His eyes were open now, awake in the dim light, and they settled on the bruise on my neck, on the mark his hand had left there. His thumb traced its edge, featherlight.
"I shouldn't have done that to you," he said. "I'm sorry."
My heart slammed against my ribs, and a voice I could not silence whispered through my head. Is the almighty Sparrow apologizing to me? I turned to face him fully and searched his eyes for the joke, for the cruelty, for anything I recognized. "You are apologizing to me."
He nodded once. "I don't want to see any scar on your body. And the fact that I put that one there makes me feel uncomfortable."
I held his gaze for a long moment, and then I nodded. "Okay, then. Apology accepted."
He leaned in slowly, giving me every chance to turn away, but I did not turn away. His lips met mine, soft and warm, a kiss with no hunger in it and no claim, just a question asked in the only language he knew. Then he pulled back, his face still close to mine, and we stayed there, staring at each other in the quiet.
Suddenly my heart started pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. 'What is wrong with me? Am I falling sick? But I rarely get sick. '
He kept on looking into my eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was so low it was almost a whisper. "Scarlett. What are you doing to me?"

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