neck. He lowered them to my shoulders, slipping his fingers under the edge of my robe. His hands slid down my bare arms, pushing the robe off as they went and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Chills spread across my chest and belly, several body parts tightening and tingling excitedly.
“I-I haven’t-,” I stammered. “We can’t—”
Thankfully he interrupted my pitiful attempts at coherent speech, saving me from having to make the most embarrassing speech of my life.
“I know,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving mine. “You need to get warm, though.”
All I could muster was a nod of agreement. I stood perfectly still, flushed and warm, while he pulled the tank over my head and let it drop to the floor. Then, his eyes never leaving mine, he squatted down in front of me and hooked his fingers in the band of my pajama pants. Slowly, he slid them over my hips and down my legs, his smoky eyes blazing passionately into mine.
When I stood before him in nothing but bra and panties, every inch of my skin on fire, he let his eyes fall inch by inch down to my feet. As they made their way back up my body, he rose to his full height. He was so close I could feel the heat coming off his body in thick, steamy waves.
His eyes bored into mine. They mirrored the desire that I felt boiling inside me. When he bent to brush his lips over mine, I was already mindless with passion. But then he, too quicky, he broke the contact and turned away.
He paused in the doorway to look back at me, his hand on the knob. One side of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. Then, just before he pulled the door shut, I saw his eyes dart to the mirror at my back. I could’ve sworn I saw him frown right before the door closed with a soft click.
I took my time in the shower. When I got out, I brushed my teeth, combed my hair and rubbed lotion into my still-sensitive skin. After I dressed, I wandered out to the living room. The television was on, but Derek wasn’t watching it. He was standing at the window, staring out into the night.
I walked to the couch and sat down, making myself comfortable. I didn’t know what to say after what we’d just experienced so I said nothing at all. I’d let him take the lead.
He neither spoke nor moved for the longest time, so long in fact I wondered if he even knew I was there. It startled me when he asked, “When did you get the mark?”
“What mark?”
“The tattoo. The one on your right shoulder blade.”
“Oh. That,” I said, suddenly understanding why he’d frowned into the mirror in the bathroom; he’d seen the spot on my back. “It’s not a tattoo. I’m not sure what it is, actually. At first I thought it was grease from the garage floor, but...”
“And now?”
“Well,” I paused to think. “I’m still not sure. It keeps getting bigger and bigger and changing colors. And it’s starting to look more like…”
“Like what?” He prompted.
“Like, um, flames I guess.”
“How long ago did you first notice it?’
“I don’t know, a couple of weeks I suppose. Why?”
“When was the last time you looked at it?”
“It’s been a few days I guess. Why?” I asked again.
“The dead grass and flowers around your father’s grave,” he said.
“What about them?”
“Go look at your shoulder.”
His imperious tone rankled. But rather than taking exception and making a snide comment, I simply stood and walked back into my bedroom to do as he asked. Besides, with the way he introduced the subject, I was too curious not to go look.
I closed the bathroom door behind me, not wanting him to sneak up on me while I was topless. When I turned to get a good look at my shoulder, I saw that the flames had spread. They formed a wide base that spanned my right side, from my spine to my armpit. The flames licked up toward my neck and now, woven among them, were vines of the greenest green. In some places, their shoots wrapped and twisted around the flames as if they were choking the fire. But in other places the heart-shaped leaves on the vine disappeared into the flames, like they’d been burned up in the heat.
I pushed my top down and went back into the living room. Though the mark (as well