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I’m so distracted by my handsome husband, with how the wan light streaming through the blinds creates playful lines across his strong cheekbones, that I misjudge the distance to the door. To be fair, I’m used to the palatial size of my room and not a tiny cabin bedroom.
Bumping into the door, it slams shut with a bang. Shane bolts upright in bed, and that’s when I notice—for the first time—that he’s not wearing his soft sleepshirt. It’s bunched beside his pillow in a messy heap.
My sleep-addled brain hiccups, struggling to process the artistry on display. All the lines are slightly softened, like they’ve been there a long time. The tattooed vines I’d glimpsed last week climb up his defined abs until they tangle around the spray of chrysanthemums and lilies across his flawless chest. A mockingbird, wings raised in a gentle arch toward his right shoulder, watches me with one curious eye. Tiny asters and milkweed fill out the all-black design as well as…
My breath hitches as I find my favorite flower within the tattoo—by his left collarbone, beneath the bird’s beak, and right in the center of his chest.
Over his heart.
“Willow?”
“You’re beautiful,” I breathe, grateful I said that and not I love you.
Both were tumbling free in my skull, so there was a fifty-fifty chance.
When Shane dips his chin with a bashful look, his hair falling over his eyes, I want nothing more than to dive back into bed and hold him for the rest of the day.
But my body reminds me that we were on a mission.
“Bathroom,” I blurt, swinging open the door and bolting through.
His soft, warm chuckle follows me into the hall.
After all the necessary things, including brushing my teeth, I find Shane sitting up in the bed.
“Hey,” he says, a subtle pink slipping across his cheeks.
His shirt is still off. Have mercy.
Have I mentioned that my husband is the most adorable and attractive human on the planet?
I waste no time climbing up the mattress until I’m settled on his lap, my fingers tracing the ink over his shoulders. Shane exhales a minty breath. Apparently, he visited the kitchen sink while I was in the bathroom.
“The deal,” he says, his voice deliciously gruff as his hands squeeze my waist.
I wrinkle my nose, angry at last-night me for insisting on such a shortsighted plan.
Shane chuckles again, and liquid energy pools at the base of my spine.
He tilts his chin up, the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen brightening his multi-shade eyes. Seeing Shane like this, so relaxed and calm, rearranges the way I view everything. Even the various colors in the room seem more vibrant, alive. The sharp black of his tattoos contrasting against the tiny freckles arching over his shoulders is a perfect study in unexpected composition.
“How about we come up with a new deal? Instead of going outside, kitchen kisses are allowed. This morning only. A statute of limitations applies.”
I grumble, not wanting to leave the warm cocoon of blankets. “It’s cold outside the covers.”
Even with Shane’s warmth beneath me, I’m chilly in my sleep tank. He traces the goosebumps on my arms and then gathers his shirt to put over my head. I gleefully punch my arms through the sleeves.
His grin is achingly sweet. “We’ll get you a sweatshirt too.”
“What about you?”
When Shane’s smile morphs into something wicked, it yanks the breath from my lungs. “I’m comfortable as is.”
“In that case…”
I should be classified as a professional athlete for my technique vaulting off the bed before racing to the kitchen. Shane’s laugh tumbles after me before he casually strides through the doorway, finger-combing his hair. The bicep pop alone is enough to make my knees wobble.
That sense of drastic miscalculation sweeps my stomach, forcing me to lean against the counter for stability. How did I not realize how sexy my husband is?
