“Stop being such a baby, McCrae,” I say, sticking my ring finger up at him. “I don’t even feel a thing.” Of course, that’s a lie because as I move my finger around, pain shoots through my hand.
Snorting, Wyatt gives my thigh a squeeze, but I stop his fingers before he can go any further. “Really, Ky?” At first I think he’s referring to me not letting him touch me, but then he grins and dips his head toward my new tattoo. “That little thing took all of thirty minutes.”
It may have, but I can still tell from the look in his eyes how thrilled he is that I’ve finally gotten Brad’s last name wiped away from my body for good.
As I slide out of bed, Wyatt gives me one of those lingering looks that just makes me want to crawl back in and bury myself under the covers with him for the rest of the day. Taking a deep breath, I move my head slowly from side to side. “Don’t you dare look at me like that,” I warn. “Phoenix, remember?” I bend over my bag and grab a change of clothes, feeling his eyes skim up my bare legs.
“Oh, I didn’t forget Phoenix. I’m just trying to figure out if you’re wearing panties right now.”
Tucking my change of clothes under my arm, I lift the hem of my oversized tee shirt to show him that I am in fact wearing underwear. He flicks his tongue over his lip piercing as if I’m not. “We don’t have to be in Phoenix until—”
Since I’m already making my way into the restroom, I wave him off. “Get the hell up already.”
He doesn’t actually get out of bed until I come out of the shower, and I’m not surprised when he corners me in the bathroom. Instead of trying to convince me to keep my clothes off, he comes up behind me to help snap the closures of my delicate pink bra.
“I f**king hate Victoria’s Secret,” he murmurs when he fastens the last hook. He walks around my body, his palm skimming around my waist as he does so. When he kneels down in front of me, my breath catches, but then he reaches past me onto the sink and grabs my underwear.
“But they have such pretty things,” I tease.
“Yeah, but for me it’s torture.” He strokes the outside of my foot, and I step into the pink panties he holds out for me. He glides them up my smooth legs carefully, stopping just once to touch his lips to the inside of my thigh. I gasp, and then he gently tugs the flimsy fabric into place. “The worst type of torture imaginable.”
“Sorry I can’t just go around commando all the time, babe.”
Examining me for a long time, he finally lets out a low noise. “Hurry up and finish getting dressed before I rip those off of you and f**k you right here.”
Cocking my eyebrow, I back away from him slowly, feeling the heat from his gaze as I grab my clothes from the hook behind the door. I shrug into them quickly, and he groans as I wiggle my hips a little to slide my jeans up.
“You’re f**king killing me, beautiful,” he says, pulling me to him by my belt loops.
“You should get dressed.” Running my fingers along the elastic of his boxers, I slide my tongue over my lips. “By the way, you need to be more careful with all the ripping of the clothes. I’ve started to keep a mental note, and I’m billing your ass when we get to L.A.” I let the elastic snap against his waist, and he sucks in a breath through his teeth.
“Bill me all you want. As long as we get to f**k in the dressing room.” If he’s trying to make me blush, he succeeds. He grins as he turns on the faucet, and I leave the bathroom quickly before he has a chance to try and talk me into the shower with him.
With all this talk about ripping underwear and banging in dressing rooms, chances are I’d take him up on it.
As soon as he’s finished, he dresses in a black tee shirt that will hide any bleeding ink and a pair of dark, relaxed jeans. Cupping my face between his hands, he kisses me before tucking his hand into my back pocket. “You look beautiful, Ky,” he tells me as we leave the hotel and walk to the same restaurant Heidi and I ate breakfast at yesterday.
Just before we step through the restaurant door to join Heidi and Cal, I lift my gaze to his. “So do you.”
Once we’re seated, I order the same thing as before, the western omelet, and promise myself that I’ll actually enjoy my breakfast no matter who calls me. In fact, if my phone does ring, I’ll send whoever it is directly to my voicemail.
Cal and Heidi are in deep conversation about something, but when I lift my coffee mug to my lips, he pauses. “What the hell is that on your finger?” From the way he’s narrowing his brown eyes at the bandage, you’d think he didn’t have a dozen tattoos of his own.
I take a sip of my coffee before answering him. The steaming liquid burns the tip of my tongue and, shooting Heidi an apologetic look, I grab her orange juice and take a giant sip in hopes that it will cool my mouth. Once I’m able to speak without slurring my words, I say, “New tattoo.”
Despite being on the opposite side of the table, Heidi bends as close to me as she can, examining the clear wrapping around my finger. Her eyes widen, and she blurts out, “Jesus, Ky, did you two get married last night?”
Beside of her, Cal chokes on his unsweetened tea and garbles something incoherent.
Before either of them have a meltdown in the middle of the restaurant, I jump to correct Heidi’s assumption. “I can promise you that we’re definitely not married.” I glance over at Wyatt, whose shoulders are shaking from laughter, but something flashes in his midnight blue eyes.
Curiosity.