Because this can’t be real. He can’t be real. But he is and I’m here with him, and my God, gray sweatpants.
There's a tattoo across his shoulder blades. I've never seen it before. He's always been in a shirt, his body always covered, even running. But now it's right there, staring me in the face, an intricate and dark Celtic knot. It spans the width of his upper back. And below it, there are words trailing down his spine that I can’t read because they’re in another language.
Biting down hard on my lip, my eyes sweep over every rip and cut of muscle. Sweet Jesus, it looks like he was chiseled from stone. My fingertips tingle with the urge to touch when Reaper runs over to me, barking his good morning.
Lochlan turns, flashing me a wide smile when he catches me staring. Heat floods my cheeks, and I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, tearing my gaze away from his naked torso. “Good morning.”
“Morning,” he says. “Coffee's ready. I'm making eggs.”
“Oh, you don't have to—” I start to say.
“Already made them. Sit.” He nods at the kitchen island stool facing the stove. My stool, as it’s become.
I slowly climb onto the stool. Not because he told me to, but because fighting about eggs at this hour of the morning feels silly. And also because I need a moment to stop thinking about that tattoo and his jaw-droppingly delicious physique.
He slides a plate across the counter and sits across from me with his own.
We eat in silence for a minute. Reaper parks himself at my feet, looking up at me with hopeful eyes.
“Can he have eggs?” I ask.
“Sure. He'll love you forever.”
“I guess there are worse things.” I smile and pinch off a pieceof egg before holding it out. Reaper inhales it the second I dangle it in front of him. His tail wags harder, tongue hanging out of his mouth.
“Now you've done it,” Lochlan says. “He'll never leave you alone.”
“He already doesn't leave me alone,” I say. “Where have you been?”
Lochlan chuckles. “Fair point.”
I shovel in a forkful of eggs, trying like hell not to stare at his chest. His massive, smooth, very distracting chest that makes my mouth water like it never has before. I swallow and clear my throat. “The tattoo,” I say, pointing at him with my fork because apparently, I have no self-control. “I haven't seen it before.”
He takes a sip of his coffee and nods. “I got it when I was twenty-one. The knot is a family thing, a protection symbol. My grandfather had one similar to it.”
“And what do the words mean?”
“Ní neart go cur le chéile.”He says it with a perfect Gaelic accent. “There is no strength without unity. It's... a reminder.”
“Of what?”
“That I can't do everything alone. Even when I want to.” He meets my eyes, hovering his fork over the plate. “Took me a long time to learn that.”
Our gazes tangle across the kitchen island, like his words just cast a spell over us. It takes my breath for a second. I drop my fork into the plate and sit up straighter.
“About last night,” I say.
“You fell asleep. I turned off the TV. End of story.”
“Yeah, but I don't usually?—”
He smirks and my God, it’s so sexy and adorable at the same time. “Fall asleep on people? Yeah, I figured.” His eyes crinkle in the corners. “It's not a big deal, Adriana. You were tired, so you took a little rest. That's a good thing.”
“It's unprofessional.”
“Good thing we're not professionals.” He takes a bite of his eggs. “We're married, remember?”
“In name only.” The words have become somewhat of a defense mechanism for me lately, and they tumble out before I can swallow them back down.
