Branded as Trouble (Rough Riders #6)(4)

“Thanks.” Colt popped the pills and took a big drink. The second gulp left him sputtering and water droplets clung to the bristle on his cheeks.


Without thinking, she wicked the moisture away with her fingers.


“God. Your hands are so cold.”


“Sorry.” India moved her hand but Colt caught her wrist.


“Don’t stop. It feels good.”


“It does?”


“Yeah. My face is on fire.”


When she stroked his face, from his forehead to his chin, he expelled a long sigh. India couldn’t tear her eyes away from how Colt’s sharp facial features contrasted with his full lips. For the longest time she just touched him, studying him, sort of like she was seeing him for the first time.


Finally, he said, “You’re quiet.”


“You sound surprised.”


“I am. You’re never quiet.”


“True.”


“So talk to me.”


“About?”


“Anything.”


“Think you’ll be better by meeting night?”


“Talk to me about anything but A.A.” He shifted his position.


“Tell me about the last tattoo you did.”


“Nothing too exciting. Another college girl bringing in a Chinese symbol her friend had found online that ‘means’ something significant.”


“In other words…”


“Complete and total bullshit. For all I know—and all she knows—I could’ve tattooed the Chinese symbol for outhouse above her butt.”


Colt laughed softly.


Encouraged by his laughter, she kept talking. “A couple days ago a big, burly biker came in and wanted a bumblebee done on each thigh above his kneecaps.”


“Why?”


“In an outburst of passion, some hot chick swore he was the


‘bees knees’ so he demanded the moment be forever immortalized on his hairy skin.”


“You’re kiddin’ me.”


“Of course I’m kidding. Damn, you’re gullible, McKay.”


He gave her a droll look. “Gullible ain’t a word that’s ever fit me, Indy.”


“I don’t imagine it has.” She placed her palm on his cheek.


During the three years Colt belonged to A.A., he’d told her some of the things he’d done while drunk or high or both. Granted, his past was tame compared to the shit she’d pulled, not that she’d shared the worst of it with anyone and she suspected he held secrets pretty close to his incredible chest too.


“I hate it when you look at me like that,” he said.


“Umm. Like what?” Like I wanna lick you up one side and down the other?


“Like I’m a lab rat.”


India let her thumb arc over his cheekbone. “Not a lab rat. A guinea pig.”


“Great. That’s so much better.”


“I sketched a new tattoo design I’d like to try on you.”


“Yeah? Maybe once my ass is healed you can turn the puncture wound into one of them cool, fake bullet holes you see on motorcycles and pickup tailgates.”


“Please. I’m an artiste. I have something way better in mind.


Something hip-fun-sexy-cool.”