She huffed out a breath. “Can I at least see my tattoo?” He huffed right back and grinned. “Yeah, baby. You can see it.” He picked up a hand mirror from the table. Holding it up, his fingers pointed to the horizontal flower. “The tightly furled long-stem rose just starting to bloom—that’s you. The barbed wire”—his fingers followed the swoops that wrapped loosely around the stem—“that’s me protecting you.” She studied it. Her mouth dropping open. “Oh, Crash. It’s beautiful.” He winked at her. “Good. Glad you like it. ‘Cause, baby, it’s permanent.” She looked down at it and smiled. He took that
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