He’d had the tattoos professionally redone not long ago, no color, just dark indigo against suntanned skin. She wasn’t exactly sure what the tattoos were of, because he refused to let her see them up close. At some point during the night she’d left the light on in the bathroom and now it filtered through, and she could make out scales, talons, and possibly a fish on his left arm. It was early. He was asleep—exhausted after hours of lovemaking. Sometimes it was as if they were trying to make up for all the years they’d missed. Other times it was as if they were cramming a lifetime of loving into a few short weeks. She’d come to his bed every chance she’d got over the past month. There were moments when she thought he was going to turn her away, but he hadn’t done so yet. He was getting a little less reserved around her, starting to trust her more, but he still wasn’t willing to bring their relationship out into the open. Like most cowboys Cal was stubborn, and like most horses he could be led, but he sure as heck couldn’t be pushed.
