My chest lifts and falls in a jagged response to the intensity vibrating from him. “You?” I breathe in his scent and my head spins.
“Fuck it...” His hands slide to my hips and he leans in closer. Close enough that the heat of his body warms my skin and his breath fans over my hot cheeks. “I’m not finishing it.”
He what? “Excuse me?” I jerk back.
He shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck, watching me from beneath where the point of his hair almost hits his eyes. “I—you...”
“Sonnie?”
Both of our heads snap around to the frosted-glass door.
“Wha—?” Sonnie clears his throat but doesn’t shift from between my legs. “What’s up, Rylie?”
“I’m taking the kids for ice cream. We can finish tomorrow. I’ll lock up behind me.” Her blurred form turns to leave, then stops. “Oh, and Sonnie? Table’s booked for Mama Den’s tomorrow night.”
His attention stays on the door even after she’s disappeared.
Mine doesn’t. A deep line has appeared between his dark eyebrows, the muscles that cord his neck tensing and releasing with his swallow.
He looks—nervous.
He regrets last night. This morning. He does want to forget. I don’t care. I shouldn’t care. I do care. He’s damn-well finishing this tattoo. “Listen, Sonn—”
“—Stan, look.” He turns back, his shoulders squared, his chest lifting with his inhale. “You and me...” His eyebrows dip even further down in the middle and he blows air out like he’s preparing for drama. “I’m not finishing that tattoo...”
“You will finish this tattoo, Sonnie.” I straighten and try to put as much fuck-you into my stare as is humanly possible. I can’t believe I nearly fell for this. Did this again.
He laughs—actually has the audacity to laugh. “Stan, no—”
I jut my chin, cock my head, and prepare to lose my ever-loving shit.
“I’m messing this up.” He rubs his hand up the back of his neck and scratches his head. “I mean. Shit.” His cheeks puff out. “What I mean is.”
He cups my face and forces me to look at him.
My temper eases from defcon-one to one-and-a-half. “Damn right, you’re messing this up.”
He presses his lips together, the ticking in his jaw jumping up to his temple.
Settling down to two.
“I’m not finishing it now. Or tomorrow. And maybe not even next week.”
Back up to one.
My glare returns.
His eyes crinkle just the way I like. “If I finish now, I can’t touch you. And I want to touch you.” He presses a kiss to the creases I’ve no doubt are marring my forehead right about now. “And to be clear.” He straightens, but tilts my head back, his lips parting when I let out what may be a mini-pant. “I want to touch you every day, everywhere, on every part of your body.”
Defcon-what?
I’m entirely helpless to stop my eyes from popping, or my thighs from clenching. “Exactly how many days are every day?”
There it is. The sparkle. It’s back. Still not as easy as when we first met, but it’s definitely getting there. “I’ve no idea what I’m doing here, Stan. But neither do you. Maybe that’s what makes us destined not to fuck this up completely.”
“Your logic is shaky at best.” A slow grin spreads across my face. “But it doesn’t suck.”
He glances between my lips and the door then leans between my legs and tilts my chin up. “Is that a yes?”