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“What?”
“Your tattoo.” He jerks his chin at me, his eyes never leaving mine. “Does it have color?”
“Oh.” I wrap my hand around my wrist as I nod. “Yeah. A bit. Just some yellow, maybe orange.” He nods as he turns back to his tray, continuing to set up. “Kon said he can do—”
“Me, Goldie. Either I tattoo you, or you don’t get one.” I blink at his back. He lets out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping. “Unless you hate me. Which you should. You should hate me.”
“Ro,” I breathe, stumbling forward a step. “I don’t hate you.”
He shakes his head, and I wish I could see his face. He was always so good at hiding his emotions, but I could tell what he felt by his eyes. By the way he looked at me.
With a deep breath, I slowly move across the room to him. My hand clenches into a ball at my side. I want to touch him, comfort him. I want to make things better.
But I just stand beside him, letting his smoky, leathery scent ground me.
“You should,” he whispers. “I hate me.”
His words shatter my heart and any resolve I had to not touch him flies out the window. Slowly, I raise my hand, hesitating before resting it on his strong back. His muscles tense under my touch, but he quickly relaxes.
“I don’t hate you, Ro. I could never hate you.”
Even after everything, after all the years we’ve spent apart, all the things we’ve done to each other, the things we’ve said, the baggage between us, I’ll never hate him.
Ever.
He glances at me, his fiery gaze piercing my soul. His full lips barely tip up in a sad smile, the cross tattoo under his eye shifting with the movement. My breath catches as I stare back at him, my heart racing.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmurs, shifting closer to me. “I’ll make things right.” I shake my head, my brows bunching together. “I fucked up, Goldie. I’ll earn your trust again. I—I’ll fix this. I’ll fix us.”
So much weight to carry on his shoulders, so much responsibility he’s putting on himself. I inch closer and he shifts, turning fully toward me. It would be so easy for him to dip down and brush his lips against mine. Will he?
“I can help,” I whisper. “I can fix it, too.” His eyes search mine. Carefully, his hand lifts, and from the corner of my eye, I follow it until he tucks my hair behind my ear.
“I missed you.” He wraps his arm around my waist, anchoring my body against his.
“I missed you, Ro.” My hand rests on his chest, and I feel his heart thundering beneath my touch. “Really, really missed you.” His gaze heats as he looks at my mouth, and I run my tongue over my bottom lip.
“Tattoo,” he rasps, his arm tightening. “Tattoo. That’s why you’re here.” But he can’t stop staring at my mouth. I can’t stop staring at his.
“Tattoo,” I repeat, nodding.
One breath.
Two.
I sway into him.
Three breaths.
His arm around me tightens, and my fingers flex against his chest.
Closer. Just a bit closer.
Four breaths.
“Fuck, I want to kiss you.” The rasp, the pain and longing in his voice, makes my knees buckle.
I blink up at him, my eyes nearly fluttering shut at the words, but I stop myself. I wait for him to make the first move.
