She’d never been sorry for the decisions she’d made, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t sometimes sorry about the way things had turned out. It was one of those fun little hiccups in life that left a person smack-dab between a rock and a hard place.

Sometimes, when she was feeling particularly alone and the silence of her apartment started to close in on her, she actually wished her split from Gage had been more dramatic. If they’d gotten into ear-splitting, window-shattering fights… If Gage had a drinking problem, or she’d put them thousands of dollars in debt with extravagant shopping sprees… Maybe if things had gotten physical and he’d slapped her or she routinely used his six-pack abs as a punching bag.

Then divorce might have been a blessing. Then she might have enjoyed her newly single lifestyle and been like one of those footloose-and-fancy-free Sex and the City girls, going out clubbing every night and sleeping with every random man who came down the pike just to prove she was in charge of her own sexuality.

But the truth was, Jenna didn’t want to be in charge of her own sexuality-not if it meant serial dating and sleeping around. And as much as she loved them, she didn’t want to spend every night in some bar sipping Cosmopolitans with Ronnie and Grace, either.

She wanted this. This, and what she’d had with Gage before things had started to go downhill.

The quiet comfort of being with a man she loved.

The feel of warm arms holding her tight, and another body taking up space in bed with her-sometimes snuggled close, sometimes simply causing the mattress to dip and sway and let her know she wasn’t alone.

The knowledge that somebody was going to be there when she got home at the end of a long day. Someone to ask how work had gone. Someone to kiss her cheek and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Someone to sit across the table from her while they ate dinner, or beside her on the couch while they watched the latest crime drama on TV.

If she told Gage any of that, though, he would think she was crazy. His immediate response would most likely be, So why the hell did you file for divorce in the first place? because he’d never really wanted or approved of the separation.

Her big problem at the moment, though, was how easy it was to forget all that when Gage was lying next to her, smelling so good and feeling like the best thing she’d ever had against her body.

Not counting the great sex from last night, of course.

Letting her eyes flutter open, she took in the broad expanse of his chest just beyond her cheek. His deep, even breathing and the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear lulled her.

Despite the tiny voice in her head telling her to keep her hands to herself, she slowly let her fingers drift along the outside curve of his pectoral muscle and up to his shoulder where orange-tipped flames shot from the mouth of the angry dragon.

“When did you get this?” she asked, reverently tracing the edges of the amazing artwork.

Gage’s skin twitched under her fingertips, but he didn’t move away.

“After the divorce,” he said a minute or so later.

She didn’t need to know that he’d started getting the new tat the day he’d signed the divorce papers. He hadn’t been sure what type of design he was going to get when he’d walked into the shop; he’d only known he wanted something big that was going to take a good, long time to apply.

A neck-to-hip dragon that covered nearly his entire back had certainly fit the bill. It had taken months to complete, but the pain and long hours spent in the chair had helped to drown out every other thought racing through his brain. And it was hard to feel the hurt in his heart when razor-sharp needles were tapping ink into his skin.

“I like it,” she murmured, not bothering to lift her head from his chest. Every word, every breath she took, reverberated against his flesh.

He’d have liked to say it didn’t affect him, but if she slid the leg that was draped across his thigh just a couple inches higher, she’d realize that everything she did had an effect on him.

The perfume she wore that was a unique blend of wildflowers and citrus.

The way she painted her nails with clear polish so that they held a bit of shine, but never covered them with color. And contrastly, the way she always kept her toenails painted bright red or pink.

The clothes she wore that were reminiscent of the flower-children fashions of the seventies, but looked a hell of a lot sexier on her. The flowing blouses with tight jeans, or the occasional prairie skirt with a snug top. He knew she could be self-conscious about her diminutive figure, but as far as he was concerned, she had just enough on top to set any man’s mouth watering.

The way she wore her hair-short and sassy, with just enough length for him to run his fingers through, to ruffle in the breeze, to tickle the inside of his thighs while she…

Yeah, um, better not to let his mind wander down that particular road or she wouldn’t need to shift her leg at all to notice what was happening with him south of the border.

It was everything about her-the big and the small, the significant and the trivial. That’s why, even after he’d put his John Hancock on those papers and they were officially divorced, he still hadn’t been able to stop himself from having her name very carefully, very subtly worked into the central design of the dragon’s body. So that no matter what choices she made, no matter what decrees were filed with the great state of Ohio, she would always be with him.

Always.

“Did I ever tell you how hot I think your tattoos are?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts. “Well, the two smaller ones, anyway, since you didn’t have the dragon while we were together. But I always thought they were very sexy, and I wished I had the courage to get one of my own.”

That surprised him. And sent his imagination running in all sorts of interesting directions. He could picture ink on Jenna. Something tiny and feminine on her ankle or hip or the swell of her breast.

The very thought heated his blood, had him thinking about getting her naked, and he figured he might as well give up on even pretending he wasn’t half-hard beneath his Fruit of the Looms.

Well, what the hell. She was stretched out beside him, curled around him, and didn’t seem to be all that concerned about keeping him at a distance, either literally or figuratively. Let her feel what she did to him and deal with the consequences.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure whether to hope those consequences kept her dressed and at arm’s length or got her naked and straddling him like she had last night.

“So what would you have gotten if you weren’t afraid of needles?” He didn’t ask where. He was afraid if she named one of those uber-sexy spots on her creamy flesh that he’d already envisioned, it would send him right over the edge.

“I’m not afraid of needles!” she exclaimed, sitting up slightly and turning to face him.

Even in the casual, sporty pajama set, she looked like a goddess. A pixie goddess with her lips tipped by a mischievous smile, but a goddess all the same.

“I just don’t like pain. And what if I go through all that, then decide in three years that I don’t really want a penguin on my ass?”

Gage raised a curious brow. “A penguin?”

Shrugging a shoulder, she said, “That was just an example. I was actually thinking of something more along the lines of a rose or a butterfly.” She wrinkled her nose. “But those are boring, aren’t they? I mean, everybody has rose and butterfly tattoos.”

His hand cupped her arm just above the elbow, his thumb brushing slowly back and forth of its own volition. It had to be of its own volition because he would never-not since their divorce, anyway-voluntarily stroke her skin in what might be construed as an intimate gesture.