His eyebrows danced up even higher, if that was possible, and his dimples cut even deeper into his cheeks when his grin turned into a full, blinding smile. Holy hell, was he pretty.
“Because I’m wearing what I wore to work all day. I’m covered in grease and grime. I was exhausted when I showed up, so nothing could have kept me on my feet. I’m not going to crawl into bed with you and get you all gross and nasty.”
I looked him over and didn’t find a single thing that I would consider either gross or nasty. “Take a shower and stay.” I hated that I sounded desperate and needy but they were honest emotions. Ones that seemed to be stronger than the fear that was always hovering right behind them. “Please, Wheeler. Stay.” He was wavering, I could see it in his eyes.
After a minute of silence, he caved. He gave his mahogany-topped head a shake and turned his gaze up to the ceiling. “All right, I’ll crash for tonight, but if it gets to be too much for you I’m moving to the couch.” He lifted up the dangling arm of his coveralls and let it fall. “I’m ditching these if I stay, Poppy. You sure you really want that?”
I felt my eyes widen and my heart kick hard at the uninvited image of him sprawled out across my bed wearing nothing but all of that ink and a smile. I swallowed hard and gave him a jerky nod. “I think it’ll be fine. I’m tired and it’s been a rough day. I’ll probably be asleep by the time you get out of the bathroom.” Lies. All of it lies. I’d never felt more awake and energized in my life.
He knew I was lying. I could tell by the smirk on his face and the way his shoulders shook with silent laughter. “Okay. I’ll be in shortly, then.”
I gulped and practically ran toward the bedroom. I had no idea what I thought I was going to do in there but it felt like I needed to get ready for some kind of momentous occasion. I remade the bed and noticed he had indeed gotten smudges of black on the light green fabric, but I really couldn’t have cared less. I liked seeing the smudges there. It was like he had left a mark, a sign that he was the first man I had let willingly into my bed, a reminder that he was the only one I woke up next to unafraid. I picked up a few stray articles of clothing that were tossed around, moved some of Happy’s toys out of sight, and generally made the place as presentable as I could now that he wasn’t dead on his feet and would notice that I tended to be kind of a slob when left to my own devices.
When there was no busy work left to be done, I dug through my purse for any kind of minty breath enhancer. I didn’t want to breathe bacon and eggs all over Wheeler, not that I assumed I would be close enough to share air with him. Still, I thought it was better to be safe than sorry.
Once that was done, I had no option left but to crawl under the freshly tucked covers and wait. I could hear my heartbeat thudding between my ears and couldn’t keep my limbs still. My arms moved over and under the comforter a hundred times while my legs thrashed and kicked like I was trying to swim to the side of a pool. I wanted to turn the lights off, to hide and pretend like I hadn’t been the one to set this all in motion, but then I would be in the dark, alone with my ghosts and demons, and that was exactly why I’d asked him to stay in the first place. He kept the monsters at bay.
I was silently calling myself all kinds of names and telling myself to grow up and act like an adult. I’d been married, for goodness’ sake, I’d been pregnant. Surely I could handle one night sharing a bed with a guy I was attracted to without falling apart.
That theory went up in smoke when the opposite side of the mattress suddenly dipped down and the scent of my shampoo and freshly washed man invaded every sense I had. I turned my head just as Wheeler was reaching over to click out the light that was on the nightstand and couldn’t stop the gasp that ripped from me at the sight of all that taut, colorful skin spread out before me.
He hadn’t just ditched the coveralls; the torn T-shirt was also gone, leaving him in nothing more than a pair of yellow boxer briefs. No boring white or black for Hudson Wheeler, he was full of color from head to toe. Even the red in his still-wet hair seemed brighter and more vibrant against the plain white pillowcase behind him. Looking at him was enough to cause a sensory overload, and when he asked me if I was okay all I could do was nod. He reached for the light again and the word “stop” rushed out from my lips before I could think about why I wanted him to leave the lights on.
The tattoo on the center of his chest was mountains; I would bet good money they were the Rockies. People born and bred in Colorado took an inordinate amount of pride in being local and native to the state. In the center of those intricately detailed peaks that matched the ones painted on his garage was a massive, angry, snarling wolf head. The ears were cocked; teeth were bared and blood dripped artfully and meaningfully in scarlet ink all the way down his torso. He had the word “Cadillac” and the famous logo that went with the car company tattooed across his stomach. Across his side, the one closest to me, he was inked in a manner that looked like all his skin was peeled and ripping away, only to reveal a complex network of gears and wires. It was meant to look like his insides were mechanical, like he was part machine, and it did. I noticed that one of his arms, the entire sleeve, all the way down to the tips of his fingers, matched that biomechanical design. Peeking out from either side at the top waistband of his boxer briefs were heavy, black designs that didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason. They matched each other perfectly and crawled up over his sharply defined abs like they were some kind of map to the promised land. There wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t have some kind of design or marking on it. It was all beautiful and my hands were reaching out to touch it before I stopped to consider that he was practically naked, in my bed, by my invitation, and that putting my hands on him might be construed as something more than utter fascination.
My fingers skimmed over the wolf and his entire body shifted and coiled tightly next to mine. I traced the line of dripping blood all the way down his sternum, stopping only when it turned into the petal of a realistic rose that hung below a scary-looking skull. I saw his body move, watched as the fabric of his underwear stretched and tightened, but I couldn’t stop touching. I wanted to memorize it all and learn the story behind every drop of ink.
“Why a wolf?” The eyes of the animal stared at me, angry and hostile. That was no house pet. Wheeler’s spirit animal was wild and feral.