Chapter 4
Stella
As predicted, my back was stiff, muscles already tightening, shoulders achy from holding my arms out for so long. I’d downed a couple of acetaminophen to take the edge off, but the pain was making me cranky, and I’d be even more pissed if my client didn’t show.
I was about to give up when a large blond man swept inside.
From my perch in the seating area, I had a perfect view of him.
He was dressed like a total slut: gray sweatpants and a white tee that looked two sizes too small.
A gym bag hung from his shoulder, and his hair was damp like he’d just stepped out of the shower.
I felt like a pearvert watching him from the shadows, but for the life of me, I couldn’t pull my gaze away.
His profile was striking. Sharp jaw, aquiline nose, defined cheekbones, full lower lip.
I wanted to study him, draw him, trace his lines and learn how they fit together to create such a stunning specimen of a man.
My gaze dropped to his beefy arms. Smooth, virgin skin as far as the eye could see. Good. I liked working with blank canvases. It was much easier than trying to cram my designs in between other artists’ work.
He stopped when he didn’t see anyone at the front desk, and I probably should have said something, but I was still too busy drinking him in.
He looked like the poster boy for Farmers of America, the definition of corn-fed good looks.
Tall enough that he could have been three tractors in a trench coat.
Broad enough that I worried the growth hormones we injected into our beef were starting to mess with our genetics.
An annoyed look crossed his face as he caught sight of me, and all thoughts of farm boys fled my mind.
His expression was pure ice king, down to the haughty quirk of his brow.
It made me want to draw him even more. Seat him upon a frozen throne and put a crown of icicles atop his head.
Maybe add a pair of antlers and replace the lower half of his legs with those of a deer.
I’d turn him into a villain straight out of Narnia and flank his throne with polar bears dressed in battle armor.
“You Stella?” he asked in a gruff tone that shredded my fantasy.
“That depends,” I said, leaning back into my chair.
His brows drew together. “On what?”
“On whether or not you plan to apologize for being ten minutes late to your appointment.”
“I hit traffic,” he said, turning fully toward me. Damn, he was big.
“And you couldn’t have called?”
He attempted to freeze me in place with his stare. “I don’t believe in distracted driving.”
“What a convenient excuse.”
His jaw ticked. “Are we doing this, or am I leaving you a one-star review on Yelp?”
My annoyance deepened into anger as I rose from my seat. “We’re doing this. But not because of your Karenesque threat, so don’t look so smug.”
His lips twitched, and I had to force my gaze away from them. Not that looking at his eyes was any better. They weren’t just blue; they were a rich, deep cobalt that seemed to sparkle when they caught the light.
Why were the hottest people always the most insufferable?
I started toward him. “We’re doing this because I spent another hour on your design this morning, and you will pay me for my work.”
His gaze raked over me as I approached, and something swept over his face, there one second and gone the next. Something cold and calculating and pleased. It was probably the same look a female mantis wore right before ripping the head off her partner.
I stopped a few feet away from him, cautious of his freakishly long arms and glistening mandibles. Okay, so maybe the latter was imagined, but I hadn’t seen his teeth yet, so I figured it was best to err on the side of caution.
Up close, he was even more striking, twice as wide as me and well over six feet.
As a tall girl, the first thing that flashed through my mind was This is the height difference I deserve.
The second was a chastisement for letting my thoughts even go there.
So he was hot and tall. So what? He was also a prick.
And blond. My standards were low, but they weren’t in hell.
“So you are Stella,” he said, a taunting edge to his tone that made me feel like he was making fun of me somehow.
“Yup. And what was your name again?” I knew damn well what it was, but being this level of petty felt like the correct response to his douchery.
“Theo,” he said with a wink. “You’re gonna want to remember that.”
I feigned a gag. Normally, I was never this rude to new clients, but there was something about this guy that instantly set me on edge.
He grinned. “Or you can call me Mr. Strickland, if you prefer.”
“I’m not calling you Mr. anything,” I shot back. “You’re not my dom.”
That startled a chuckle out of him, his eyes shining as he looked me over again, slower this time.
Was he . . . enjoying this?
I turned on my heel. “We’re back here.”
Not checking to see if he followed, I led him toward my booth at the end of the hall.
We passed Derrick, working on his last client of the night.
Everyone else had already cleaned up and gone home.
My jealousy burned. I needed to stop overbooking myself like this.
Exhaustion and stiffness made me crankier than usual, and yeah, Theo might deserve my animosity, but what if tomorrow I snapped at someone who didn’t?
Resolving to try to be civil, I indicated the client chair in the center of my booth. “Have a seat.”
Theo ambled toward it, dropping his gym bag with a thud before turning to take in the room.
The walls were painted a deep green. Gold-framed portraits and landscapes hung in a gallery on the right.
A rose-colored velvet settee sat opposite, draped in pillows and blankets.
There were bookshelves and potted plants and a giant brass deer head draped with faux moss.
It was a veritable feast for the senses.
Theo looked overwhelmed. “I think I’m getting a headache.”
“Then close your eyes and lie down,” I told him.
His gaze slid to mine. “Only if you promise to be gentle.”
I sent him a flat look and turned my back on him.
Stupid, sarcastic, meat-headed motherfucker.
I should have known he’d be a problem client.
We’d only interacted via email up until now, but we’d done so much back and forth on the specifics of his design that I almost hadn’t agreed to move forward with this consultation.
Picky clients I could deal with, and I did so on a regular basis.
Tattoos were forever, and I understood why someone would want to ensure the artwork was exactly to their specifications.
But Theo’s emails had been next-level, nitpicking every tiny detail of my rough sketches.
And then he’d demanded I print out a full-color temporary tattoo so he could see how it would look in place. Which brought us to tonight.
I snagged the design from my desk and turned back to him. “You need to push your sleeve up.”
He shook his head and flexed, muscles popping. “It won’t go. I’m too swole.”
I was about to gag for real when his hands went behind his head and he pulled the tee off in one fluid motion.
The sight of him standing there, shirtless, punched through me.
I didn’t know where to look. Some weightlifters turned veiny when they got too lean, but Theo had enough fat on him that his muscles were covered by smooth, golden skin.
He must have waxed because there wasn’t a single hair on his chest. Beneath the glow of the overhead lights, he looked unreal.
Obscene. Like an angel getting ready to fuck.
My head spun. Moisture pooled between my thighs.
It felt like I was going through puberty again.
He tossed his shirt aside and sat down, giving me a much-needed moment to compose myself. What was happening right now? I hated men.
Unfortunately, I was also attracted to them against my will.
He’s a dick, I repeated to myself as I pulled on a pair of gloves and gathered my supplies. That mantra morphed into He has a dick when I turned back around and saw him leaning back, his gray sweats settled into place, perfectly framing what looked like a girthy cock.
I wrenched my gaze away before I got caught. Thankfully, he was still distracted by the décor, his eyes flitting from one art piece to the next. I pushed my stool over to his left side and rolled the tray cart into place next to me.
Get your shit together, Stella, I told myself. You’re a fucking professional.
I worked on shirtless clients all the time. Hell, I worked on pantless clients just as often. It shouldn’t be any different just because Theo was one of the most physically attractive people I’d ever seen.
I took my seat and pulled close to him. He smelled like expensive soap.
The kind made in small batches on goat farms in Vermont.
His bare chest rose and fell with every breath, abs contracting as he shifted slightly toward me.
Not a dot of ink marred his beautiful skin, and my mouth went dry thinking I might be the first artist to leave my mark on him.
“What happens if you get too close to magnets?” he asked.
I lifted my gaze to find his eyes roving over my face, taking in my piercings from my eyebrow to my Austin bar to my Monroe.
“Gee, I haven’t heard that one before,” I grumbled, but honestly? I was grateful for the comment. It made it easier to focus on what mattered most about him: his ugly personality.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth like he was trying to hide a smile.
“Do you have low self-esteem?” I blurted. “Is that why you feel like you have to seek out negative attention?”
He swayed toward me. “Maybe I was a neglected child, so any attention feels like good attention.”
“Might I suggest therapy instead?”
He snorted. “Why? It doesn’t seem to have improved your personality.”
Goddamn it, I was not about to be out-insulted by a gym bro. “The pre-therapy me would have already punched you.”
His expression turned smug. “You would have tried.”
I was about to fire something back when I remembered all the progress I had actually made in therapy.
This behavior was regressive. The old me.
The one who always had to get the last word.
The one who acted like a big bad bitch anytime she was around someone larger because she hated feeling small and vulnerable.
I shifted my attention to the cart, tugging it closer. “Let your arm hang loose at your side.”
Theo eyed me, looking wary.
“I need it straight so I can position the tattoo,” I told him.
Reluctantly, he dropped it, and because of the way I was sitting, it fell straight between my thighs, close enough that I felt air brush my skin from the movement.
Heat unfurled in my core. If he turned his hand just right, he’d be able to wrap those long fingers around my ankle.
Stroke them up my calf. Work them beneath the hemline of my shorts.
I guillotined those thoughts and snapped the transfer paper up from the cart, leaning back enough to eyeball his bicep as I tried to gauge where the tattoo would best sit on his arm.
“Relax your muscles,” I said.
“They are relaxed.”
“C’mon, dude. I don’t want to be here all night.”
He shook out his arm, brushing my thighs with the movement, and I fought the urge to clamp my legs around him like a Venus flytrap.
What the fuck was wrong with me tonight?
Oh, right. My workaholic ass hadn’t gotten laid in six months, and it was quickly turning into a problem (see, me almost propositioning one of the most famous men in the city earlier).
“I’m relaxed,” Theo said, his annoyance nearly a match for mine.
I poked his beefy shoulder and realized he was telling the truth. He hadn’t been flexing. He was just that defined. “Oh.”
He waggled his brows. “Impressed?”
“Only by your ego.”
A small, evil smile spread over his face. “The way your jaw fell when I took off my shirt makes me think otherwise.”
Shit. He’d noticed.
I lifted my eyes to his, and our gazes caught, held.
Something passed between us, something I didn’t want to name.
He seemed to feel it, too, his pupils widening, lips parting.
Slowly, he tipped toward me. I sat frozen in place, fighting my body’s urge to meet him halfway.
His gaze dropped to my mouth, and arousal unfurled within me like a poisoned flower, infecting my limbs and turning every part of me hypersensitive.
Oh, no. Had we been flirting this whole time? Was that what this was? That antagonistic, I-don’t-like-you-but-it-doesn’t-mean-I-won’t-fuck-you kind of foreplay?
Back away, I begged myself.
No, betch, we need this, my slutty alter ego responded.
Against my will, my eyelids began to flutter shut.
Theo leaned in.
Derrick cleared his throat from my doorway.
Theo and I jerked apart like we’d gotten caught doing something far more compromising.
One of Derrick’s bushy eyebrows rose as he looked between us. “I’m almost done for the night. Want me to stick around?”
I glanced back at Theo. He might have been a douche, but he didn’t set off my creep alarm. “Are you going to be a problem?”
He winked. “I’m always a problem.”
I poked his shoulder again, harder this time.
He lifted his other hand in a three-fingered salute and turned toward Derrick. “I’ll behave. Scout’s honor.”
Derrick scowled. “You better. If I find out you touched a hair on her head, I’ll cut your dick off and shove it up your ass so you can find out what it feels like to go fuck yourself.”
Theo swiveled my way, looking like he was having the time of his life. “This shop has excellent customer service. I think I’ll bump my review up to two stars.”
It was the exact wrong thing to say in front of Derrick. I couldn’t believe I’d almost let this idiot kiss me.
The ex-biker took a step into the booth.
I held up a hand. “I’ll be fine.”
Derrick eyed me for a second before shaking his head and stomping out, grumbling something under his breath about horny teenagers.
My cheeks heated with delayed-onset embarrassment. He wasn’t wrong. I’d definitely been acting like one. Almost making out with a client? That wasn’t like me. At least not current me.
I blamed Mom. Her mentioning Maddie brought up too much ugliness. Made me remember who I used to be, how much easier it was when I lived my life like there were no consequences to my actions, and I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.
Well, I wasn’t that person anymore. Didn’t want to be that person. From here on out, I would go back to being the consummate professional. I wouldn’t sink to Theo’s level no matter how much he baited me, and I definitely wasn’t going to kiss the bastard.
He turned my way when Derrick disappeared, the look on his face telling me he was about to push my resolve to the breaking point.