Hold on, was that a pickup line?Are we flirting?
No, silly!He isn’t flirting with me. He’s reminding me about his plea that I call his friend.
Finally, the shirt is off. For a moment I just stare at him in silence.
His tanned skin glistens in the light of the ceiling fixture. His muscular form speaks of strength. At the same time, he looks vulnerable with his arms bandaged.
And, God help me, so hot!Literally. The warmth radiating from his body envelopes me snugly, like my duvet upstairs. Only my duvet doesn’t make my knees weak. Nor does it smell like him. All man. A man I’d love to be my first.
Oops!That was a totally unsanctioned thought. I didn’t mean it. I’m engaged to Philippe. As soon as I’m over our friendship and feel drawn to him, he’ll be my first and only man.
“Can you see the birthmark?” Darrel asks.
My face feels hot. My breath catches in my throat. My “yes” sounds like a hiss.
He looks over his shoulder in a slow, careful way that reminds me he’s still in a good deal of pain.
“Yes,” I repeat. “I can see it very well.”
“What do you think?”
You’re magnificent.
I swallow hard. “It’s a small, oval, misshapen mark, light brown. Nothing to write home about.”
“Sounds about right.”
Well, that’s it, then. Except I’m not ready to walk away from the mesmerizing sight. To give myself an excuse to ogle his back a little longer, I take out my phone and snap a series of pics.
“Just in case,” I say.
“Want to see the tats now?”
With my eyes glued to the expanse of his back, I part my lips. “Yes, please!”
STELLA
Darrel’s lips quirk with a suppressed smile. “I’m afraid I’ll need your help again.”
My gaze travels to the blankets covering the bottom half of his body.
“To remove the…”—I gasp before exhaling an openmouthed breath—“the pants?”
“It’s more of a DIY kilt, actually.” He chuckles. “With two broken legs, the splints, and the bandages, it makes your parents’ job easier.”
“Of course.” I round him, standing by his legs.
“The tattoos are on my arms,” he says. “So, the kilt and the blankets can stay.”
“Oh.” If I hadn’t given him the impression I was a half-wit earlier, then I’m sure he’s convinced of it now.
He extends his right arm, propping the back of his hand on the mattress. “Let’s start with this one.”
I sit down and try to calm my breathing.
“The tattoos are on the biceps,” Darrel says. “We’re lucky your mom bandaged my arms from the wrists up.”
“How much will I need to unwrap?”
