The Man Ban - Nicola Marsh Page 0,79

There were several more on the back of her thighs too, and her ass, along with the ones circling her eyes and mouth and along her chin.

A regular patchwork.

That Manny would soon see.

Her pulse pounded and her palms grew slick as she picked up her overnight bag beside the bedroom door and headed for the bathroom. She didn’t care about being particularly quiet, but Manny never stirred. He’d been staying at his grandmother’s the last few days since she’d got home from rehab, and while nothing could diminish his outrageous good looks, he looked more exhausted than she’d ever seen him.

They may not have spent much time together since they got engaged, but it hadn’t mattered. They’d spoken every day, and it was so effortless it felt like she’d known him forever. Theirs was the kind of relationship she’d always wanted; no muss, no fuss. Not that she was naive enough to think they’d never disagree or argue or have conflicting opinions. But she knew as long as they could communicate freely, they could sort out their differences.

Manny shifted, his head thrashing side to side before he settled into a fetal shape, and her heart almost exploded with tenderness. But she couldn’t stand here and watch him sleep. She had important things to do, like strip away her mask and let him see the real her.

She’d never been inside his bathroom and couldn’t resist peeking in his cabinet. Nothing terribly exciting; men’s toiletries, a shaving kit, spare tubes of toothpaste, and aftershave in a funky spiral bottle. She uncapped it and inhaled, the smell making her receptors zing in memory of following this very scent trail all over his body . . .

Giving her head a shake, she recapped it and closed the cabinet. Not surprising, her hand shook as she removed her makeup with cleansing wipes she’d brought with her, revealing the patches that had defined her for over a year.

She stuck her tongue out at her reflection before getting in the shower and turning the jets to hot. As the water sluiced over her, she wished it could wash away her nerves as easily as the suds. Manny deserved to know everything about her, but the thought of walking into his bedroom, totally stripped of her usual armor, made her legs wobble.

After the longest shower in history, she toweled off and slipped into a robe. She’d brought her favorite one, a soft cotton with tiny poppies scattered all over it, that reached the floor. How many nights had she spent in this robe, curled up on the couch, alone and pretending to be content? Too many, and now she had a lifetime of having Manny by her side. And maybe others . . . they hadn’t had the kids conversation yet; the proposal had come out of the blue, then his gran had been in the hospital, and the kids chat needed to happen face-to-face. Not that she was worried. It would happen.

Shaking out her arms like a prizefighter about to enter the ring, Harper dragged in a few deep breaths, blew them out, then opened the bathroom door.

This was it.

Showtime.

Literally.

She would show Manny her biggest physical flaw.

And pray he was the man she thought he was and wouldn’t run.

He must’ve heard the bathroom door open, because his eyes opened. He knuckled them, blinked before focusing on her, and his slow, easy smile went some way to soothing her rampaging nerves.

“Hey, beautiful.” He pushed up into a half-sitting position. “I like your robe.”

“Thanks.”

“But I prefer what’s under it.” He crooked his finger. “Come here.”

“I hope you still feel that way in a minute.”

With the room in darkness and her body silhouetted by the bathroom light at her back, he couldn’t see her face yet. But as his eyes adjusted and she moved to stand beside him, he’d see everything.

“I love your body,” he said. “I love everything about you.”

Her heart pounded so loudly the sound filled her ears as she moved toward his side of the bed, forcing her feet to move forward when all she wanted to do was run out of the room.

When she reached the bed, she turned toward him so the light would show him the truth all over her face.

She watched him carefully for the slightest sign of revulsion. But other than the barest widening of his eyes, he showed nothing but curiosity.

“You have vitiligo?”

Biting down on her lip, she nodded. “For about a year. I hate the patches, which is why I