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The dragon tattoo wrapped around his arm and shoulder is easier to see in the light of the day than last night. My eyes flick as a flash from hours ago replayslike a movie in my head of me running my hand down the length of that tattoo and then back up. The scene is gone as quickly as it came.
I’m sure Drago’s tattoo ismeant to scare people. It does have an eerie, almost devilish look. The dragon is mostly black ink with a lot of shading. The way he’s standing now, you can’t see the large head of the dragon, but I remember it. It’s on his chest above his heart with blood-red eyes. It twists, and the back and wings start at his shoulder and end above his elbow with its tail cording down and around his forearm with the point of the tail ending on the inside of his hand.
Why is this sexy?
Shouldn’t something demented be a turn-off instead of a turn-on?
Jeez, what is wrong with you, Brianna?Maybe he put something in my drink last night that’s making me think this way. Tattoos usually aren’t my thing. Given my line of work, I’m around shitbags who are covered in ink, which could be the reason they’ve never done anything for me. This though... sheesh. Put a shirt on, man.
“Holy fuck.” My eyes snap up to the startled sound of his voice, finding him facing me. “You just sneak up on motherfuckers?”
I purse my lips.
“I didn’t sneak up on you. I’ve been standing here almost five minutes.”
“Apparently molesting me with your eyes too.” He smirks, but I don’t give myself away. There’s no need to confirm or deny anything.
He turns back around, and when he faces me again, he has a coffee mug in his hand. Drago leans over, placing it on the counter in front of me.
“I don’t know how you like yours. There’s cream in the fridge, sugar and even the shit that’s supposed to be sugar but isn’t in the cabinet directly above the coffee maker.”
My eyes glance over his shoulder to where he was standing when I walked in. Pushing off the counter, I walk around to get some sweetener.
“I see you found your way into my closet.”
He stops behind me, not touching me, but it’s impossible not to feel the power of his large body so close to my smaller one. He doesn’t intimidate me. Only one man in my life has ever managed to do that, and I’ve worked damn hard to overcome it and make sure no other is allowed.
“I have no desire to wear your girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend’s, skanky things, Acerbi.”
I pull the door open, peering up into the cabinet, and see a box with packets of artificial sweetener sitting on the third shelf, which is problematic for me.
“Could you—” I’m cut off before I can ask him to get the box down. His lips press against the shell of my ear, making me shiver from head to toe—my coffee momentarily forgotten.
“I don’t have a girlfriend”—his voice vibrates, sending electric currents down my spine—“and I haven’t had an ex-girlfriend in years. The clothes are my little sister’s. I’ll be sure to let her know you think her tastes are... skanky.”
Foot in mouth. Shit.
Placing his hand on my hip, he leans into me, reaching over to grab the box without me asking for it, and places it on the counter in front of me.
I take the box and mug, then I head over to the fridge for some creamer.
“Look, I’m... sorry. It’s just—”
“Don’t apologize for something you meant. Besides, you didn’t hurt my feelings. A twenty-year-old girl? Maybe. But she isn’t here to defend herself or her attire.”
What a dick.
Looking over my shoulder, I cut my eyes at him as I pull open one of the doors to the refrigerator. I pull out the carton of half and half, pouring a good amount into my mug before placing it back inside. Shutting the refrigerator door, I walk back over to the island, resting my forearms on the cold surface.
“Your sister lives here?”
I don’t recall that in my research earlier this week. How could I have missed that?
“More or less.”
Setting my coffee and sweetener on the counter, I eye him as I retrieve two packs out of the box. He strides back over to the stove, reaches up to take out a plate, and then proceeds to load it up with bacon.
His sister’s place of residence is forgotten momentarily when he strides toward me, plate in hand.
