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Her mind flashed up the image of him with only a towel around his waist. No tattoos there. And she’d definitely taken the time to look. “You might have one on your butt.”

He smirked. “My cute butt.”

“But is it as cute as mine?” She asked playfully.

He gave her a long, steady, look. “Not even close.”

That constant hum of awareness she felt in his presence, fizzed into life. She liked him, was hugely attracted to him. If she wasn’t on the back of a third consecutive dumping, if she wasn’t grieving, her emotions raw, if she didn’t know he was only spending time with her because his best friend had asked him to, she’d have wanted to take the next step.

“What are you thinking?” He asked gruffly.

Her pulse picked up pace. “I’m thinking I like what you just said. And what would happen if I said something nice back to you.”

His Adam’s apple slid down his throat. “Like what?”

“Like the fact Pearl also mentioned your hands because we talked about them when we went over for that drink the other day.”

His gaze was steady on hers. “Go on.”

“She said they looked like they knew how to hold a woman.”

“I’m not interested in what Pearl thought.”

She’d never had a man’s eyes look so intensely into hers. It made her insides coil, tighten. “I thought I’d like to see your hands on me.” Unconsciously she licked her lips. “I’d like to feel what they could do.”

He groaned. A beat later one of those large hands disappeared beneath the table. The thought that he was maybe adjusting himself sent a wave of longing through her.

“This is dangerous talk, Anna.” His voice was a low rasp.

“I know.” She could barely breathe, her chest felt so tight. “It doesn’t stop me wondering.”

“Damn.” He blinked his eyes shut and dragged his free hand down his face—the hand not still hidden beneath the table.

She shook herself, trying to regain some sanity. Hadn’t she already put herself out there, admitted she wanted him to kiss her, only to be rejected? Now she was admitting she wanted his hands on her? “We should focus on what tattoos we’re going to get.”

“Yes.” His gaze dipped to the table but then zeroed back on hers. “But just so you know, I’d like to see my hands on you, too.” His voice lowered to a deep rumble. “I’d like to show you what they can do.”

Lust arrowed through her, a thick hot pulse between her legs. Even if she’d been capable of thought, of speech, she wouldn’t have been able to say anything because her tongue had lodged itself on the roof of her mouth.

“A tent.” Luke dragged a hand down his face. “Two figures round a campfire. That’s the tattoo I’m going to get.” Slapping both his hands on the table, he levered to his feet. She tried not to look at the roped veins of his forearms. “I’ll find us a place that’s free to do them while you have a think what you want.”

She watched him walk away, wide shoulders, trim waist. A backside she wanted to squeeze with her fingers. Dig into with her heels.

It was dangerous, like he said. But every day she found herself caring less about tomorrow, and more about today.

* * *

Sitting on the sofa in the waiting room of the tattoo shop, Luke flicked through the book of designs he’d been given even though he’d already decided on his. He’d thought about getting a tattoo a few times, but he’d never had a reason to go through with it, until now.

Anna elbowed him in the ribs. “How about this one?”

I’d like to feel your hands on me. He had never, in his life, felt the urge to lunge across a table and haul a woman onto his lap—until this morning.

“Luke?”

He focused his errant mind on the image she was showing him. “It’s nice.”

She pulled a face. “Is that all?”