Leave a Mark (24 page)

Lee blinked. She was right. And for a moment, his debate skills failed him.

“Are you saying that you don’t love Mamaw Gigi?”

Wren gasped like he’d slapped her. “Of course I love my mamaw!”

It was his turn to smirk. “Then how can you say you don’t believe in love? Don’t you believe that she loves you? That she loved you first?”

She frowned and shook her head. “I know she loves me. I’m talking about romantic love. That’s an illusion. Pheromones. As a man of science, you should know that.”

Lee burst out laughing. “You clearly have not been in enough delivery rooms.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

They’d been drifting on the water since their shared lunch, and the gentle current was pushing them toward some low branches. Lee reached for his paddle and maneuvered them out of harm’s way.

“Don’t get me wrong. As a man of science, I know biology and chemistry play a part, but love isn’t just sex and attraction,” he said, making sure he kept his eyes locked with hers. “Have you ever seen the look on a man’s face after his wife’s just given birth?”

Wren’s cheeks colored, and she shook her head. “No.”

Lee’s face warmed with a smile as he pictured the moment he’d witnessed at least a thousand times. “It’s a look you don’t forget,” Lee said. “After a man has watched his wife give birth to their child — whether it’s the first or the fourth — there’s always a moment when he looks at her with absolute wonder and joy. Because he’s reminded just how much he loves her. Their day-to-day problems — and, believe me, most of my patients have plenty — take a step back.”

Wren held his gaze and seemed to lean forward into his words.

Lee’s smile grew as he continued. “They share a look. There’s nothing sexual about it, and yet it’s also pretty damn sexy because the look brings them closer than even their bodies allow them to get, and their bond is renewed,” Lee said. “I swear, it happens every time.”

Wren gave him a side-eyed glance. “Yeah, but plenty of couples split up after they have kids.”

Lee shrugged. “I’m not denying that. Sometimes love dies — or it fails — but that doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”

She watched him for a long moment. “I’m not conceding anything.”

Again, Lee laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Good,” she said, turning away from him and effectively ending the conversation. They’d moved to the edge of the treeline, almost in open water, and she leaned back against the short canvas seat and stared up at the sky. “It’s really beautiful out here.”

“There’s a lot more to see.”

Wren sunk down low in her seat, stretching her legs out in front of her. Victor took the opportunity to climb up her body and collapse on her stomach. Wren giggled and hugged him to her. Her orange vest rode up under her chin.

“Please let me take this off,” she begged, pulling at the life jacket. “I swear, if we tip over, I won’t drown.”

“Fine. I’ve never tipped over, anyway.” He reached up and unbuckled his own jacket.

“Thank God,” she muttered.

He watched her wriggle out of the orange preserver, and then he reached forward. “Here, I’ll take it.”

She passed it back to him, and Lee turned to stuff both vests under the bungee cords at the stern of the kayak. When he faced forward again, he found Wren slipping off her plaid button-down.

The slim straps of her bikini top hid only a little of her back, and the rest was bare to him. He swallowed at the sight of her lovely skin — the most perfect of canvases for the art she wore.

The bougainvillea he’d seen on her upper arms spilled over her shoulders too, and hummingbirds seemed to flit from blossom to blossom in search of nectar. Under her left shoulder blade, a Red-winged Blackbird — as vivid and lifelike as any of the birds in the rookery — entered the scene, flying up from her posterior ribs. The bird was followed, in the distance, by one of his brothers. The perspective was perfect, and Lee realized they were from the same flock he’d first seen when Wren was stretched out before him on the operating table.

“Remarkable,” he whispered. The more skin she showed him, the more he wanted to see. What did the kayak’s seatback hide? What images lay against her heart? What did she look like when every stitch of clothing was tossed aside?

Lee’s shifted himself in his shorts, his desire charging far ahead of his opportunity. He had no doubt that he could spend days pouring over the ink on her skin. In truth, he was impatient to do just that. Of course, studying it wouldn’t be enough. He’d need to trace over each line with his fingers. Run his tongue over every curve. And do it all over again until he had her every inch memorized.

As though he could feel the sun on her shoulders, Lee began to grow hot. He plucked the buttons of his own shirt and peeled it off.

The motion caught Wren’s attention, and she glanced back. “You should put some sunscreen on your tat—” Her words stuttered and came to a halt as her eyes ran down his front and took in the obvious state of affairs in his shorts, but she recovered quickly enough. “—your tattoo… um… I have some.”

She reached forward and dug into her bag while Lee flushed. If she knew he thought she was the sexiest woman he’d ever seen, that was fine with him, but he didn’t want to offend her.

“Here,” she said, tossing a tube of Coppertone SPF 50 back to him. “Pass it back when you’re done.”

“SPF 50?” he teased, opening the tube and squirting some in his hand.

“I told you. I burn easily,” she said. As if on cue, she pulled on her light blue floppy hat, and a shadow fell over her perfect shoulders. “Besides, sun exposure fades tattoos. As much as I love my tats, I don’t want to have to retouch them every few years.”

“I love your tats, too,” he vowed.

Wren looked back over her shoulder. “Really?” she asked, sounding surprised. And the smile she gave him echoed her surprise.

“God, yes,” he said, smearing sunscreen over the key. “They’re stunning. Freakin’ amazing.”

“Not just freaky?” she asked, eyeing him under the spill of her hat.

Lee could see that her smile hid the truth. She was proud of her artwork, but it set her apart. People probably stared at her all the time, and some of their stares may have been ugly.

“Not freaky. Fabulous,” he promised. “The most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

Wren looked away, but he could still see her profile. “You’re dangerous.”

“I’m safe. I swear.”

Lee was dying to touch her.

As if she read his mind, Wren reached her hands back.

He dropped the sunscreen and clasped them.

“I’m so afraid of you,” she whispered, still facing forward.

Her admission grabbed him by the heart. Lee leaned forward and got to his knees just behind her. “Of me?” He pressed a kiss to her neck. “Don’t be afraid of me. I’d never hurt you.”

She tilted her head, giving him more access. “Yes, you will,” she murmured, yet she still melted under his mouth.

“I won’t.” Her skin was so soft, and the patchouli and vanilla scent of her neck drugged him, but her words made him ache. “I promise.”

He was ready to give anything to be out of that kayak so he could properly take her in his arms, show her that he meant every word.

“Please come home with me,” he begged.

Wren tilted her chin back, giving him her mouth, which he gladly took.

The invitation thrilled him. He had to take her home. “Please.”

Even as she kissed him back, Lee could feel her struggle, feel the civil war she waged within herself. He loved that she had a side that fought for him, but he needed it to win. He was about to tell her as much when she pulled back and sighed.

“Okay.”

WREN COULDN’T THINK
of a thing to say. She sat in Lee’s front seat, clutching Victor to her, and watched them swallow the highway.

Lee had rowed them back to shore at breakneck speed. It had made her laugh at the time, but now that they were actually heading to his house, she was terrified.

And to make matters worse, he knew she was terrified. Lee Hawthorne had a power over her that she couldn’t understand, but that she also couldn’t deny. He was unlike any man she’d ever met.

For one thing, he mattered. What he thought mattered. How he felt mattered. Especially how he felt about her. She wanted to be able to walk away from him, yet she couldn’t.

Being with him felt too good. Better than anything.

Lee finally broke the silence when they turned off Pinhook onto University Avenue.

“Want a snowball?”

It was the last thing she expected. The way he’d kissed her in the kayak left little room for misinterpretation. He’d invited her back to his house and, even though it was the middle of the afternoon, Wren knew exactly what he intended when they got there.

But a snowball?

“Um… sure?”

Her confusion seemed to amuse him. “What? You don’t like snowballs?”

Wren blinked. “Snowballs are fine…”

“I love snowballs.”

She couldn’t help but smile at this. “Of course you do. You’re a big kid." At her words, his smile faltered, and before she consciously chose to, Wren laid a hand on his wrist. “I mean that in the best possible way.”

He watched her for a moment, his eyes unreadable, before he shifted his gaze back to the road. But the second he did, Lee grabbed her hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it.

He made a left onto Johnston Street and a right onto St. Mary by the university. “Olde Tyme okay?”

“Sure.”

Lee turned onto Brooke Avenue and parallel parked just past Olde Tyme Grocery. “Would you clip on Victor’s leash?” he asked as he got out of the Jeep. The puppy had fallen asleep in her lap, but as soon as the clip of his leash snapped closed, he bolted up. Lee opened her door and offered her his hand.

Wren was quite aware he had the best manners of any guy she’d ever dated. He held her hand as they made their way to the back of the line at Murph’s Olde Tyme Snowball Stand. As always, if Murph’s was open, there was a line.

“What flavor do you want?” Lee murmured, bouncing their joined hands against his thigh.

She smiled before answering. “Nectar.”

Lee’s eyes danced. “Wren wants nectar. What. A. Surprise.”

Their laughter caught the attention of the two guys in front of them. The one closest to them looked back and gave Wren the once-over.

“
Shit.
Mais,
das a lotta tattoos,” he said, his Delcambre accent flattening out his words.

Wren held her breath. When she wore shorts or short skirts, this happened all the time, but Lee didn’t know that. If he hadn’t thought she looked like a freak before, would the attention of others change his mind?

Lee gripped her hand a little tighter as the second guy turned. This one eyed Wren and nodded, and the first guy looked at Lee.

“Man, you like all dat?”

“I fucking love it,” Lee growled.

Wren glanced at him and bit her lip. His smile was gone. He looked ready to commit murder.

“Did yer ole lady have all dat when you met her? Or did she jus’ keep addin’ on?”

His friend must have noticed the way Lee squared his shoulders because he tapped the guy on the arm. “Bra, shutcha mout.”

“Yes.” Lee’s voice became a low rumble. “That’s excellent advice.”

At that moment, the girl in the snowball stand called for the next customer, and both men turned and stepped under the stand’s red awning.

Lee and Wren held back. He was rigid beside her. Wren knew by the look on his face that this was never going to work. She took a deep breath to say what needed to be said.

“It’s okay. You can take me home.”

Lee pulled his eyes away from her critic and frowned down at her. “We’ll go home. Just as soon as we get snowballs.”

Wren shook her head. “No, I mean you can take me to my apartment. It’s alright.”

Lee’s eyes flared wide. “What? Hell, no.” He squeezed her hand in his. “I’m not taking you back to your apartment. Why would I do that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because. That happens like every day. If it bothers you now, being with me is going to make you miserable.”

Lee’s eyebrows nearly climbed to his hairline. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Babe, I only got upset because you looked nervous.”

Wren put her free hand on her hip and glared. “Oh, really?”

His ready smile disarmed her. “Yeah, really. I swear. If that happens all the time, it won’t matter to me. As long as you’re okay.”

It was their turn to order, and Lee stepped up under the shade of the awning, pulling Wren with him. He wasn’t letting go of her hand.

“You’re so ready to give up on me,” he whispered after they’d ordered. “What do I have to do to prove I want to be with you?”

His words were low, but the girl behind the counter glanced up at him and then looked at Wren. The girl turned away, biting down on her smile as Wren’s face caught flame.

“Please. Not here,” she begged, her whisper barely audible beneath the whir of the shaved ice machine.

Beside her, Lee’s smile grew out of control. He leaned over and put his lips to her ear. “I love it when you blush.”

“Oh God,” she groaned, palming her face. He was going to be the death of her. “C’mon Victor, let’s go for a little walk.”

She left Lee laughing at the snowball stand and took the puppy to the sidewalk, where he spent the next minute sniffing the
No Parking
sign with keen interest.

A young family crossed St. Mary, coming from the Saint Street Inn, their beauty and happiness pulling Wren out of her thoughts for a moment. The woman wore her hair in long waves, the color like warm butterscotch or caramel, and she had the bluest eyes. The man beside her, tall, handsome, and broad-shouldered, carried a baby, who looked just like his mother, in a BabyBjörn. Arms in front of him, the baby gripped one of his father’s index fingers in each hand and shook them furiously, seeming to spur him on. Both the man and the woman laughed as they took their place in the line at the snowball stand. One look told Wren they carried no secrets; they bore no stain of shame. Their lives were happy. Easy.