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When he’s done cleaning and throws the glass pieces into the trashcan, he straightens up, and I still gawk with my mouth open.
Oh. My. God.
My gaze is licking him up like candy.
“These are…intense,” I manage to say, trying to fight my shock. “Did you get them done while in the service?”
“Traveling in Asia.”
He traveled overseas—that’s new.
He ruffles his hair. “I’ll make you another coffee,” he says and takes two cups out of the cupboard.
“Where did you get them?” I don’t want coffee. I want to study him, catalog all these images, take pictures of him, paint him, like this—only in his sweatpants, maybe without them.
Heat creeps up my cheeks as I think about it.
“It’s needlework,” he answers. “Done by an indigenous shaman.”
“Like old-school?” My jaw drops in shock. I’ve never seen that type of tattoo. “Did it hurt a lot?”
“Definea lot.” A soft chuckle escapes him.
Right.
“The color was added afterward the traditional way,” he explains with his back to me as he pours coffee.
Does he have any more surprises?
“Don’t move,” I order as I step toward him to study his tattoos closer.
Without thinking, I bring my hand to his back and trail my forefinger along what looks like a tribal pattern forming into a panther.
His muscles twitch.
“Birds,” I murmur, tracing another shape. “Mythological creatures.”
“They are all symbolic,” he explains.
I need to know more. Later. After I’m done pawing him.
Every time my fingertips touch his skin, his muscles tense up. His skin is covered in goosebumps, and my face has the silliest half-smile. There’s heat radiating from him, and my body responds, burning from the inside.
“You’re a walking piece of art, Jace,” I murmur.
He chuckles, turning around, and his bare chest is right in front of me, his burning gaze locked with mine as he passes me the coffee mug.
On reflex, I take it and take a step back, studying him again.
There’s only a foot between us. A foot that separates me from this gorgeous human. A foot that’s hundreds of miles between how I perceived Jace before and now.
My gaze slides down to his midsection, then trails lower.
“Oh,” I whisper, pausing on a shark tattoo disappearing into his sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips.
“It’s a shark,” I state the obvious. “I want to see but…” I lick my lips. “That would be inappropriate, right?”
I don’t lift my eyes, just stare at the shark tattoo, feeling my cheeks heat up.
