Page 71 of Walking the Edge

“The bathroom light’s on.” Cath pulled her legs from between his.

“I’ll get it.” He spread the covers over her and washed up in the bathroom, eyeing her underthings on the towel rack. Next time he wanted the pleasure of peeling these off her lovely body.

In your dreams.

He turned off the light and crossed to the window. The velvety curtain rubbing his palm tempted him to forget everything but what had happened in the bed behind him, but he cracked the drapes. Once a Ranger, always a Ranger, and a Ranger lived up to his responsibilities.

From the other side of the glistening pavement, two guys watched the inn. He hadn’t thought anyone had seen Cath and him come into the B and B, but he could be wrong. He kept the men under surveillance long enough to see one of them stagger forward and clutch the pole holding up the balcony. Two drunks, not two drug dealers. Not two masked men.

“So that’s where it goes.”

Mitch looked over his shoulder. Cath sat up, the covers pulled up to hide the assets he’d devoured like a maniac. “What are you talking about?”

“The snake tattoo.”

She’d wondered? Warmth that had nothing to do with sex surged around inside him.

“You want a better view?” He climbed in beside her and turned his back.

The finger she stroked down the track of the tattoo sent his blood resurging. “I’ll bet there’s a story behind this.”

“I suppose.” He stretched his legs under the covers and pulled a pillow up behind his head.

“When did you get it?”

“Five years ago. After a mission. My buddies and I wanted to show we were badass enough to survive. Joker, Ace, Emerson.” Emerson’s name wound around his neck like an anaconda.

Keep the story simple. No need to mention the details. “It was sort of funny.”

He pulled the sheet taut and folded the top over the fluffy purple comforter. “The parlor had the usual: Mom, U.S. Army, eagles. My spotter was a major history nut. He wanted a tattoo like that colonial flag with the coiled snake.”

“‘Don’t tread on me’?”

He drew back to study her. “You know about that?”

“I took American history too.” Her blue eyes danced over his skin before she turned off her lamp. “It definitely makes you look tough.”

He slid down next to her again and wrapped an arm over her hip. “I wasn’t tough with you, was I?”

“No. You were very sensitive.”

He smiled. If she didn’t stop, he wouldn’t be able to pull his T-shirt over his head.

“You kept reading my mind. As to what I needed.” The warmth of her voice, her words, the feel of her body against his sent his blood into overdrive. They were good together.

Cold congealed in his veins, reminding him their being good together wouldn’t be enough.

Chapter 13

Cath climbed into the cab at the curb of the bed-and-breakfast. Bed anyway; she and Mitch had missed out on breakfast because they’d overslept. He had called the taxi immediately upon waking, and she hadn’t even had time to fill a go-cup with the courtesy coffee.

Now she had no rich aroma to bury her nose in and mask the stale smell of tobacco smoke infused in the cab’s upholstery.

“The weather’s supposed to be great for the parades today.” The driver set his meter running. “We’re not supposed to get another hard rain like last night’s anytime soon.”

Mitch got in beside her and gave the cabbie the approximate address. “A gray double cab about halfway down the Elysian Fields curb, but you can drop us on the corner.”

“Oh, sorry,” the driver said. “Thought you was in town for Mardi Gras. Being at the hotel and all. I got to tell ya, that whole area’s liable to be a tow-away zone this close to Carnival weekend.”

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