He lets out a possessive growl that sends a shudder up myspine. “I won’t lie. If you allowed me to have my way with you, I wouldn’t give a damn if you had a man. I’d make you mine and fuck you so hard you’d walk bowlegged for a whole week.”
Holy—
I’m about to start fanning myself. No other guy has ever turned me on so much with just words.
“Strip for me,” Rust grits out.
Anxiety spears through me and it feels like the floor turns liquid.
I’m caught off balance by my sudden insecurity. It’s bright day and that means he’s gonna see everything. Every bump, dimple, stretch mark and bit of softness my body has to offer.
I’ve always been a bigger girl and I never wished I was smaller.
But in showbiz, people love to talk about a woman’s weight. It’s a favorite topic for the press and the costume designers Rex hires are constantly telling me that my outfits would look better a few sizes smaller.
Fuck them.
Frankly, I don’t give a damn what they say. I thought their words pearled off me like water off a duck’s back. But as I’m about to bare myself to the most painfully perfect man I’ve ever laid eyes on, I realize I’m not entirely bulletproof.
The last time Rust saw me naked was at twenty. Will he still like what he sees after twelve years apart?
I take a deep breath. Only one way to find out… and if he doesn’t appreciate me, he can go fuck himself, too. Literally.
My T-shirt goes first. Then my jeans and my socks. I free my heavy breasts from my bra and toss it on the heap of fabric. My fingers dance across my belly spilling overmy panties. I hook them under the waistband, slipping out of the last piece of fabric.
Rust’s adoring eyes rake over my body as he strokes himself faster. “Fuck, you’ve only gotten more beautiful, Trouble.”
A ton of bricks lifts from my chest. Rust likes me as I am. He likes me how I like myself, too.
“Twirl for me, will ya?” he asks, tone thick with desire.
I do and he whistles. In a flash, he’s out of the shower and right in front of me, dripping wet. The soapy foam slides off his heaving chest, revealing a faded tattoo above his heart.
I let out a startled yelp.
It ain’t just any old tattoo. It spells ‘Tally’ with a little heart at the end of the letter ‘y’ and it looks like a more scribbled, unsteady version of my autograph signature.
Rust follows my gaze. With a chuckle, he takes my hand, pressing the tips of my shaking fingers to the spot where the ink marks his skin.
“Is that…?” I start, unable to finish the question.
“Your handwriting, yeah. From those autograph attempts you practiced in our songbook before our very first real gig in Nashville.”
I trace the lines. “This is an old tattoo.”
“Got it on the way back home after we separated. Guess all my cards are on the table now, huh? And you thought wearin’ our wedding ring was bold.”
I have a million questions. Why would he break up with me and then tattoo my name above his heart like an eternal mark of ownership?
“Would you rather go downstairs and talk about it? I can dry off,” he suggests gently.
No, I promised myself I wouldn’t ask. Ipromised myself it didn’t matter anymore and I don’t want to complicate things more than they already are.
My fingers caress the short hair on his chest. “Let’s not dredge up the past.”
“Then let me at least say this…” He leans his forehead against mine, drops of water trickling from his hair onto my face. “I was always proud to tell the world who stole my heart and that’s why I got the tattoo.”
My thoughts fade into smoke leaving only primal need behind, coiling around me like a serpent and swallowing me whole.
