“What? I wanted to impress you. Is that a crime? You have tattoos, so I figured I’d say I did, too.”
“What if we had gotten together? I’d see that you didn’t have any tattoos and know that you lied.”
“Embellished. Come on, Cait, cut me a little slack. I’m not as edgy and cool as you are, but I’ve got a lot of other great qualities.” He flashed a dimpled grin. “Besides, I would have gotten temporary tattoos.”
She and Tank laughed.
“So what Grant said the night we met was true? You’re afraid of needles?”
“Afraid is a little strong. I don’t love them,” Brant admitted. “But trust is a two-way street, and I figured if I want you to trust me enough to go out with me, then I need to show you I trust you, too.”
Cait’s chest constricted. “You would get a tattoo just to show me that?”
“Damn, man.” Tank gave Cait a look that either said Brant was nuts or that he was impressed—she couldn’t tell which. He turned away, giving them a modicum of privacy.
She didn’t care what the look Tank had given her meant, because she knew how she felt about what Brant was prepared to do for her. He’d come all that way thinking he’d get a tattoo and then go back to the island just so he could see her and earn her trust, and he’d brought Scrappy when he could have left him with someone on the Cape. She knew Brant well enough to know he didn’t shirk his responsibilities, and that meant as much to her as his efforts to gain her trust did.
“Brant, do you want a tattoo of an anchor and a mermaid tail?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe.”
She set down her gun. “I don’t tattoo maybes.”
“Come on, Cait. It’s not like I’ll pass out or anything.” He leaned closer with a playful expression and lowered his voice. “But you can revive me, right? Just in case? Mouth-to-mouth?”
She laughed. He was too frigging charming; it made him almost irresistible. “You don’t have to get a permanent mark on your body to earn my trust.”
His gaze turned serious. “Then tell me how to earn it.”
Her pulse quickened. Nobody had ever done half the things he’d done for her or spent even a fraction of the time he’d spent patiently trying to get her to go out with him. She wanted to trust her instincts, but she wasn’t there yet. She wished she had a crystal ball that could see into the future and tell her if Brant was truly the man everyone thought he was. She glanced at Tank and realized the answer was right there in front of her. Nobody read people like the Wickeds. She might not trust her own instincts, but she trusted Tank and his family with her life.
“What do you say, Caity?” Brant’s gaze warmed. “Tell me how to earn your trust, and I’ll make the effort.”
She believed he would, and she really did like the way that too-girly nickname sounded when he said it, all warm and welcoming and special. “You’ve already done a lot. Why don’t we go have some fun and see how tonight goes?”
“Now you’re talkin’.” He looked down at his chest. “How does that look?”
“Like you nicked yourself shaving.” She wet a paper towel and held it out for him.
“I like it better when you do it.”
“That’s what all the guys say.” She pressed the wet paper towel into his hand. “You can’t always get what you want.”
As she turned to clean up, he said, “We’ll see about that. I’m a very patient man.”
CHAPTER SIX
BRANT FOLLOWED CAIT to the Salty Hog in the truck he’d rented, thinking about how tempted he’d been to kiss her at the tattoo shop. When he’d first seen her, drop-dead gorgeous in faded jeans with holes in the knees riding low on her hips, her blue tank top stopped just above her belly button, giving him a delectable view of her taut stomach, the shock in her eyes had been as palpable at his surprise of her belly-baring top. He’d never seen her wearing one on the island, which told him she was much more comfortable on the Cape and made him even more curious about her relationship with Tank.
He parked beside her car, taking in the two-story rustic restaurant overlooking the harbor, thinking about how he’d felt Cait giving herself a little more freedom to dip her toes into the sea of desire between them, like when he’d touched her back as she was drawing on his chest. He’d thought she might push him away, and when she hadn’t, the moment had taken on a hum of intimacy. He wondered which Cait would show up in the bar. Nervous, watchful Cait? Flirtatious, snarky Cait? Or maybe easygoing Cait, the woman he’d gone shopping with and who had piloted his yacht. He admired all of those aspects of her personality, and the last few days had proven that he was right about their connection. It was utterly unstoppable.
He climbed from the truck into the cool night air, greeted by the faint beat of music. As he closed his door, Cait stepped out of her car. He shook his head. “One day you’re going to let me open your car door for you.”
He put Scrappy’s leash on and grabbed the puppy sling.
“I’m not one of those girls who needs a guy to do everything for her.” She reached for Scrappy, loving him up.
“I know you’re not. But you’re a beautiful woman, and you deserve to be treated special.” He motioned toward the restaurant. “This is a great location. You sure we can bring him in there?”
“Yeah. Tank’s parents and his brothers Gunner and Baz bring their dogs sometimes. Do you want me to wear the sling? The guys might give you a hard time.”
Brant scoffed. “I don’t give a damn if they do. This is our boy, and I’ll wear this thing proudly.”
“Okay, it’s your razz fest.”
“I think I can handle it, but I want to take him in the grass in case he has to pee before we go in.” They headed over to the grass at the edge of the lot. “What’s up with your friends’ names? Tank and Gunner?”
“Those are their road names. Tank and his brothers and cousins are members of the Bayside chapter of the Dark Knights. Their father, Conroy, and their uncle, Preacher, founded the chapter when they were younger.”
“Really? Rowan knows most of the Dark Knights around here. He usually helps out at their suicide prevention rally. I wonder if they know Levi.”
“They do.” She pointed to the stairs leading up to the second floor. “We’re going up there to the bar. I know Rowan and your sisters, but do you have any more siblings?”
Brant’s sisters lived on the island. Tessa was a pilot, and Randi was a marine archaeologist working on an expedition with famed treasure hunter Zev Braden off the coast of Silver Island, where they’d discovered the wreckage of the Pride, a pirate ship that sank in 1716. “We have one more brother, Jamison. He’s an astrophysicist and lives in DC. He’s wicked smart, and I can’t understand half the things he goes on about, but he’s a great guy.”
“That’s impressive,” she said as they climbed the stairs. “Where do you fall in the lineup?”
He was loving this new, relaxed Cait. He’d have to visit her on the Cape more often. “I’m the oldest. Rowan is three years younger than me, and a year older than Jamison. Randi is two years younger than Jamison, and Tessa is the youngest at twenty-six.”