Drake called himself ten kinds of stupid as he trudged through the forest. His feet leading him while his mind churned. Any animal in the vicinity would sense his ire and would steer clear of him.
What had he been thinking kissing Brooklyn? She was gorgeous woman, any red-blooded man would. The woman could tempt a saint, and he was a far cry from one of those. One touch of her lips and he’d been like a starved man in the desert and she was a tall glass of water. But then she touched his scar and all thoughts shattered fixating on the stark reminder of why he was hiding here.
The reminder of his failing. Of all he’d lost.
Drake growled low in his throat wanting to punch something. Curse that damn scar. It had stolen so much from him. Now he couldn’t even enjoy the touch of woman withou
