When I stand in front of him, he grips the end of my towel and pries it open. My hands shoot down, endeavoring to maintain my modesty the best I can in a skimpy towel. My abrupt movements halt when I realize he has only opened the towel far enough to uncover his name inked on my hip. Although there's still a scandalous amount of my skin exposed, it isn't sufficient enough to warrant my absurd overreaction.
“Is it itchy?” Rico questions with his eyes fixed on the flaky skin on my hip bone.
I shrug. “A little.” When his truth-absorbing eyes connect with mine, I mumble, “A lot.”
I followed the advice posted online about caring for newly inked skin, but no matter how stringently I followed the guidelines, my tattoo is blotchy, scaly and painstakingly itchy. I try my hardest to ignore the desire to scratch it, but just like my ability to deny Rico's attention, I have the occasional slip-up.
My chances of having another lapse in judgment grow when Rico secures a tube of hydrocortisone cream from a set of drawers beside him. He unscrews the cap, squirts a small portion of lotion onto two fingers, and carefully applies it to my hip. I stare at him, utterly dumbfounded. He is dutifully attending to me like any caring husband would look after his wife. I won’t lie, my nose is tingling, and sentimental tears prick my eyes. It's a sweet thing for him to do.
“If you keep it well moisturized, the itching sensation will lessen.” He screws the cap back onto the tube. “But no matter how uncomfortable it gets, don’t pick at it.”
I nod before handing him the towel wrapped around my drenched hair so he can dry his moisture-slicked hands. Noticing my wound is already less itchy, I say, “Thank you.”
His dark eyes glance into mine. "Maybe next time you’ll heed my warning on an impromptu tattoo session."
I stare at him, shocked and blinking. “Me? Wasn’t my tattoo your idea?”
He throws his head back and laughs. My shock intensifies. He has a beautiful laugh. It’s the type that shreds through my body and warms my heart. It also makes my stomach do a stupid fluttery thing.
Once his laughter settles down, he answers, “No, Kitten. The tattoo was all your doing.”
I balk. “But. . .Are you sure?. . .I thought it was some ownership/branding kind of thing."
The laughter lining his face vanishes. “Hmm. Is that why you chose my chest?” His voice is still rough from his vigorous bout of laughter.
My eyes bug.
They bulge even more when he unfastens the top three buttons on his shirt. I swallow harshly, attempting to relieve my burning throat when he pulls open his shirt to expose my name in thick black ink swirled on his left pectoral muscle. It isn't just seeing the six letters of my name that has my temperature rising, it's being awarded the visual of his smooth, muscular torso. From his build alone, I was well aware he would have an impressive body. But seeing it up close….Jesus.Now I wish even more that my flashback of our time together in the shower went a few seconds longer.
My heart beats triple time when Rico seizes my wrist and draws my hand up to his chest. The muscles on his pecs contract when he runs the tips of my fingers over the peeling ink. Although his tattoo doesn't look as scaly as mine, there's no doubt it's fresh ink.
Talking through the lump in my throat, I mutter, “I branded you.” Disbelief—and if I'm not mistaken—a little bit of honor is dangling off my vocal cords.
“You can’t brand someone unwilling, Kitten,” Rico replies, staring up at me. “Memory?”
The hope in his eyes dampens when I shake my head. “I had a flashback earlier, though.”
His heavy brow cocks as he waits for me to continue.
“It was in the shower.”
He smiles at the flustered state my confession causes. “Was it a good memory, Kitten?” His voice is more profound and raspy.
“It was a little short.”
Now it’s my turn to smile at his shocked expression.
“My memory, not your. . .” I stop talking as a rush of heat creeps over my cheeks. I don’t want to be, but disappointment clouds me when he removes my hand from his chest and stands from his seat.
“You look tired, Kitten. Let me shower, then you can go to bed.”
“Okay.” I catch my eyeroll halfway from the neediness projected in my voice. I’ve never been a clingy type of girl, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, Rico incites a side to me I didn’t know existed. Maybe it's because I’ve always been the girl who plays it safe? Marrying Rico added an edge of danger to my life I’ve never been brave enough to explore. Meeting him forced me out of the safe box I’ve been living in the past ten years. He isn’t just a challenge for me to unravel, he challenges me as well.
“Your sleeping clothes are on the bed.” Rico nudges his head to the ginormous bed on my left.
A smile etches onto my weary face when I follow his head nudge and notice he has laid out my pajamas: a satin slip and a three-quarter length silk negligee. When I shoot my eyes around the room, the warmth spreading across my chest flourishes. Not only did he remove my sleeping garments from my suitcase, but he also unpacked my entire bag. Suddenly, my smile evaporates.Does that mean he intends for my stay to be a long one?My heart rate hits an all-time high. Being brutally honest, I don’t know if it's beating faster in exhilaration or alarm.
After pressing a quick kiss to my temple, Rico ambles into the shower. Once he slips behind the door, I get dressed and hop into bed, vainly trying to disregard the breakneck speed of events.
