“Really?” She knew she sounded silly, but it was just too strange to imagine Noah jogging through the Brunswick reserve like her and Sam. “Do you run after work?”
“At night mostly. You do yoga, yeah?”
“Sometimes. I should do it more.” She examined the tattoo on Noah’s lower belly—a huge brown and gold eagle flying toward a bound man, its razor claws extended. The man looked grim, his muscled body heavily scarred. With a jolt, she realised it was her dad’s work—familiar as the Old McDonald song.
“Prometheus,” she said, and touched Noah’s stomach. His skin was warm and tense, like a muscly hot water bottle. He flinched and she pulled away. “God, I’m sorry. That’s so rude.”
Noah clasped her hand and returned it to his skin. Electricity coursed up her fingers and when she looked at him, her breath caught in her throat. It was so strange, those pretty eyes in that uncompromising face. And now she and Noah had slept together. Been inside each other. She felt naked, more naked than her bare skin suggested. Unable to hold his gaze, she looked at the eagle tattoo. “My dad did this?”
“Yeah.”
She traced the eagle with a fingertip, wondering what they’d talked about while her dad tattooed. Art? Music? Her sisters?Her?God, she hoped not. There was a curling banner beside the eagle. She moved her head, trying to read the words.
“Sic Semper Tyrranis,”Noah said.
“What does it mean?”
He hesitated, and Nicole realised, with a throb of horror, it could be some bikie motto. “Never mind, you don’t have to tell me.”
“Thus always to tyrants.”
“Huh?”
“That’s what it means.”
“And is that…meaningful to you?”
“It’s a long story.”
Nicole had no idea what to say to that and it was clear Noah didn’t want to elaborate. The silence grew between them like moss and she needed to say something to break it. She looked around and her gaze fell on the stack of fantasy novels beside his bed, their covers black and silver, crimson and eggplant purple. “Why do you like fantasy novels?”
“I just do.”
Well, that was a good start. She tried again. “Do you read a lot of them?”
“Couple a week.”
“There are that many?”
He gave a small huff. “Yeah.”
Silence. More damnable silence.
“Do you read?” There was noticeable strain in Noah’s voice, as though every word of small talk cost a day of his life. Which was especially strange, considering he’d just done such filthy things to her in complete relaxation.
Nicole attempted a smile. “I don’t read as much as I want to. I’m halfway throughNine Perfect Strangersbut I’m too busy to finish it.”
He gave a small huff.
“What?”
“You’re not too busy. You just don’t know how to do anything unproductive.”
Her face stung with embarrassment, but then the perfect comeback line swelled in her mouth like a liquid bead. “I just slept with you, didn’t I?”
There was a pause. Nicole’s stomach plummeted.
“I’m sorry, that was mean.”