Page 18 of Courting Danger

I noticed the design before but hadn’t given it much thought. A tattoo was a choice, so it hadn’t seemed as important as the remnants of unwanted injuries. However, now that I got a closer look, my interest was piqued.

Pairs of identical boots were arranged in a ring around Garrison’s right biceps. Each boot pair had a rifle sticking up from the center, and a helmet balanced on top of the gun.

This time, Garrison did open his eyes, though his gaze stayed rooted on the wall.

“It’s a battlefield cross. They mark soldiers that have been killed.”

It was then that I noticed a name on the side of one of the guns written in barely visible font. Checking the other guns, I found different names in the same places.

I wanted to know, but I couldn’t ask. Even if Garrison was willing to tell me, that was a level of intimacy we weren’t ready for.

Placing a quick kiss to the tattoo, I let the matter drop.

We lay in silence, listening to nothing but the sounds of our own breathing.

I was half asleep when an unexpected question from Garrison broke the quiet atmosphere.

“So, who is Valente to you? Because he seems to hate me, and if he’s going to be around a lot that could be a problem.”

Snapped out of my thoughts, I patted Garrison’s shoulder. “It’s not you. Valente was my father’s… is my father’s right-hand man. He’s loyal to my family and dislikes all outsiders. Pretty sure he’d hate me too if I didn’t have Russo blood in my veins.”

That seemed to shock Garrison. Not outwardly, the man’s face was a stoic and unreadable mask, but his body told a different story. Under my hand, the muscles of Garrison’s back tensed.

“Hate you? Why? If anything he seems protective of you.”

“Valente is protective of my family. Not me. He hates me because I’m gay. He’s never said it out loud, but he gets this look on his face every time my sexuality comes up.”

Garrison’s head rose up from his arms and he glanced at the space between our bodies. Or the lack of space, as it was.

“If he’s homophobic and protective of your family, then he’s really going to hate me. The gay stranger who seduced you into bed.”

The ridiculousness of such a statement gave me no choice. I had to retaliate with a kiss. It was a chaste exchange compared to our previous kisses. Our lips parted just enough for a quick slip of tongues before it ended.

“Pretty sure I’m the one who did the seducing.”

“I don’t think your man is going to see it like that.”

A shiver shot up my spine at the implication of Garrison’s words. “Don’t call Valente my man. It sounds weird. You’re my man. I hired you. You belong to me. Valente works for my father. That’s all.”

Garrison rarely let himself show big expressions. So, the smirk that lifted his lips, although small, was a maniacal grin by comparison.

“So, he’s your father’s man.”

The image that came to mind caused another shiver to spread over my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Stop it. You’re making it worse.”

Garrison opened his mouth to speak again, but I cut him off by kissing him. It was an idle exchange, not meant to incite anything more. One kiss led to two, and then three. Then the kisses bled together and weren’t worth counting.

Under the sheets, I rubbed my leg over Garrison’s calf, seeking comfort in the slide of skin against skin. My thigh brushed the edge of Garrison’s knee brace.

Like the tattoo, I’d also seen the brace before and dismissed it. Now it sparked my imagination.

Was it also the result of a combat injury?

Would Garrison ever tell me the stories behind all his scars?

The kiss continued, and I slid my hand down until it found one of the many scars decorating Garrison’s body. This one was shaped like a starburst and lay in the hollow of Garrison’s shoulder.

I loved these scars.

---