“Can I have a T-shirt?”

He got up and pulled one out of a drawer, at the same time grabbing one for himself and some pajama bottoms. I watched as he undressed, his beautiful body outlined in the dim, silvery moonlight that poured in through the windows. His chest and hard abs were a sight to behold—one that I’d missed. My throat tightened and suddenly I was very awake and aching to have him close to me. I might have been sick and pregnant, but I wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyway.

Once dressed, he came around to my side of the bed and I rolled on my back. He reached down and unbuttoned my jeans for me. Was he going to undress me? Oh, that was too much, but I didn’t move. I relished the feel of his hands on me. The last time—well—better not to think about the last time, right? We’d both been drunk off our asses and it had led to disaster.

But again, I wasn’t dead and I still wanted him so much it hurt. He had the waistband of my jeans in his hands, ready to tug them down my legs. “Lift up,” he murmured.

So I did, like a helpless child, and shivered as the denim slipped over my legs, exposing them to him. Adam liked my legs a lot. I knew he did. But in the dim light I couldn’t tell where his eyes were or whether he was looking at them. Maybe he was too focused on the task at hand?

I sat up to pull off my shirt. “Can you look away, please?” I whispered.

He didn’t say anything, just froze. I cleared my throat to explain myself. “It’s—I’m sorry. I feel ugly there.”

I hated the thought of him seeing my disfigurement, of his possible disgust at my scars, at the tiny black dots that had been tattooed on me to mark the spots that needed radiation therapy. Of the long, angry and still pink-red scar down the left side of my breast, where it puckered around missing breast tissue.

He raised a hand to my face, smoothed my cheek. “There’s no way in this world you could ever be ugly. You’ve never been anything but beautiful to me.”

His words made me ache even more but before I could reply, he shifted on the bed and turned away. I didn’t say anything but hurriedly pulled off my shirt and bra and slipped on his big T-shirt to sleep in. Before he could turn back, I clamped my arms around his neck and kissed his rough cheek.

I really loved the sandpapery feel of his cheeks when he kissed me at night or early in the morning before shaving. After making love, I felt tender everywhere that he’d kissed me, and I savored the slightly sore reminder that he and his scruff had been there.

I wanted to be able to turn everything off, the constant ache inside, the thoughts that threatened to drive me insane. I wanted to feel…him, his hands, his kisses all over me. But when he turned and kissed my lips, his mouth stayed closed, despite my best efforts. I sank back against the bed, pulling him with me. “I need you,” I said. There may have been more than a little pleading in my voice.

Instead of lying on top of me, he slipped beside me, still kissing me, pulling his mouth away from mine to pepper my jaw and neck with kisses. I felt his desire stir against my leg but there wasn’t any passion in the way he kissed me. It was more…affectionate.

“Please?” I asked.

He didn’t reply immediately, but he stopped kissing me, pulling me tight against him. He was hard, so I knew his body wanted it, but apparently his mind didn’t agree.

“I’m tired…” he began. But I knew that wasn’t the reason. I knew Adam and he rarely, scratch that, never passed up the chance for sex—at least in the few short months that we’d been together as a healthy couple.

“You’re still angry with me,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

He hesitated. “No.”

“Then…?”

“It’s too soon. It’s—I’m sorry, but I can’t stop worrying about you, in this condition…”

I nodded, unable to explain or even understand myself this hurt that rose up like prickles in the back of my throat.

He seemed to sense it. “Mia, I want you. I do. But we shouldn’t do anything tonight.”

It was hard to explain the bitterness that drowned out the hurt. Maybe the timing was wrong. Maybe everything was completely uncertain…

But he wasn’t being honest with me. He was angry, resentful. I needed him but that didn’t matter to him. I took a deep breath and his hands were gentle on me, guided me to rest against him.

I reminded myself that he needed time, too. That mind of his, it was always going, and likely he wouldn’t rest easy until something was settled between us…one way or the other.