awkward beneath him even though he’d been walking on them for more than thirty years now. Stumbling back, he settled his weight against the edge of his desk and studied her face.
She didn’t give him much chance to think anything through, though. A few seconds passed and then she lowered her gaze back to the tattoo on his chest. She didn’t touch the heart, though. Or the dagger. Her fingers sought out the A that he’d designed to hide in plain sight. The lines and curves of it were part of the design and if you looked at it, the right way, you’d see it. But if you weren’t looking, it was easy to miss.
Kind of like the way things were with him and Abby. She’d never seen it . . . because she hadn’t looked.
But so many others had seen it. He hadn’t been as able to hide it from them.
Swallowing the knot in his throat, he opened his mouth to try and force the words out as she trailed the tip of her nail along the A. “You’ve had this tattoo for a decade, Zach,” she murmured. “Ten years.”
She flicked a glance at him. “Walking around with a scarlet A on your chest for a long time there, pal. Somehow I don’t think it stands for adulterer,” she drawled.
He caught her wrist in one hand, twisted it back behind her as he searched her face. He saw something in her eyes, damn it. He knew he did. Under that glint of anger, yeah, he saw something. He thought he also saw uncertainty and nerves, but it was more than that.
The pictures, damn it.
“You know what it stands for,” he rasped, stroking his hand up her back and tangling it in her hair.
“Do I?”
He opened his mouth, closed it, tried to figure out just what he was supposed to say here. Damn it. This . . . damn it. He’d tried to picture this moment, but it hadn’t come because she’d sprung the damn thing on him. He’d planned it out. Practiced it. Had a nice, pretty little set of lines all laid out.
And he was standing here empty. With nothing.
Nothing . . .
Staring into her dark eyes, he pressed his brow to hers. “Abby . . . hell, I . . .” The words had been trapped inside him so long, trying to force them out now, when he knew it was actually time to let them out, was almost painful. He cleared his throat and then lifted his head, watching her face. Where to start? Hell. How did he tell her that he’d loved her forever?
Maybe by just doing that.
Sliding his hand down her neck, he rested it there. Instead of looking into her eyes as he spoke, he watched as he stroked his thumb along the smooth line of her collarbone. “You remember that day that jackass boyfriend of your mom’s tried to hurt you?” he asked softly.
She went tense. It wasn’t a moment she liked to think about, he knew. But this talk, it had to start there. He’d started hiding it then. If he was going to come clean, he had to start at the beginning.
“Yeah.” She reached up, gripping his wrist. “Zach, we need to talk about—”
“We are.” He dipped his head and buried his face against her neck, remembering that day. It was something that was still all too vivid for him. Way too vivid and he’d cut it out of his memory forever if he could. “I’d gone over there for a reason. I . . .”
He stopped and sucked in a desperate breath.
Abby stroked a hand up his back and then eased away, putting a few inches between them. Her hand touched his cheek and when she guided his face to hers, he couldn’t look away.
He’d hidden it long enough. Too damn long. “I was going over there to see if you’d go out with me,” he said gruffly. “Like a date. A real one. And then I walk in and . . .”
She stared at him. Her gaze blank, like she wasn’t following anything he’d said. Needing to get some distance before he did something stupid, like pounce on her or just fall to his knees and beg, he nudged her back and moved away, starting to pace. “I’d been crazy about you almost from the get-go. Mom and Dad thought it was sweet at first. Then they got worried. Then they adjusted. My brothers gave me shit about