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Kris, who had collapsed onto his chest, buried her face in his neck not only to keep him from seeing her thoughts but also because having his skin against hers was as seductive as inhaling the scent of him.
Before she could be completely won over, before she gave in to the desire to lie there and sleep, she rolled to the side, then sat next to him on the bed, trailing her fingers over his belly, his hips, following the path with an admiring gaze. His legs were tightly muscled, with a light dusting of hair, just enough to be manly, not so much that the hair obscured skin. She found nothing but Liam from his face to his feet.
“Turn over.” She pushed at his shoulder, then traced her hands up his legs, drew her nails over his buttocks, brushed her palm over the smooth, unmarred skin at the small of his back, and swept it up his pristine shoulders.
He was clear of tattoos. But what did that mean?
“I’ll nae be able to go again so soon, mo bheatha. Ye must give me a bit o’ time.”
She was swamped by a sudden desire to hold him, just hold him close, and never let him go. “What does mo bheatha mean?” she whispered.
He turned his head. Their eyes met, and a strange feeling hit her in the chest so hard she couldn’t breathe.
“‘My life,’” he translated, and his hair, which had been spread across his upper back like a curtain, slid sideways.
The tattoo wasn’t very big. But it was very Nessie. From the tip of her snake-like head, past her humps and her flippers, right down to her long, thin tail.
Liam saw Kris’s expression and sat up. “What’s wrong?”
“The— That— I mean … It—”
“Did ye want to talk about what happened today? I’m sorry ye had to find her. Sorry it upset ye so.”
“Tattoo,” she blurted. Liam stilled. “You have a tattoo.”
His eyes became wary. “Aye.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means—” He stopped, pursing his lips and looking toward the living room with a frown.
“Don’t lie,” she said, and her voice broke. She didn’t think she could bear it if he lied to her, too.
Liam tilted his head, opened his mouth, and someone knocked.
He was off the bed and reaching for his pants before whoever was there had stopped tapping.
“Wait.” Kris got up, too. “I can—”
“No.” The sound of his zipper served as emphasis, if his glare hadn’t been enough. “Stay here.”
He left pulling on his shirt. Kris kept her gaze on the tattoo until it disappeared.
The front door opened. A curse erupted. Kris yanked the quilt off the bed, hastily made a toga, and followed. By the time she got there, her brother and Liam were already bumping chests, or near enough.
Marty’s nose was swollen, and he was sporting two black eyes from the last encounter. Since there wasn’t a scratch on Liam, she couldn’t believe her brother was begging for a second round.
“Go away.” He shoved Liam. “I need to talk to my sister.”
“I willnae leave her alone.” Liam’s tone said without words, Like you did.
Marty flushed. “I had my reasons.”
“What are they?” Liam asked.
“Yeah,” Kris interjected. “What are they?”
Both men turned. When they saw what she wore, their faces took on comically similar expressions of disapproval.
