27 It was honestly very hard to believe she was now in bed with the very same man who had been such a thorn in her side. He’d turned onto his side, facing away from her. She glided her hand down the long muscles of his back. In a few places her fingertips slid across a raised patch. Looking more closely, she saw scars marring the smooth bronze of his skin. Maybe three in total—like s***h marks. From a fight? A beating? Had the man who’d thrown Lucas into the harbor taken a whip to him too? “I snuck out one too many times to see my girlfriend,” came Lucas’ rumbling voice. “So it was your father.” “He was a hands-on kind of parent,” he said dryly, “who didn’t know his own strength when he was drunk. They would have healed better if I’d gone to the hospital, but Mom wasn’t having it. She