Page 12 of His Forgotten Wife
Closing her eyes, Dolly took a deep breath. Her belly quivered with anticipation and relief and…a fizzy joy that she couldn’t stem.
Coward that she was, she pretended that every cell in her body didn’t stand to attention. That she didn’t inhale the earthy, oak moss scent of him deep into her lungs. That she didn’t enjoy the way his gaze swept over her face.
The first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes was how the convenient little sconce on the wall illuminated the chiseled planes of his face. Then there was the two-inch-long scar streaking from his hairline down the slope of his cheekbone and across to his upper lip, nearly bisecting it.
Awareness simmered through her, making her skin tingle, as if he were a vast energy source radiating electric pulses, tuned to find and sink into her. Her fingers twitched to trace the uneven, raised skin of the scar.
His jaw had thick bristle and his eyes, while alert, were cradled by dark shadows. The white of his thin linen shirt emphasized the vitality of his olive skin though. She breathed easy, even as a part of her wanted to throw herself at him, wanted to touch him and hold him to reassure herself that he was sitting by her, solid and arrogant as always.
“Does it make me ugly, do you think?” he said, following her glance.
She met his gaze and held fast under the gray storm swirling there. He was…not angry, but he wasn’t calm either. Rarely did Ares let his emotions get the better of him. So what was going through his brilliant mind right now?
“I didn’t know you cared that much about your appearance,” she quipped, glad to find her tone breezy. In any other man, she’d have called it vanity or even insecurity.
“I don’t,” he said, running a hand over his cheek. “But being here, next to my half brothers, I can’t help but remember how it felt to be that scrawny, scared teen again.”
Having met the notorious older brothers, Dolly couldn’t blame him. She played with the steel bracelet on her wrist, just to give her twitching fingers something to do. “You were called the youngest, sexiest tech nerd on some magazine cover only last year, remember? As for now…scars only increase men’s beauty by our society’s standards.”
“How so?” he said, with that interested gleam in his eyes that said,Explain the damned world to me.
She shrugged. “I don’t know… I guess they speak to experience and character or some such bullshit.”
“And it wouldn’t be thought the same for a woman?”
“Most probably not. At best, it would bea mark of courageif one walks around without getting cosmetic surgery.”
He nodded. “The system works in my favor, for once?”
She laughed at his dry tone. “I don’t know about that, Ares. You’re a six-foot-four-inch Greek man with godlike looks, an extra big brain and you hail from a powerful, influential family who clearly adore you. Except maybe the two meatheads,” she said before she could stop herself. Flushing, she straightened in her chair. “Sorry, I didn’t—”
“Don’t apologize. I saw that you’ve had the dubious pleasure of meeting them.”
“Yes. And your father. They’re quite the…trio.” She frowned. “Why didn’t you come rescue me?”
“You didn’t look like you needed to be rescued.” He studied her with that same intensity that had never bothered her before. “It was entertaining to see you take them on.”
“Is that why you summoned me here? To be used as some kind of shield against your family members?”
“Not so much as a shield but a buffer. You know this.”
Her shoulders rose and fell with her long exhale. “I don’t want to get in the middle of your family’s dynamics. It’s clear they see me as an interloper.” Holding his gaze, she hesitated.
“Come, Dahlia, spit it out.” Impatience colored his tone. “I have enough with my family pussyfooting around me as if I might fall apart at one honest word. You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves too.”
“I don’t want to stress you out.”
“Being here does that to me automatically. It’s not just the different undercurrents among my siblings and our parents. All this…the extended family and friends, this celebration, the noise, the constant gaiety, the sheer number of people I don’t even recognize coming up to shake my hand, touching me, hugging me…” His already drawn features twisted into a grimace, blunt-tipped fingers showing white against his temples.
Instinct made Dolly grab his wrist. Beneath the face of his sports watch, his pulse thudded a steady beat, her fingers spreading out to touch more of his hair-roughened skin of their own will.
His gaze zoomed to where she gripped him.
Flushing, she meant to pull back but he covered her fingers with his other hand, trapping her there. Even the simple, nonsexual contact made her body come alive, as if a switch had been turned on. Dolly swallowed and searched back through their conversation. “Can’t you tell them that the sensory overload is too much? That you need space?”
“And ruin my grandparents’ celebration? Arabella told me that they had canceled the celebration because I was ill, that it had been like an endless funeral the entire time. Mama didn’t even come home from the clinic except on the weekends.” Hisjaw tightened as he looked around at the laughing, dancing guests and family members. “Honestly, they are celebrating my recovery as much as my grandparents’ marriage.”
Dolly nodded, even as protests rose to her lips. She wished he would at least let his mother and father see how the raucous celebration affected him. And if he didn’t confide in them now, when he was still recovering from a major accident, then when? “Ares, don’t you think—”
