But with this woman it was different. She was not fragile or shy. She was not coy. She wore her sexuality openly. She was the kind of woman a man could be an equal with.

He liked that a great deal.

“Is the other tattoo on your cock?”

He barked a laugh. “Fuck no. I like my cock too much to let anyone jab it with a needle.”

It was her turn to laugh. “Good. Cock tattoos are not hot. You, on the other hand are very, very hot.”

“The other tattoo is on my thigh. A small one. I’m thinking of getting it covered.”

“Your ex-wife’s initials? Wedding anniversary?”

“Am I that transparent?”

“No. But you don’t seem the type to get tweety bird on a weekend bender or whatever. So if you wanted to remove it or cover it, I figure it’s something you don’t want to be reminded of anymore.”

“I nearly said it was Yosemite Sam. But then I didn’t think I could keep a straight face. It’s our wedding date. She got one too, though I imagine she’s covered it. At first I left it there to remind me of my mistake. Now it’s just numbers inked into my skin.”

He put his shirt back on and she made a little disappointed sound that brought a smile again.

“What’s the star for?”

“I liked it.”

“I like stars.” She pulled her shirt up and he saw the smattering of stars across her belly and up her side.

“I like yours better.”

“Good to know.”

The kitchen timer began to ding and with a sigh he turned. “Dinner’s ready.” 

“You’re a pretty good cook.” Truth be told, she’d sort of expected him to have a cook who also cleaned and took care of him.

“Carrie and I learned a lot together. She’s better than I am. Mainly because my mother insisted Carrie be taught to run a household.” He snorted.

“You disagree?”

“My mother’s perspective is that it’s a woman’s duty. Mine is, she should know because she’s a person who will be an adult on her own.”

He was a surprise. Not that she wasn’t around men who would raise their daughters to be independent women, but he clearly came from an established, moneyed family. She knew through Erin that the family matriarch was all about position in the community and all that jazz. But her sons, the two eldest anyway, were pretty open.

She nodded. “She’s going to college so she’ll need to know how to cook.”

“Only so much Cup o’ Noodles she can eat.”

It made her smile to imagine him eating from a little foam cup. “Was that your college mainstay?”

“I had a roommate whose dad owned a restaurant. The guy was pretty amazing in the kitchen. I have to admit I ate pretty well in college. Law school involved a lot of takeout and peanut butter sandwiches though.” He watched her with greedy eyes. “Can you cook?”

She shrugged. “I do all right. I have my few go-to meals. Spaghetti, tacos, soup. Nothing overly complicated. Erin, now she can cook.”

“But she can’t do tattoos.”

He was a flatterer, Jonah Warner. And he knew just exactly what to say to get to her. It wasn’t calculated in any way. Which only made it more powerful.

“She can’t. But the rock star, two husbands, great kid, lots of money part gets her through.”

He laughed. “How long have you known her?”

“Erin? Fourteen, nearly fifteen years now.”

“Where did you grow up? I keep getting a little bit of Southern from you.”

She tried to remain relaxed. It wasn’t as if she never spoke about her personal life. Within limits. “Arkansas.”

“Really? Where?”

She’d told people about Happy Bend, but this man . . . well, he got under her skin. Telling him this thing gave him power of a sort. She wasn’t altogether sure if she wanted that.

“Small town in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, now that I’ve seen your back I think either of the first two designs would work really well. The others all would with some editing. But the tattoo on your shoulder would impact how I’d wrap a few of them.”

“You’re mysterious.”

She snorted. “Not so much.”

“If not, then tell me the name of the town.”

She raised a brow. “You really don’t like to be thwarted, do you? The thing is, even though you’re ridiculously handsome and you kiss like you’d be really good in bed, I’m not going to be goaded like I’m in grade school.” Not that she’d ever been much of a normal grade-schooler anyway.

“And to think you said I was a handful.”

“Well, we all have our crosses to bear.”

“So tell me something. Anything.”

He was so ridiculously charming she couldn’t resist.

“My favorite color is purple.”

“Mine is green.”

“I bet it looks awesome on you.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Your eyes and hair, the sort of tawny skin tone . . . it would work with a deep green.”

“What color are your panties?”

She grinned as she took a sip of her beer. “Who says I’m wearing any?”

He choked.

“Black. Wearing underpants with trousers or jeans is sort of mandatory in my personal rule book.”

“There you go, cutting into my fantasy.”

“Are we pretending I won’t make your fantasy reality?”

He got serious as he looked her over so closely she had to fight back a blush.

Her shrug aimed at nonchalance but most likely failed. “I don’t play games when it comes to sex.”

Usually she said it calmly, but just then he made her feel defensive. Well, no, defensive wasn’t the right word. Like she needed to declare it with her chin jutted out. Or something.

“You don’t? Well, there goes that fantasy.”

She laughed, relaxing.

“Well, there are games and there are games. I like what I like. I’m an adult. I think it’s a waste of time to pretend we aren’t sexually attracted to each other when we are.”

His gaze went hooded.

“All right. I can get on board with that. I want you.”

Heat and cold washed over her. Which was silly. She wasn’t a virgin by any stretch of the imagination. But this sort of desire left her breathless. Giddy. She wasn’t used to this. A slow heat sure. She’d felt that with Brody Brown for a very long time. He was an attractive man who cared about her, and that had been comforting as well as exciting. But this man . . . well. He wasn’t the long, slow dance that men like Brody Brown were. This man was intense. He stole her breath.

Being so out of sorts and off balance wasn’t something she did well.

Then again, she had no intention of leaving, so to pretend otherwise was ridiculous.

“And I want the Celtic design one. Circles. I like that.”

She would have chosen that one in his place as well. He was a warrior type. Big and braw. Smart. Good lord, she could see the intelligence and cunning in his gaze. Like a wolf, she supposed.

“Nice choice.”

“I feel vindicated that you agree.”

“It’ll look good on you.”

“Why do I get the feeling you’d never allow otherwise?”

“I like my work. I like my reputation. If I cut corners or got sloppy, I’d have neither.”

“That . . . and I think you’re a control freak. Have you ever given any thought to releasing that control?”

His voice had gone low and silky and it sent a shiver through her.

“Are you going to try to convert me now?”

He laughed, but there was more than simple amusement there. This was foreplay.

“I suppose I’d like to show you my idea of heaven.”

Good lord.

“Do I have to read your pamphlet now? I like candy on Halloween. I like to dance. I particularly enjoy premarital sex.”

He stood, stacking her empty plate on his before carrying them to the sink. “In my religion, you can have all the candy, dancing and sex with me that you can stand.”

“Hm. Well, perhaps conversion is something worth considering.”

“First things first. Tattoos.”

He got such a smug expression she was torn between amusement and annoyance. Men. “It’s probably going to take at least two sessions, maybe three. Your design has a lot of shading. Just the outlining alone will take several hours. I can do it here if you like. Or you can come to my place or the shop.”