Not her and Sean.
Cherry lifted her left arm around the back of her head, twisting her hair up into a makeshift bird’s nest. She stood examining him, lips slightly parted in contemplation.
A small smile crept over his face.
‘What?’ Her question came out as a whisper.
‘That’s a sexy look. You’re sending pheromones my way. Why are you shaking your head?’
‘Because the colour isn’t quite right. This one is more of a “summer” blue, and I’m not getting summer vibes from you.’
‘What vibes are you getting?’
‘Not sure yet, but I’m thinking “spring”. Shall we try one more?’
A heavy inhale from Sean, like this was getting to be painful. ‘If you want. I’m quite certain I’m a spring, though.’ He exhaled heavily and adjusted his jeans.
Catching a flicker of amusement on his face, she knew this was nothing to do with the colours.
‘Something in your jeans giving you a spring vibe?’
‘Aye. I might need an expert to sort it out.’ The need in him beckoned to her without a single word spoken.
Cherry dropped her hair, let it cascade down, closed the inches between them with a silent, barefoot step.
‘I’m an expert; how can I help?’
Softly, he considered her and the question. ‘You can start by taking this off for me. It’s the wrong shade of blue, and I can’t be seen in petrol when I’m a periwinkle guy.’
‘Mm-hmm.’ Cherry skirted her hand along the hem of the t-shirt, glancing across the thick cotton that clung to her husband’s body in all the right places. The blue might be wrong, but the fit was incredible the way it hugged his barrel-making arms, hung over those surfer’s abs. Cherry slid her hand under the hem, round to the small of Sean’s back, the curve and dip of the muscle there strong and fevered. She ventured her touch further up the geography of the body she hadn’t yet explored properly, like a foreign land in an atlas.
A land of hot plains and valleys of muscle.
Palm splayed on his back, she pulled him in, needing the closeness, their combined temperature far beyond tolerable already.
The whole time, he watched her.
Dropping her hand to the hem again, she tugged his t-shirt up as far as she could reach until he brought it over his head, letting it drop to the ground.
‘It really didn’t suit you.’ She trailed herfinger around the Celtic band tattoo on his wide, muscular arm. ‘This, though, is perfect; tell me about this.’
‘Mmm.’ Sean’s voice was low and deep like a loch. ‘It represents my family. You know, the love that wraps all the way around you.’
‘That’s lovely.’ Cherry was mesmerised by the beautiful artwork on his arms. ‘Which did you get done first?’
‘Hmm, there’s an ugly thistle right there.’ He cocked his head towards his bicep. ‘We don’t make the best decisions when we’re seventeen.’
‘Those decisions are you. I love them all.’
‘Thanks. There’s always room for you on here, when you’re ready.’
She shot her gaze to his. It was bold; it was tender; it was trademark Sean. It shouldn’t be a surprise, given that he’d married her after two days, but that he would get a tattoo for her, if only she said the word, rendered Cherry speechless.
The awkwardness flared between them for a moment or two before dissolving.
‘What about you?’ He ran his hands down her arms. ‘Tell me about your tat. The one on your back that I saw on poker night.’
Now this was taking things down a different route. Did she want to do this? ‘You might think it’s naff.’ Her chin dipped, coyly. ‘But it’s special to me. I’ll tell you if you promise not to laugh.’
