breath in her body would Ryan end up somewhere like that. And honestly? It really bothered her that Colton even suggested it. He couldn’t possibly know what he was talking about, so it would have been better for him not to chime in.
“Verity, I’m talking about a nice place where he can live with—”
“Nice?” she said, drawing back her feet and sitting up primly. “Places like that don’t exist.”
“Of course they do.”
“You’re talking about locking up my brother like . . . like an animal, like a burden, like—”
“No. I would never suggest that. I just think—”
“Think what? What do you know about it anyway?” she snapped.
Instantly remorseful, she bit her upper lip, chagrined by her meanness when Colton had been nothing but kind. When she looked up at him, she rubbed her forehead and tried to soften her expression. “Hot button.” She took a ragged breath and sighed, trying for a small, conciliatory smile. “New subject?”
Though it looked like he had more to say, he nodded.
“Sorry, again,” she said softly.
He shrugged like her outburst didn’t bother him. “It’s okay.”
A small, awkward silence stretched out between them for a few minutes before he asked, “What else do you want? For you, not your brother.”
“Hmm,” she hummed, cutting another piece of meat and feeling relieved that he was trying to get their conversation back on track. “More steak.”
“Steak?” His grin returned—small but still there—and it made her happy, made it easier to put their patch of unpleasant conversation behind.
“I love it when you smile.”
“Only two people in the world make me smile, you know.”
She cocked her head to the side, trying to decide if he was being serious. “I’m one?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And who else?”
“Melody.”
Her heart lurched, but she worked to keep her voice even. “Who’s that?”
Colton took a sip of wine. “Remember before? The family member I mentioned who has seizures?”
“That’s Melody?”
His smile faded a little. “My cousin.”
“Your cousin,” said Verity, laying her fork and knife on her almost-empty plate and pushing it aside. She rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward, closer to him. “I’m staying in her room, right?”
He nodded.
“How old is she?”
“Four years younger than me,” he said. “Twenty-four.”
“Same as me. And her parents?”
“My aunt and uncle passed away.”
“I’m sorry,” said Verity. “She has epilepsy?”
He stared at her hard for a moment. “She has seizures, yes.”
“Before, when you mentioned a family member who’d had a seizure, I just assumed that she was older. Like a grandmother.”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Are you close to her?”
He dropped her eyes, taking another sip of his wine. “Yeah. We don’t have any other family around here.”
“Is she married? Any kids?”
“No. And no.” Colton looked up at her, his expression unreadable. His next question made it clear that he wanted the conversation to move on from Melody. “What else do you want?”
“I want to see one of your tattoos,” she said softly.
In the soft light cast by the twinkle lights overhead, he took his lower lip between his teeth and grinned at her, his eyes just about twinkling too.
“What if I told you they’re all in inappropriate places?”
She lowered her chin and leaned closer.
“I’d ask how many you have.”
“Three.”
She let her eyes dip to his lap, then slowly trail up the crisp white front of his dress shirt, pausing at his throat, again at his lips, and lingering on his eyes.
“I’d say you’re big, but I’m not sure there’s enough real estate on the inappropriate places for three tattoos.”
His grin widened. “You haven’t seen my inappropriate places, baby.”
She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “That’s true.”
A new current of awareness snapped and sizzled between them. Tension. Attraction. Want. Need.
Suddenly he stood up and stepped over the bench he’d been sitting on. He backed up until he was standing at the edge of the patio with his hands on his hips, facing her, in full view.
“You really want to see one?” he asked.
“I do.”
His hands slid from his hips to his belt buckle, which drew her eyes to his crotch. Behind the denim of his jeans, she thought she saw the outline of a fairly significant bulge, but it was hard to tell in the twilight shadows. Still . . . her mouth watered. He cleared his throat, and she jerked her eyes up to meet his.
“See anything you like?” he asked, his voice hot and low.
“Maybe,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush with heat. Lord, but he knew how to fluster her with a few words. “But if showing me a tattoo means taking