only had to look at them. He had to live with them and the memories of what had caused them.
She drew back and stared into his gorgeous eyes. “Are you thinking I’m a bad person because here you are, showing me your burns, but I’m too distracted by your body to notice? Should I be more sympathetic?”
Instead of getting mad or telling her she was an idiot, he started to laugh. A deep sound that rose from his chest and filled the room. There was relief in his laughter and something that sounded very much like sheer happiness. She found herself smiling along, then he scooped her up in his arms.
She shrieked and hung on to him.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, not at all comfortable to be in the air.
“Having my way with you.”
He lowered her to the bed. He stepped back and quickly removed the rest of his clothes. In that second before he joined her, she had a quick glimpse of the rest of him. He was, as she’d guessed, the non-boring form of perfect. Long legs with well-defined muscles. A flat belly, narrow hips and an erection that made her insides get even more squishy in anticipation.
Then he was beside her, pulling her close and kissing her.
His mouth claimed hers with a passion that would have made it impossible to stay standing. She felt his need and it fueled her own. She parted her lips and he thrust his tongue inside. That dance was no less exciting for being familiar. If anything, knowing what he could do to her mouth only made her want more.
He shifted and slipped his hand beneath her, easily unfastening her bra. He removed it and tossed it over her shoulder. She probably should have heard it hit the floor, but her senses were otherwise distracted by the feel of his warm, wet mouth on her bare breasts.
She needed to find a word that was better than exquisite. Some way to describe the combination of lips and tongue swirling and sucking and teasing and caressing. Deep, slow tugs sent liquid desire seeping to all parts of her body. She was already wet and swollen, beyond ready. When he moved his attention to her other breast, she squirmed wanting to feel him inside her.
She’d never been big on the intercourse thing. Sure, it was okay, but she’d never felt an overwhelming desire to be claimed in that way. It was just something you did.
This time was different. This time she wanted Simon inside her, taking her.
That was it, she realized. She wanted to be claimed. If there was some way for him to mark her, she wanted that as well. She wanted to carry the very brand of him forever.
Unable to stand it any longer, she stretched out her arm and blindly felt for her nightstand drawer. When she found the knob, she pulled it open. She’d made a recent purchase of condoms. She pushed him back and pulled off her panties. Then she urged him between her legs and reached for him.
He filled her hand, thick and hard. She tried to draw him closer but he put his hand on her breast, holding her in place.
One eyebrow rose. “What are you doing?”
She felt frantic and hungry. Desperate. “I want you inside me.”
“Not yet.”
He sounded more amused than irritated, which was probably good.
“I’m taking charge. Okay, I’m not very good at it, but you should just go with it. I need to practice.”
“I want you to come first.”
“I will.” Which probably wasn’t true, but he didn’t need to know that. “Simon.” His name came out as a plea. “Just be inside me.”
“I promise we’ll get to that. But I have a few fantasies of my own I need fulfilled.”
She dropped her hand. “About me?”
“You are the only one I fantasize about. Sometimes when I’m walking in the hospital I imagine doing things to you.”
Her body went limp and she didn’t even know the details. “What kind of things?”
“Do you want to know the legal ones? Or the illegal ones?”
Her breath caught. “Both.”
“That’s a lot to show you.”
He rolled onto his side so they were next to each other on the bed. He propped his head on one hand and moved the other between her still open thighs.
“Sometimes I think about doing this,” he said, parting her sensitive folds of skin and easing his fingers into the swollen wetness. “I wonder what you’ll feel like, how you’ll respond. I think about exploring you.”
As he spoke, he moved slowly, as if discovering every part of her. He brushed over her most sensitive spot, making her muscles tighten, then moved on to slip a finger inside her.
“I thought I knew how good it would be, but I was wrong,” he murmured, still watching her. “This is better.”
“Great,” she managed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to talk much longer. Not when he moved his fingers back to that yummy spot.
“I’ve thought about touching you here.” He ran his fingers over and around. “What it would feel like. How you liked it. Slow?” He reduced his pace until he was barely moving. “Fast?” He sped up.
Her breath caught. “Either.”
He shifted his hand so his thumb rubbed her center while he pushed a finger inside her. “I wanted to do this.”
The combination of sensations was incredible. The steady pressure of his thumb circling around and around, made her draw up her knees and dig her heels into the mattress.
Her breathing was getting fast as her body responded to everything he was doing. Just as erotic was the way they looked at each other. She kept telling herself to close her eyes, to lose herself in the sensations, but she couldn’t. She needed to watch him watching her.
“There’s a spot inside,” he said quietly, his finger pushing in deeper. “Right about here.”
She groaned. It was as if he were rubbing her clitoris from the inside as well. No, that wasn’t right. It was different but exquisitely delicious. She pressed down, wanting more, needing more.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Just like that.” He swallowed and swore softly. “Watching you like this is killing me.”
She wanted to say something, but couldn’t speak. Her body wasn’t her own anymore—it was a vessel of pleasure, driven by Simon’s touch. She was unable to do anything but feel the waves, the building pressure.
Her climax was inevitable. She could practically see it in the distance. But there was no hurry, not when the journey felt this good.
He moved a little faster, pressed a little harder. Her breathing quickened even more as her muscles began to tremble. She pulsed her hips in time with his movements and then, without warning, lost herself in her release.
The crash caught her unawares. One second she was straining for more, the next bliss surrounded her, claimed her. The waves came one after the other, going on and on and still he touched her, drawing it out, and still her gaze locked with his. She let him see this most intimate thing, wanting him to feel it, experience it with her. She rode him until the waves subsided and her breathing returned to normal.
When she was done, he withdrew slowly, then bent over and kissed her. As she wrapped her arms around him, she felt he was trembling as well. “Simon?”
Without answering, he shifted so he was between her legs. He grabbed the condom box without being asked and quickly put one on. Then he was slowly pushing inside her.
He filled her even more than she’d thought he would. As her body stretched to accommodate him, she wrapped her legs around his hips and put her hands on his back.
He stilled.
She didn’t understand at first, then realized she was touching his scars.
“This is where I remind you that you find me irresistible.”
He stared at her.
“Simon, you saw my soul.”
She could see the battle raging inside him. Would he trust her enough? Then he pressed his mouth against hers before pushing in her deeply.
She ran her hands up and down his back, urging him on, even as he thrust inside her over and over again. She lost herself in the way his muscles tightened, the way his pupils dilated. She could feel him getting closer, could see it in his face. The combination aroused her and she found herself traveling down that path again.
Deeper and deeper. Faster and faster. Rushing toward the inevitable.
The contractions began again, starting deeper this time. Deep inside, pulsing outward. She could barely breathe, but forced herself to keep her eyes open, to let him see what he had done to her again. He pushed in one last time, impossibly deep. Their bodies trembled in unison. She gasped, he groaned. And then they were still.
AFTER, WITH SIMON, WAS EASY. If Montana had thought about it she might have assumed it would be awkward. Instead they slid under the covers as if they’d made love in this bed a thousand times before. They wrapped their arms around each other, still needing to be close.
He touched her hair, stroking the length of it, brushing it back from her face. His expression was relaxed in a way she’d never seen before. He looked almost boyish. Unguarded. She was aware that they were lying such that his facial scars were pressed into the pillow, but that was okay with her. She understood that his need to keep them hidden wasn’t even conscious anymore. It was simply something he did.
“Thank you,” he said.
She smiled. “Given what you did to my body, that should be my line.”
He didn’t smile in return. If anything, he looked more serious. “I can’t stay.”
“After sex or in general?”
“When my time is up, I’ll be leaving Fool’s Gold.”
Oh, that. “Yes, Peru. I know. Not the most romantic postcoital declaration I’ve ever heard.”
“Montana, I’m not playing a game. You need to understand….”
“That you’ll leave.” She rolled onto her back. “It would be good for you to stay.”
“I can’t.”
“You won’t.”
“I won’t.”
She turned her head to look at him. “Because there are people who need you?”
“Yes.”
“They could come to you here.”
“Not all of them.”
“You can’t heal all of them.”
“I can try.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t matter. You don’t know what it’s like. There are places where people die because they don’t have access to clean water. I do what I can. It’s my job.”
It was more than his job, but he already knew that. Telling him that saving the world wouldn’t save him was dramatic, and true, but also wouldn’t help. He used his job as a way to heal, not just others, but himself as well.
“It’s not a gift if you have to keep paying for it,” she whispered.
“I know.”
He kissed her then, probably because he wanted to shut her up. She didn’t complain. Whatever the outcome, being in Simon’s arms right now was the best place in the world.
SIMON MADE HIS WAY BACK to the hotel late Saturday morning. He needed to go into the hospital to check on a few patients and clear his head. Then he would return to Montana’s house.
He reluctantly went to shower. The scent of her lingered on his skin. As the hot water hit his muscles, he told himself he would see her later. He would lose himself in her again and for those few hours he could forget about everything.
After he’d dried off, he dressed and was about to leave when someone knocked on his door. He opened it and found Montana’s mother standing in the hotel hallway.
“Bobby down at the front desk said you’d come up a little while ago,” she said with a smile.
“Ah, yes. I was out this morning.”
He rarely felt guilty about the women in his life, but staring at Denise Hendrix, he felt as small as a sixteen-year-old caught making out in the backseat of the family car.
Remembering his manners, he stepped back. “Please, come in.”
She stepped inside the hotel room and raised the cloth bag she carried. “Montana mentioned your suite came with a refrigerator and a microwave. I thought you might be getting tired of eating out all the time, so I made you a couple of casseroles. It’s sort of a Fool’s Gold thing.”
He’d slept with her daughter and she’d brought him food? He would guess she didn’t know about last night, but still. He could feel himself flushing.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the bag from her. “That was very nice of you.”
“One is a Mexican dish. It’s a little spicy. The other is Italian—plenty of meat and pasta. It was my late husband’s favorite.”
Simon told himself that the fact that he was slime was something he would deal with later. Right now he only had to get through the next five or ten minutes.
She gave him the heating instructions, then waited until he’d loaded the dishes into his small refrigerator and took back her cloth bag.
“Are you enjoying yourself while you’re here?” she asked.
He nearly choked. “Yes. The people around here are friendly. My patients are always a pleasure. Even the difficult ones.”
“What you do is amazing.”
“Sometimes. Not often enough.” He thought of Kalinda and the years of surgery ahead of her. He wanted to make her journey easier, but didn’t know another way.
He waited to see if Denise would ask him about Montana or perhaps warn him away. Instead she talked about the festival, the weather and suggested a few places for him to visit. Then she excused herself and left.
Simon stood in the center of the room, confused by her visit. The food was the obvious reason, but why had she done that? And then he remembered. There were people who were simply nice. The majority of children grew up in stable homes, feeling loved and cared for. What he knew, what he and the Freddies of the world had experienced, was the exception.
“IT’S OPEN,” Montana called when he knocked on her door, later that afternoon.
He walked in to find her carrying a tray with a bottle of wine and cut up sandwiches.
“If I’m going to have my way with you again later, you’ll need to keep your strength up.”
She was smiling as she spoke. Her face was bare of makeup, her hair long and loose. She’d dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt and her feet were bare.
He stopped where he was just to look at her, to take in her radiance, to feel the life pulsing through her. Then he crossed the room, took the tray from her, put it on the coffee table and pulled her into his arms.
When they surfaced from the kiss, she continued to hang on to him. “You do have a way with greeting people. Not that I would encourage you to do that with the other women in the hospital. They would be throwing themselves at you constantly and that would make it hard to work.”
“Yes, it would.”
She laughed.
His cell phone rang.
He didn’t want to answer it. For once, he didn’t want to be called to the hospital for an emergency, didn’t want to help or heal or… He swore and pushed the talk button.
“Bradley.”
“You sound grumpy,” a cheerful Alistair said.
Simon relaxed. “I’m busy. Go away.”
Alistair chuckled. “Ah, yes, the ever present American overexuberance. Who is she?”
He glanced at Montana, who wasn’t bothering to pretend she wasn’t listening. “Someone special.”
“A girl?”
“A woman.”
“Better and better,” Alistair told him. “Would I like her?”
“Yes, but you can’t have her. I’m hanging up now.”
“Give her a kiss for me.”
“Not a chance.”
“A friend of yours?” Montana asked when he’d hung up.
“Yes. Alistair. I’ve known him for years. He’s a surgeon, as well. We’ll be in Peru together.”
He drew her close and kissed her. “He’s handsome, witty and British. You’d like him.”
“I like you better.”
He kissed her again, released her and reached for the wine. “Your mother came to see me earlier.”
Montana froze, her eyes wide. “Why?”
“She brought me food.”
“Oh. Good. She’s like that. You didn’t tell her, did you?”
“No.”
“Not that I mind her knowing. Sort of. I don’t know. The whole sex-parent-child situation confuses me. I don’t want to know if she’s doing it, and I suspect she feels the same way about me.”
“I didn’t tell your mother what we’d done.” He poured red wine into two glasses, then handed her one.
“I don’t usually drink wine at three in the afternoon.”
“I wish I could say the same,” he joked.
“Ha. I knew you were the bad boy type.”
“Not until I met you. I was pretty boring and studious as a kid.”
She sank onto the sofa. “I guess I need to tell you something.”
She sounded worried. That should have concerned him, but this was Montana. Nothing she could say would shock him.
He sat across from her and leaned forward. “Go ahead.”
“I know what happened to you. The scars, I mean. Someone told me.”
He’d been expecting some sort of confession, not this. His first reaction was embarrassment. No one liked admitting they had been so unlovable as a child that their own mother had set them on fire. Only there wasn’t a “them.” There was him.
“I was a smart kid. Scary smart. I never fit in. Skipping a lot of grades meant I was always the youngest in the class. That didn’t help either.”
He leaned back on the sofa. “My mother wasn’t one who enjoyed working for a living. She preferred to find a man to support her. Something that wasn’t so easy with a freaky kid around. When I was eleven, her boyfriend was kind of a weasel. I don’t know exactly what he did for a living, but I’m sure it was illegal.”
He took a sip of the wine, more as something to do than because he wanted to taste it. “He complained that I was always staring at him, which wasn’t true. When I was home I knew to keep my head down. One day they had a big fight and he walked out. On the way he said I was the main reason he was leaving. My mother was already drunk and she started screaming at me. Crying and screaming.”
He kept telling the story as if it belonged to someone else, as if relating a movie premise. He didn’t want to remember that this had happened to him.
“She threw a couple of things across the room. My schoolbooks, I think. I went to leave but she grabbed me by the front of my shirt and shoved me hard. She told the police that she didn’t mean for me to fall in the fire, but she did. There was no screen, nothing but burning logs.”
Despite his best intentions, the memories returned. The split second of disbelief followed by searing pain. Pain that exploded, pain that was unendurable. He remembered screaming and scrambling, trying to get away, begging her to make it stop. And when he managed to crawl out, she pushed him in again.
The rest of it was a blur. It was a cold day and when he managed to get outside, still screaming, he threw himself into a snowbank. But the cold didn’t help. Nothing helped. He screamed and screamed until the sirens came. He remembered men surrounding him, telling him he would be all right. Even then, he’d known they were lying.
“I was in the hospital for a long time,” he continued, sparing her the worst of the details.
“Did you ever see her again?”
“No, she went to prison. She died there.” He shrugged. “By then it didn’t matter. I lived at the hospital. The doctors and nurses were my family. I had a lot of surgeries. For reasons I can’t explain, my hands were untouched. Within the first year I realized I wanted to be a doctor. A surgeon. I wanted to help kids like me.”
Montana set down her wine and crossed to him. She knelt on the floor in front of him and put her hands on his thighs. “Didn’t the doctors and nurses always leave?”
“Don’t make it more than it was.”
He knew where she was going. That because the people he cared about left, he left as well.
She stared into his eyes, as if searching for answers. He thought about telling her he wasn’t as deep as she imagined, but he doubted she would believe him. There had been plenty of people looking into his head while he’d been in the hospital. Therapists and psychiatrists. He knew the jargon, understood the theories.
“So somehow that all got twisted into the idea that if you sacrifice your personal needs, you can heal everyone?” she asked.
“You don’t understand. I love what I do. This is all I want to do.”
“What about belonging? What about loving and being loved?”
He put down his wine and stood. He should’ve seen this coming, he told himself. Montana was that kind of girl.
“Love doesn’t matter. I won’t say it doesn’t exist, because I’ve seen it on occasion.”
She rose to her feet and faced him. “Love is the only thing that matters.”
He knew that wasn’t true. He’d gone his whole life without feeling love and he was fine. It was easier to stay distant, to be an observer. Cleaner.
“Everyone wants to belong,” she insisted.
“No. You want to belong. I have to leave and take care of other people.”
“Want to or have to?”
“Does it matter?” he asked.
He saw the sadness in her eyes and knew she understood now. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he was leaving. In some ways he’d never really been here at all.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.
“Too late.”