Filthy English (English #2) - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,43

and soft. I wanted to tell him the burden I carried, the horrible thing I’d kept from him.

He. Will. Destroy. You.

I snapped away from his hold and rubbed my arms, trying to make them warm at the sudden chill.

He watched me as I snatched the bottle of tequila, twisted open the cap, and took a giant swig. I passed it over to him with numb fingers. “Drink.”

He grabbed the bottle and took a swig, wiping his face with his hand. “If that’s what you want—but it’s not. You want me.”

Stop!

“Don’t—don’t make this hard for me,” I said.

He cracked his neck. Exhaled. Emotion spread over his face, but to define it would have been impossible. Where his eyes had once been soft with heat, they were hard. “Fine. What do you want to do?”

“Right now? I want a tattoo. What comes after that is still up in the air.”

He took another sip. “Alright, let’s bloody well do this then,” he muttered and led the way to the right side of the church where the tattoo stations were.

Blaring sunlight from between the blinds of my hotel window was the first thing I noticed as I cracked my eyes open.

The second was the jackhammer going to town inside my head. No more tequila. Ever, I swore to myself.

I groaned, flipped over to my other side away from the sun, and closed my eyes. It was too early to get up.

But . . .

A niggling started in my brain.

My eyes popped open, and I warily studied the hotel nightstand, the pile of clothes on the floor, my shoes. All seemed well—until a muscled forearm curved around my waist and hugged my hip.

Holy British Shenanigans. What had happened last night?

First fact: I was naked.

Second fact: So was the person behind me.

Third fact: My eyes went back to the nightstand. No condoms. My entire body froze.

A loud snore came from the other pillow. With a quick turn of my head, I peeked over my shoulder and made out dark hair against white hotel sheets.

Of course it was Dax. He was the last person I remember seeing.

And then it dawned. Dax Blay was naked in my bed!

My hands shook. Okay, okay, I can handle this. Just work through the night. Figure out where you went ape-shit and had sex with the one person you said you’d never sleep with again.

Tequila. Check.

Running through the rain. Check.

Some talk about Romeo and Juliet. A pretend wedding at the church. Check, check.

Okay, so far so good . . .

Tattoo-time. We looked at some designs and drank. Yes, I sat down in the chair to get my ink and . . . the memories blurred together.

More tequila.

Holding hands with Dax.

Giggling at my tattoo.

Cab ride back to the hotel, clothes falling off me then him . . .

Nothing.

With tentative fingers, I propped myself up on my pillow and slowly peeled back the white gauze bandage on my chest. I gasped. A heart-shaped red, white, and blue Union Jack flag about the size of a half-a-dollar coin sat above my breast. DAX was written in black ink across the middle. I must have read it wrong—why on earth would I get Dax’s name on my body?

I read it again. Shit. Maybe it was one of those rub-on deals?

I scratched at the tender skin around the area. “Ouch,” I whimpered as my fingers grazed the reddened skin.

My mouth dried. This wasn’t a dream.

I’d been branded.

I inhaled a great gulp of air and turned to the sleeping head next to me. “Dax!”

“What—what is it?” Dax said sleepily, both eyes opening, his long black lashes fluttering. And that got me riled up too. Why were his lashes prettier and more extravagant than mine? Ugh. He stirred around on the bed and gazed at me, hair falling around his handsome face. I noticed a small crease on his cheek from the pillow, and I forced my hands to stay clenched and not reach out to trace it. Carnal lips tilted up in a knowing smile; a smile that screamed we just had sex. “Morning, love. Sleep well?”

I slapped his leg with my pillow. “First off, you have no right to look this good in the morning, and second why did you let me get a Union Jack on my boob?”

“I didn’t let you do anything.” He rubbed his temples and winced. “Damn. It’s too early for a pillow fight. I need water and a hot shower first.” His eyes traced the crest of my boobs under the sheet.