“You’re not playing fair.”
“No, I’m playing to win.”
He laughed. “Bold. I like it.” He rolled up his sleeves and showed me his forearms.
No way would I allow that. “That’s cheating. I’ve seen those.”
He held my gaze, his intensity a probe straight to my soul.
I refused to back down.
“Are you sure?” His raspy voice was barely above a whisper.
“Yes.”
Nathan leaned forward and peeled off his blue long-sleeved shirt, revealing drool-worthy, tattoo-covered arms. The scars stopped at his elbows; the ink continued under his T-shirt.
Knowing I was staring, he flexed his biceps to break the spell.
I felt the heat of his gaze as I traced the scars on his right forearm. He trembled at my touch. Then, I followed the lines of ink up to the hem of his black shirt.
Pushing up the sleeve, I asked, “How far does it go?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “All the way.”
“Can I see?” If he said no this time, I wouldn’t push.
The silence stretched so long I worried I’d crossed the line.
“I’m sorry, Nathan. I shouldn’t have asked.”
His chest rose and fell with a giant breath. “It’s okay. I just need a minute.” He leaned forward, grabbed his T-shirt behind his neck and pulled it up over his head.
I may have drooled over his six-pack abs. The patches of small, circular, discolored skin didn’t detract from his beauty. Without thinking, I reached out to touch one.
He flinched back, his shirt covering his face as he continued to lift it off.
“Sorry.”
He jerked the shirt off his head. “Give me a second.” His eyes stayed closed as he took a few deep breaths. “Sorry, I wasn’t ready for that.”
“I should have waited.”
Nathan’s chest was covered in a blend of color and thick black lines that didn’t extend to his stomach. The black design reminded me of Celtic or Viking knotwork. The light smattering of hair on his chest begged to be touched. My hand was halfway there when I remembered his reaction and pulled back.
“Go ahead. You just caught me off guard last time.”
I closed the distance, feeling his soft hair under my fingertips as I traced the thick black lines below his collarbone. “What does it mean?”
“The symbol on my left pec is my SEAL Team logo; the others are Celtic tribal symbols.”
He was so fucking sexy that my brain short-circuited.
“And this one?” When my fingers trailed over his shoulder, towards his back, he leaned forward and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
My gasp at the sight of the crisscrossed slashes across his back was involuntary. His muscles tensed, his hands gripped the edge of my bed, his lungs stopped moving.
I leaned forward and rested my cheek on his back while wrapping my arms around his waist. “Breathe.”
