Chapter 3 - Maria
I watch Max's broad shoulders and muscular back as he strides towards the exit, simultaneously relieved and disappointed to see him go. The man is trouble - delicious, flirtatious, inked-up trouble. Yet I can't seem to shake the flush of heat he stirs within me.
Only once the bell above the door jingles, signaling his departure, do I allow myself to release the shaky breath I've been holding.
Get it together, Maria. This guy is just renting out your storage room, not asking for your hand in marriage.
Still, my gaze strays to the delicate new butterfly tattoo adorning my wrist. The permanent markings from his hand seem to burn my skin in the most enticing way. I barely resist the urge to trace the crisp black lines with my fingertip.
Shaking my head to dispel the distracted thoughts, I quickly lock up and flip the store's sign to closed. There's only one person I need to discuss this whole situation with right now.
I power-walk to Jenna's bakery, the bell above her door jingling merrily as I burst inside.
"You'll never guess what just happened!" I blurt out before my best friend can even greet me properly.
Jenna whirls around from where she's been restocking pastries, eyes wide.
"What? What happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," I assure her, waving a hand. "But you know what you did!"
Understanding dawns, and she grins wickedly, "Oooh, do tell! Was it that new tattoo artist?"
I shoot her a look, "His name is Max, not that it matters. And yes, he came in asking to rent out my storage room as a workspace!"
"Really?!" Jenna squeals, rushing around the counter to grab my hands excitedly. "Tell me everything! What did Mr. Tall, Tatted, and Brooding have to say for himself?"
Chewing my lip, I quickly relay the details of Max's visit, from his unexpected appearance to my shock at seeing his muscular, tattooed form to his smooth flirtations and offer of free ink. When I get to the part about actually getting the little butterfly tattoo, Jenna's jaw drops.
"He put his mark on you? Like, permanently?" Her eyes are saucers. "Maria, you bad girl! I never thought you'd go for something like that."
"In my defense, I wasn't exactly thinking clearly," I protest weakly. "The man has a way of utterly disarming my usual composure."
Jenna shakes her head in amazement.
"Well, that's an understatement. But be honest, girl - how hot was the experience of getting inked up by that sexy rebel?"
I can't fight the sheepish smile that curves my lips as certain...heated moments from our interaction replay in my mind's eye.
"Off. The. Charts," I finally admit in a rush. "The way he touched me, how intense his gaze was, that low rumbling voice..." I trail off, flushing.
"You’re totally gone on him already!" Jenna crows gleefully. "Was the flirting mutual, or are you reading too much into it?"
Biting my lip, I slowly turn my wrist to show off the fresh tattoo.
"He's made it clear he'd like to take things...further. With his ink at least."
Jenna's eyebrows shoot up as realization sets in.
"Oh honey, you are in so much trouble - and you're absolutely going to let him mark you up some more, aren't you?"
My silence and sheepish grin are answer enough. This man has bewitched me completely, and there's no stopping the delicious descent.
Two days later
I'm a bundle of anxious energy as I fuss over the displays in my shop. Every item has to be perfectly placed, the floors immaculately swept, the front counter polished to a shine. Because any minute now, Max could stroll through that door.
I pause to check my reflection in the mirror by the dressing room, smoothing my hands over my blouse and skirt. A subconscious part of me wants to look put together when he arrives.
To remind him that I'm a professional businesswoman, not just someone to fluster with heated looks and suggestive banter.
But then my gaze catches on the butterfly winking at me from my wrist, and my resolve falters. Max has already marked me, staked his claim in a way that feels primal and thrilling. As much as I try to remain composed, he's managed to get under my skin - literally.
The bell above the door rings out, the familiar sound sending my pulse skyrocketing. I whirl around, piercingly aware of every crease in my clothes, my slightly flushed cheeks.
And there he is, all jacked handsomeness and inked skin peeking from beneath his tight black t-shirt.
"Maria," he greets, his deep voice like a caress. "You're looking...prepared this morning."
I tilt my chin up a notch, "Well, I do like to be professional when conducting business dealings."
"Of course," Max replies easily, stepping further into the shop. "I wouldn't expect anything less from such a dedicated owner."
His appreciative gaze roams over me in a way that makes heat prickle along my skin. I force myself to meet his stare head-on, refusing to be the first one to look away.
"I've cleared the back room completely so you can assess if the space will really work for your needs."
Max nods, seemingly unruffled by my all-business demeanor.
"Lead the way. I'll take another look before we hash out the details."
I turn on my heel and head towards the back room, hyper-aware of Max's heavy footfalls behind me. The scent of his earthy cologne washes over me, and I fight the urge to inhale deeply.
Reaching the door, I push it open to reveal the now-empty space, the bare walls and hardwood floors putting the room's modest size on full display.
"As you can see, it's not huge," I begin, crossing my arms over my chest. "But the lighting is decent, and there's space for at least one station, maybe two smaller ones if you don't need much room to work."
Max steps past me into the room, surveying the area with a contemplative look.
"You've got that right - it's a bit tighter than my usual digs. But I can make this work, at least temporarily, while I get settled."
I nod, watching as he circles the perimeter, likely visualizing furniture placement and work setups. It's easy to get distracted by the flexing muscles of his shoulders and back as he moves.
I really need to stop ogling him like a schoolgirl with a crush.
"So," he turns back to face me. "What're you thinking in terms of a rental price?"
Snapping out of my momentary lapse, I quickly rattle off a figure I deem fair based on the square footage. Max considers it for a beat before giving a decisive nod.
"Sounds more than reasonable to me," he agrees easily. "When can I start moving some equipment in here?"
"Whenever you're ready," I reply, proud of myself for maintaining a professional detachment. "We can draw up a basic rental agreement to make things official."
A glimmer of something I can't quite place flashes in Max's eyes, but he simply inclines his head.
"Sounds like a plan," he says smoothly. "I look forward to working out all the particulars with you...in detail."
The emphasis on those last two words is almost imperceptible. But it still manages to send a shiver of awareness down my spine, making me very glad our negotiations are just getting started.
"Before we finalize anything, there is one other idea I wanted to run by you," Max speaks up as I'm retrieving the rental agreement forms.
I pause, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
"Oh? What did you have in mind?"
He leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest.
"Well, in addition to setting up my tattoo station here, I was thinking it could be mutually beneficial to offer some custom products."
"Custom products?" I echo, brow furrowing slightly. "What exactly did you have in mind?"
"Embroidered patches, fabric art pieces, that kind of thing," Max clarifies. "Your crafting expertise combined with my artistic talents and client base could open up some unique offerings."
I mull this over, tapping my pen against the clipboard. On one hand, it would be venturing outside my usual handicraft offerings. But novelty items could also attract a new subset of customers.
"It's an interesting idea," I admit slowly. "Though it would require a fair bit of coordination between us on design and production."
Max gives me a look I can't quite decipher.
"I'm sure we could figure out an efficient workflow if we put our heads together. Literally and figuratively."
Is he...no, surely I'm reading too much into that last comment. I press on in a businesslike tone.
"Well, let's focus on getting your space set up first. Then, if there seems to be a demand, we can re-visit the custom products idea down the line." I slide the paperwork across the counter towards him. "For now, we should finalize your rental terms."
He accepts the forms, though there's the faintest crease between his brows as he flips through the pages. With great effort, I keep my eyes averted from the shift of muscles in his forearms as he reviews each section.
"Everything looks standard," Max finally remarks, reaching for the pen I've set out. "No issues from my end."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding as he scrawls his signature on the dotted line.
This is really happening - I'm officially renting space to a flirty tattoo artist. Part of me still can't quite believe it.
"Don't look so tense," Max rumbles, and my gaze snaps up to meet his. "This is just the beginning for us."
There's that indecipherable look again, heavy with what seems lust, but I can’t be sure. I give myself a mental shake - I can't keep reading into every little thing he says or does.
"Right, of course. I'll make copies of this for both of us to keep on file." I take the paperwork back hastily.
As I turn away, I can't shake the feeling that Max's weighted stare is following me. I have a sneaking suspicion this arrangement is anything but "just business" to him.
Whether that's a good or bad thing, however, remains to be seen.
"So, when do you want to start moving your equipment and supplies in?" I ask once I've made copies of the rental agreement, focusing on the logistical details.
Max shrugs one broad shoulder, "No time like the present if you've got availability now."
I think it over. I don't have any major orders or workshops scheduled, so aside from keeping the shop floor tidy, my afternoon is relatively free.
"I can definitely clear out some time to get you settled," I tell him. "Do you need any help transporting or unloading things?"
He shakes his head.
"I've got it covered, but I appreciate the offer."
I give him quick instructions, then busy myself straightening up the front counter displays while Max ducks outside. Through the large front windows, I can see him disappear around the side of the building, likely heading to his vehicle to retrieve whatever he’ll be needing.
The bell above the door jingles a short while later as he re-enters, arms laden with a heavy-looking storage tote. I move to take it from him instinctively.
"Let me --"
"No need," Max cuts me off, brushing past me towards the back room before I can protest further. "I've got it under control."
I trail behind him, a bit miffed at his refusal of assistance but chalking it up to typical male bravado. He deposits the tote on the bare floor with a solid thunk.
"Be right back," is all he utters before heading back outside.
True to his word, Max makes several more trips, hauling in various-sized boxes and cases, never accepting my offers of help. I hover near the doorway, watching him with a slight furrow between my brows.
"You, uh, certainly came prepared," I remark once all his supplies are piled around the room. "Got everything you need in here?"
Max pauses, swiping an arm across his forehead as he looks around appraisingly.
"Just about. A few more smaller items to grab, but all the major equipment is here."
"So...what's next?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
One side of his lips curves upwards as he fixes me with that smirk again.
"Now the real work begins - turning this place into my own personal oasis of ink and artistry."
"Well, I'll leave you to it then," I reply, maybe a bit too quickly. "Just let me know if you need anything else."
Max holds my gaze for a beat longer before giving a slow nod.
"Oh, you can count on that, Maria."
Something tells me Max's particular brand of artistry goes far beyond the tattooing process.