Since I'm editing Lonely Cowboy now, I'll share another wee snippet. Hopefully out early next year.

This is work safe:

Tate crashed into Simon’s huge warm body. At first he thought he was going to get another stunner of a kiss but then Simon snarled at him. Take a good look.

So he did.

Simon had a scar from the top of his forehead, furrowing the skin down to his eye and the side of his cheek.
For a second Tate hesitated, absorbing, but then he cupped Simon’s face and brushed his lips against the base of the scar. “You were struck by lightning.”

Simon jerked away, hiding his face again. “What do you mean?”

Tate swallowed, knowing he was on uneven ground. “I’m an artist. We, ah, see things differently. When I saw your scar, I thought it looked like you’d been tested by lightning.” He shrugged, not sure he was making any sense.

But Simon was at least looking at him now. He grunted. “Yeah, that’s one way to describe combat.”

Tate said nothing. What could he say? He had no idea what Simon had lived. He only knew he ached to get closer to him. He put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out again. “So what now?”

“Now I protect you.”

“That easy?”

“Nothing about you is easy.”

Tate had to grin. If Simon only knew just how easy Tate would be if he’d come a little closer. But the ex-SEAL was standing stiffly apart from him. Wounded. The scar was only part of how he was hurting.

“What does your protection involve?” Tate’s voice got husky.

Simon’s gaze shot to his. “I’m ugly. Did you miss that?”

“Not to me.” Tate held Simon’s gaze.

“You really are weird.”

“Hey, artist here.”

“Yeah. And city boy.”

“No one’s perfect.”