Erin giggles under her breath and I give her a shut up look. But as I turn to face Gavin again, he peels his shirt overhead with his back to me. As the cotton rises further up his back, I gasp and am certain he can hear it plain as day.
A tattoo inked into the flesh rests between his shoulder blades. Guessing, I would estimate it is six or seven inches wide and a foot tall. My shock isn’t over the fact that Gavin has a tattoo. Not by a longshot. Really isn’t too surprising, to be honest. What has me sucking in a breath is the art he selected to permanently etch into his skin.
When we were together, one of the things he always picked on me for was my love for Lord of the Rings. He would joke with me and tell me I couldn’t watch it anymore because I knew every line and scene. I would rebut and tell him he was just jealous and wished he could be as cool as me. A nonstop banterfest over my adoration of the movies.
Now… I stare at the back of his torso, my jaw slack, tongue tasting the salty air. I rub my eyes for good measure, to check if what I am seeing is real. To make sure I’m not still sleeping. I drag my hands away and stare at his back. Yep, still there.
There it rests, in all its glory. A tattoo of the tree of Gondor, seven stars hovering above the limbs, a word in elvish above and below the tree.
As for me, I have no words.
Chapter Eight
Gavin
Before I turn to see her reaction, I hear her gasp. An obvious reaction because she sees my tattoo. But I am also curious if her elvish is as good as it once was. When I peek over my shoulder and see she works to decipher the words, a smirk kicks up my lips. She doesn’t remember. Good. It will give her something to work on while I am here.
She catches me studying her and stutters. “Wha… are you… y-you had…”
This moment will definitely get stored in my memory bank. Her lack of speech and wide-eyed ogle is absolutely adorable. “Use your words, Cora,” I tease as I turn to face her.
“Shut up,” she retorts. “Since when do you love the Lord of the Rings that much?” Her eyes dance obsessively over my skin and I love the fire it stirs inside of me. A flickering flame swelling to an inferno. Will she stare at me longer if I don’t answer her immediately?
&nb
sp; I shrug. “Someone I know watches it a lot. Guess it kind of stuck with me.”
Like you did. I long to say the words, but resist the temptation. Not speaking my mind with her is the hardest challenge I have faced in years. Almost all of my life-challenging moments revolve around Cora. But I won’t tell her that. For starters, she probably wouldn’t believe me.
Her eyes dance back and forth between mine like she is reading between the lines of my soul, seeking clues to hundreds of unanswered questions. I would love nothing more than to profess my feelings to her. Tell her I never stopped loving her. Share with her the reason I didn’t call or write after her last letter. A million words rest on the tip of my tongue, but I won’t say them. Not now.
Because now is not the time.
When the timing is right, I will know. And when the time arrives, I will tell her everything. Confess all the fractured pieces of my soul. Spill my heart on the pavement.
As for now, I watch her and wait. Wait for her eyes to unlock from mine. For her to look down my body and absorb me. The temptation is there. Just below the surface. But her actions remain guarded and unsure. She wants to scan me head to toe, but doesn’t want me to watch her observation in action.
Too fucking bad, tu es les étoiles de ma lune. We aren’t kids anymore. And I enjoy as each second passes and her eyes linger. As they fight against the tide.
We are at a standoff. Pure, undiluted energy spills off her in waves. Anxious and molten and a touch of exasperation. As much as I hate making her this way, frustrating her more than turns me on.
The waves crash along the shore. Children scream in delight, ordering their parents to join them in the water. A dog barks nearby, excited for its owner to play with them.
Meanwhile, clouds pass, dimming and brightening the sky around us. Cora refuses to cave, but she forgets how well I know her. Forgets, regardless of the amount of time we have spent apart, that I can read her body like Braille. I know her tells. Know what each arch and bow and breath and flush means. Know her stubbornness and passion and strength. But I also know her weakness. A commonality we share.
When you are acquainted with another person like I am Cora, you don’t forget those little snippets. They are rare gems and get tucked away for safekeeping. She may not be the woman from thirteen years ago, but some traits never vanish. They adjust with the journey.
She tries to disguise it, but I know she sighs. Know she is throwing in the towel.
Her eyes fall to my lips, lingering for a moment. Her tongue sweeps out and brushes across her lower lip. The sight sends a pang to my groin, but I control my actions and don’t let her see how it affects me. How it makes me want her more.
When she leaves my lips, her eyes trace my throat in no hurry. Skirting from one shoulder, across my collarbones, and landing on the other. Her eyes drop and her body jerks in shock as a brief smirk pops on my lips.
“Like what you see?” I rasp, my voice thick with the desire my body masks.
Her eyes shoot back to mine as her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “When did you…” She points to my chest, unable to finish the question.
“Get my nipples pierced?” I finish what I assume she was going to ask.