Abbey felt warm ceramic brush against her arm. She turned to find Sloan at her side, offering her a cup of coffee. He was casual today, wearing just a pair of low-slung Levis. The sun glistened off his bronze, sculpted torso. Swirls of intricate ink graced across his chest and down both arms. Sloan was the last person she thought would have tattoos, yet on him they were perfect. They made him look sexier, more dangerous. She bit her I’d like to trace those designs with my tongue.