Would he?

“Arm cuffs and barbed wire are pretty typical,” he replied, automatically flexing his bicep and wrist where one of each resided.

Her lashes fluttered as she glanced from the tribal band to the barbed wire and back. Then she reached to touch each with the fingertips of both hands-her left hand on his right wrist, her right hand on his left bicep.

“Yes, but very few people can pull them off as well as you do.”

Before he could ask for clarification on that statement, she lifted her gaze to meet his. “I thought about using your name.”

The emerald green of her eyes distracted him and he frowned as it took a second for her words to sink in. When they did, his stomach tightened and oxygen got stuck in his lungs.

His name branded in indelible ink somewhere on her body. Marking her forever as belonging to him.

He’d had no idea she’d considered such a thing… no idea she’d considered getting a tattoo at all.

On the one hand, he’d never pictured his pure, perfect Jenna marring her flesh with body art of any kind. Single ear piercings had seemed like plenty of decoration for her, and he’d never thought she needed-or wanted-more.

But on the other… Christ, the very thought of her letting herself be imprinted with his name, not only willingly, but happily… Of her cheerfully walking around with a label that told the world she belonged to him…

Even if it wasn’t easily visible while she was dressed, she would know it was there. He would know it was there.

A stab of unadulterated pleasure and possession jolted through him, sending his heart thudding in his chest, blood slogging through his veins, and his balls tightening with desire.

He wanted to kiss her right here and now, then drag her off to the nearest tattoo parlor and see that she indeed had his name branded on her body before the night was over.

As it was, his grip had tightened on her arm and his shorts were tenting in a manner that couldn’t be missed, not even by a blind woman.

But Jenna didn’t act as though she noticed his physical reaction to her nearness or the confessions she was making one after another this evening. She simply continued to caress the lines of black ink on his wrist and bicep.

“Did I ever tell you how much I loved that you were a cop, too?” she asked in the same soft tone she’d been using since he’d placed her on the bed and tried unsuccessfully to walk away. “I was always so proud to know you were out there upholding law and order, helping people and keeping the community safe.” A shimmer of sadness flashed across her face, but was quickly swallowed up by the small smile she forced to her lips. “It made me feel safe and protected.”

The sexual heat that had been warming his blood by slow degrees over the last several minutes moved to his solar plexus and started to transform into an uncomfortable burning sensation.

All he’d ever wanted was to keep her safe. And according to her, she’d felt safe with him.

So how the hell could things have spun so far out of control? How could they have been married for three years, yet he’d never known she’d secretly wished for a tattoo-something as personal and distinctive as his name, no less? Or that she’d not only approved of but admired his choice of career.

Had she kept herself closed off from him so that he couldn’t have been aware of these things? Or had he been the world’s biggest idiot?

He suspected it was the latter. At the very least, he felt like an idiot. Like a man coming out of a decade-long coma to find that everything around him was strange and altered, and that life had moved on without him.

Was it possible that if he hadn’t been such a fool, his relationship with Jenna might have turned out differently?

His gut said no. Just because he’d been clueless about a couple of things didn’t mean there weren’t still huge chasms of opposing opinions separating them. But she did have him reconsidering some of his previous trains of thought, some of the decisions he’d made and the beliefs behind them.

He raised a hand to stroke her hair, letting the soft black strands sift through his fingers. “All I ever wanted was to keep you safe,” he told her in a rough whisper.

It wasn’t easy for him to admit such a thing, not when he’d spent their entire courtship and marriage-hell, his entire life-being the strong, silent type. But if she could share some of the stuff closest to her heart tonight, in this dark, tiny room in her aunt’s big old farm house, then so could he.

She leaned in, resting her torso against his chest and bringing her face so close to his own, he could feel her breath dusting his cheeks.

“You did. I was never afraid when you were around. Or when you were gone, because I knew you were out there fighting the good fight, and that if I needed you, you’d be there in a millisecond.”

“Faster,” he said past the lump growing in his throat.

She smiled at that, a gentle, angelic smile that reached her eyes and sent them sparkling. “Faster.”

Relaxing across his upper body, she trailed her fingers around to the nape of his neck and toyed with the hair that was just beginning to grow out. Her touch tickled all the way down his spine.

Barely above a whisper, she murmured, “I always knew you’d be there for me if I was ever in danger, if anything was ever wrong.”

He heard the pain in her voice, the words left unspoken, and felt a stab of guilt. “But you didn’t think I was there for you the rest of the time, did you? For the everyday stuff.”

In response, her lashes fluttered in a slow blink, her teeth nibbled her lower lip, and then she nodded.

His chest squeezed. Shit. He’d been such a fool. He’d screwed up their marriage in ways he was just now beginning to understand, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. It was too late. The divorce was final and had been for more than a year. She was lost to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the words grating as he forced them past a throat gone raw with emotion.

Her breathing hitched and a sheen of tears brightened her beautiful green eyes. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

And then she surprised him by covering his mouth with her own.

Purl 12

Gage’s lips were warm and soft and reminded her of a thousand nights spent in his arms.

It should have mattered that they were divorced and had no business being in bed together.

It should have mattered that she’d taken advantage of him last night and he’d since vowed to stick to her like glue until he knew whether she was pregnant or not.

It should have mattered that kissing him, caressing him, making love to him would be the mother of all mixed signals.

It should have, but it didn’t.

She didn’t want to think about any of that right now, not when she was feeling more comfortable and content than any time in recent memory.

He let her kiss him, remaining perfectly still beneath her. His palms cupped her elbows, holding her in place, and his chest rose and fell against her, but he didn’t deepen the kiss, didn’t sit up and take over. Instead, he allowed her to run the show, kept his mouth slack while she nipped and licked and explored.

Oh, how she loved this man. It was like being a diabetic and having an overwhelming craving for chocolate éclairs, but knowing if she ate one, it might kill her.

Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.

It wasn’t better, it was worse. So much worse, because now she knew what she was missing.

For this moment, though, she could have it again.

Last night had been wonderful, but it had been rather one-sided. This time, he was wide awake and would not only be a willing participant, but an active one.