She shifted her hand to trace the hollowed shadow of his cheek beneath his cheekbone. She caressed his temple with her fingertips. His eyebrow. His hairline. That tender section of skin in front of his ear.
Before Domini touched the other side of his face, she locked her gaze to his. “Trust me. Let me.”
His long, dark lashes fluttered as he closed his eyes in silent consent.
“No. Open your eyes. I want you to look at me, Cam. I want you to see it as I see it. I want you to watch me touching you.”
Maybe she was a little surprised he’d obeyed.
Using a light touch, Domini followed the scar on the left side of his face. She smoothed the jagged edges from the corner of his mouth up to the ridged section where the scar hooked sharply. Then she slowly tracked the bump where it cut back and the gouge was deeper, the scar was thicker. She mapped every inch of his warrior’s mark until it ended at the apex of his eye socket.
Before Cam could speak, or before she lost her nerve, Domini repeated the process with her mouth, scattering kisses from top to bottom and finally pressing her lips to his.
As she kissed him, she reveled in the sweetness of his surrender. Domini dropped her cheek to his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of Cam’s heart.
After a bit, he said, “I really don’t want to go anywhere. But I imagine you’re hungry since I was damn near an hour late.”
“I have a casserole in the freezer I could pop in the oven.”
Cam tipped her chin up to look in her eyes. “You sure?”
“Yes. If you don’t mind tuna casserole.”
“I love homemade tuna casserole.”
If the domestic scene made Cam uncomfortable, he hid it well. They ate. They cuddled up on the couch and watched TV. She didn’t attempt to wrestle the remote from his grasp. She didn’t attempt to turn his closeness into something sexual.
The DVD clock flashed eleven o’clock. Cam kissed the top of her head and pushed to his feet. “I’ve gotta go. My buddy Brock is gonna swing through on his way to Seattle tomorrow.”
“Thanks for a great date.”
He snorted. “Some date. You washed my shirt, cooked me dinner, cleaned up and you didn’t even get lucky.”
She felt very lucky to have him in her life, even temporarily, but she’d never say it out loud.
Gracie’s barks forced Cam out of his easy chair. He opened the sliding glass, allowing her to check out the visitor from behind the safety of the fence in the backyard. Some guard dog. Gracie would lick him to death.
Cam watched as Brock’s bright red Audi TT putted up the gravel driveway. Idiot babied that damn car. Although he probably rodded the piss out of it as he zipped across the country. Out here in the Wild West, where the paved roads were long and empty, law enforcement officers had better things to do than issue speeding tickets.
Didn’t mean Cam wouldn’t have enjoyed the hell out of writing him a ticket just because he could.
Brock’s six-foot two-inch frame unfolded from the sports car. He wore his usual aviator shades, jungle print camo pants, and combat boots. The difference between this uniform and his official army uniform was the dark green tank top with “That’s MISTER Asshole to you” emblazoned on the front.
“McKay, you ever gonna pave that goat path you call a driveway?”
Cam grinned. “Nope. It wouldn’t be an issue if you drove a truck and not a wussy foreign car.”
“Fuck off.” Brock scaled the stairs in two giant steps. He dropped his duffel bag, threw his arms open. “What? Ain’t you gonna show me the love, bro?”
“You’re a scrawny thing, I didn’t wanna crush you.” Brock didn’t allow one of those awkward male hugs, where they barely touched, beat each other on the back—hard—and then stepped away quickly. No. The bastard actually hugged him.
“I’m deeply touched by that sentiment, Hop-along.” Brock pushed the shades on top of his closely shaved head. His gaze swept Cam from crew cut to boots. “Seriously, man, how you doing?”
“No issues with the new leg?”
Brock was one of the few people who’d seen Cam right after the amputation surgery in Iraq. He was also one of the few people Cam let visit him in Cheyenne during his rehab. Brock and Keely were the only ones besides hospital personnel who’d seen him without his prosthesis.
And now Domini was on that very short list.
Her tenderness and penchant for pleasing him was disconcerting because it had nothing to do with sex. Things had changed. Scary thing was, he wasn’t sure if either of them were ready for those changes so soon.
Cam refocused. Although Domini was in the forefront of his mind, he’d make a concentrated effort to keep her out of any discussions with Brock today.
“Yeah, sorry, I spaced out. The leg is good.”
“You still running?”
“Ten miles, every day.”
“But you haven’t tried one of those carbon fiber legs with the funky S-shaped foot yet? Man, I saw a guy who’d had both legs blown off in Afghanistan, and he could haul serious ass when he had those babies strapped on. He was a regular bionic man.”
Cam snorted. “He’d have to be the six million dollar man to pay for it, because those super high tech prostheses are serious bank.”
Brock looked at him quizzically. “You telling me the VA isn’t ponying up cash for the latest advances in prosthetics for our injured war veterans?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. And since I’m a low-paid public servant, I ain’t rolling in dough neither, so I’ll be wearin’ the leg I’ve got for a long damn time.” Cam changed the subject. “Anything you’re burning to do today?”
“Since a tumble in the hay with your sexy cowgirl sister ain’t in the cards, I’m up for other suggestions.”
“Been a while since I’ve taken the four-wheelers out.”
“Sounds good.” Brock hefted the strap of the duffel bag over his shoulder. “Lemme dump my gear.”
They grabbed jackets before loading up. Gracie hopped on her usual place on Cam’s ATV and Brock shook his head.
“You spoil her.”
Cam ruffled the fur between Gracie’s ears. “She deserves it. She’s a good girl, aren’t ya, Gracie?”
Gracie barked twice.