Myra
I hadn't slept. How could I, when the air in the apartment upstairs felt like it was still vibrating from the confrontation in the kitchen? Every time I’d closed my eyes, the darkness of the room was replaced by a vivid, burning image: the black ink, the rising phoenix, and my name written over Tony’s heart.
It was a claim. A permanent, skin-deep declaration of something… but what? I wasn’t romantic enough to believe he’d tattooed my name on his pec because he had feelings for me. Maybe he’d just wanted a permanent record of his s****l conquests, like notches on a bedpost. If I checked the rest of his muscular body, would I find other women’s names?
My face heated, because I’d really have loved an excuse to examine his whole body, and trace each inked design with my fingers.
By th
