“ I glanced down at myself. A line of small bruises patterned my shoulders, which brought my eyes down to my chest. One abused breast had received a similar treatment. The man at my mother’s house had left his mark on me. Tristan’s talent for distraction had helped me forget the entire thing, for a time, but the bruises were an unwelcome and brutal reminder. I could feel the tension in his voice when he asked, “Where did these come from?” I’d always been a terrible liar, but I still gave ...it an honest try. “Hmmm?” I attempted, going for casual. I made a point of glancing behind me, where his hands were tracing, my brow furrowing as though I had no notion where they’d come from. “No idea. Could have been anything.” “Those bruises look like handprints.” His tone was deadly. I began to backtrack and tiptoe. It was a fact that Tristan had a temper that was not to be messed with, and if he had a clue what had actually made these bruises, he’d go ballistic in a heartbeat.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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