I lean over him so I can see what I’m doing and get to work. As much as possible, I avoid tugging or moving his arm, mindful that the fractures on this side haven’t healed yet. Darrel grimaces in pain every now and then, but otherwise stays still.
Finally, after a few minutes of unhurried unwrapping and careful unsticking of the bandage where it’s stuck, the second tattoo is revealed. Much bigger than the rose, this one wasn’t as lucky. A nasty, albeit clean-healing wound, has encroached on the intricate design, without ruining it, though. Inked into Darrel’s arm is a pair of hands cupping a glowing octagonal gemstone. The tattoo straddles his biceps and the other muscle… what’s it called… the triceps?
“Correct,” he says. “You’re looking at the triceps.”
Oh no, not again!
He’ll think I’m seriously crazy. Which I am, and I take two kinds of meds for that, but I don’t want him to look at me and think, “She’s unstable.” Of all the people I’ve ever met, not him.
I let my arms fall in exasperation. “Normally, this happens only once or twice a month. Not multiple times in the space of a few hours!”
Too demeaned and disgusted with myself to look him in the eye, I take out my phone once again and snap several pictures for future viewing.
“What’s the meaning of this tattoo?” I ask, my eyes on the inkwork.
“It’s a medieval sigil that’s always been popular with the military. It represents a treasure worth hiding from the world.”
I shoot him a heavy-lidded look. “Next you’ll tell me you were in the military before you became a knight.”
He gives me a lopsided what-can-I-say shrug.
I find myself yearning to touch him. All over.
Dammit, Darrel!How can a man be so severely injured yet so hot?
“What do you think?” he asks. “Could this tattoo be the mark?”
“Out of the three, that would be my bet.”
“Why?”
I start wrapping up his left arm. “Didn’t you say it symbolizes a hidden treasure?”
“Indeed.” He frowns. “But there must be a stronger link than the mere fact your parents had been hiding theirs from the world, even from you.”
“True.”
“Ideas?”
I work my way up his arm, doing my best to cause him as little discomfort as possible. “What if… What if your medieval military symbol is linked to their cult? What if it was painted or etched on their stolen talisman?”
He grins, bright-eyed. “You’re smart, you know? Very, very smart!”
I nearly dissolve into a puddle of delight there and then. Panicking at my reaction, I return my focus to the bandage. When I’ve finished and pinned the tip, I help Darrel slide his arms into the sleeves of the T-shirt and then get it over his head. Without asking permission, without even making a conscious decision to do it, I smooth the fabric over his shoulders and torso, dragging my fingertips along his frame. Borderline stroking him.
I’m so turned on!And not only by what I see or touch. The clean scent of laundry from Darrel’s T-shirt mingled with a titillating hint of fresh perspiration, wreaks havoc on my senses. The perspiration isn’t mine. I know how I smell when I break a sweat. This one is different, masculine.
Was it the nerves from removing and putting back the bandages that caused him to sweat a little? Or was it… my touch?
You’re flattering yourself, Stella!He thinks you’re a kid. And a weird one at that.
I ease his left arm into the sling. He explains that it needs adjusting to relieve the pressure on his shoulder and arm. My heart pounds once again as my hands move over his body, carefully adjusting the straps so that they fit snugly and provide plenty of support without causing discomfort.
It’s a mundane task, but it feels intimate.Small surprise!I must be the only twenty-two-year-old virgin in all France. My sexual experiences are limited to some Internet porn I’ve watched in secret and became grossed out every time. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I wasn’t interested or ready until I turned seventeen. And by then, I’d already had my fit of madness with tragic consequences.
I received the rest of my schooling from home. Apart from my parents, Gaby and the Bauds, I’ve stayed away from people as much as possible for the past six years so I wouldn’t unwittingly give myself away. When you live like that, opportunities to pop one’s cherry don’t exactly line up.
As for Philippe… Before he proposed, we’d never dated. We’d never even considered it. We were friends without the “benefits.” Now we’re friends who go on dates, hoping that, with time and patience, the attraction will come.
