Chapter 20
I expected him to be here early, but apparently he’s taking his oath to dog parenting seriously.
I’m proud of him. He strode into Black Rabbit this morning whistling like he didn’t just have his cock pressed between my thighs a mere fourteen hours earlier.
My stomach flutters as soon as he makes eye contact and smirks.
Darting my gaze away, I scurry into my workstation to get ready for the appointments lined up today.
I swear the events of last night are written on my face for the whole shop to see.
He strides down the aisle, heading toward the front of the building, and then I hear him talking to Thor.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but Thor laughs.
He’s not talking about me, he’s not talking about me.
Even though this is my family business, I don’t want to be known as the girl who sleeps with her boss.
Technically, we didn’t have sex—though not for lack of effort on my part.
I never felt intimidated by Logan the way other people were, but I’m starting to get it now. He wields authority at his discretion. Even Odin doesn’t think twice before following his commands.
“Morning,” he says, on his way back to his office. I lift my hand in a wave without looking, and he chuckles, pausing in front of my tattoo bay. “Your client is here.”
“Huh? Oh. Thanks.” They’re early. I was going to grab a new box of latex gloves from the stock room, but I’ve got enough to get me through the next appointment. I’ll grab a new pack afterward.
He nods, then turns into his station that sits across the aisle from mine, and up one, so we’re diagonal from one another. From the right angle, we can see each other if we’re working at the same time. Which it looks like we’ll be doing today.
“I love it,” Jane gushes when I wipe away the excess ink. I’ve been working on her for the last forty-five minutes, inking a sexy merman on her arm.
“Thanks, me too!” I beam, offering a brief smile before returning to the tattoo. I peer at Logan across the way. He’s hunched over his prone client, tattooing the back of their shoulder. As usual, he’s working in silence.
Stop staring.
Tearing my eyes away, I anchor my elbow and continue on.
I’ve already outlined the piece and am currently adding miniature sailor tattoos to his chest with fine blue lines.
The machine buzzes against my grip. Normally the steady vibration is enough to put me into a trance so I can zone out while tattooing, but not today. Today, Logan occupies my thoughts.
We made out less than a foot away from where I sit now. I can practically smell his clean, woodsy cologne lingering from the night before.
I wrap my latex-gloved hand around my client’s wrist and adjust her forearm, stretching the skin to get a finer line while adding a simplified ship tattoo to the merman’s chest.
Focus on your work. It’s difficult when I feel his eyes on me; I suspect he’s playing the same game I am. How can I not look at him when he altered my brain chemistry with that kiss?
“We’re almost finished,” I say.
“I love it.”
That makes me smile as I work. I’m very satisfied with this one; all my curves are smooth and clean, the colors are vibrant, the placement on her inner forearm is flawless.
Shading even. When I’m finished, I wipe the piece and sit back to inspect my work.
Dad was a firm believer in bold will hold when it came to any American style.
Rich colors and strong linework make all the difference.
These mermen are a nod to the mermaids he used to do but with my own little twist. Dad would approve.
I glance at Logan, and for the first time, he looks up at the same time I do. His eyes glow like hot embers, like he’s been tattooing fifteen feet away with the same wicked thoughts in his head. However, it’s his sexy wink that makes me forget how to breathe.
After Jane leaves, I get my station cleaned up and check the notification on my phone.
RedShirtBlackPants11: You won’t replace me.
I roll my eyes.
KellyEverhartTattoo: Fuck off, Jason. You replaced me first.
I can’t prove he’s the one who has been leaving these creepy messages, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure it out when they started coming in the night he got into that fight with Logan.
I toss my phone on the counter, then head to the stock room to grab a fresh box of black latex gloves before my next appointment arrives.
On my tiptoes, I probe the top shelf for a box of my size.
There’s supposed to be a step stool in here, but nobody ever puts it back where it belongs.
“Damn it. Where are they?” It’s times like this I find my short five-two height annoying.
“Need help?”
Before I can answer, he’s brushing up behind me. He grabs the box from the top shelf and lowers it in front of me and drops his lips to my ear. “You look really good today.” His voice is low—predatory.
Trapped against the shelf, my pulse races. I suck in a breath. “If you fluster me and I botch someone’s tattoo, I’m sending them your way so you can explain why my ink is crooked.”
“If you can’t pull a clean line, that’s on you,” he says playfully. “I can’t be held responsible for your shoddy work.”
A nervous laugh escapes me. “Aren’t you supposed to be my mentor? I can feel your eyes on me out there. It’s distracting.”
“Yes, and as your mentor, I get to study you. I notice every shake of your hands and every slip of your needle.” I hear the smirk in his voice as he continues, “And I’ll teach you how to keep going even when those hands are trembling so much you can barely hold the machine.”
I swallow. The way his intense gaze follows me around the shop is thrilling. I’m impressed by how much my senses pick up on his proximity. The tension we share—even from a distance—is scorching. Like tortuous foreplay.
“Does that mean you’re going to put a move on me today the way you did last night?” I’ve been wanting to ask him more about that kiss. Was he caught up in the moment? Was it premeditated? Was it even real, or did I imagine the whole thing?
“No.”
The rejection stings the smile right off my face.
“Not yet,” he adds.
We’ve been friends long enough that he should know how much that kiss has been occupying my thoughts, how I’ve been overanalyzing it. The only relief I’ve found is the way his eyes have been undressing me all day. He deserves a little payback.
“Might do you some good.” I rotate the box of gloves in my hands. “Overworked and underfucked is bad for your prostate.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Chaos.”
I smile. He says the nickname like a warning.
“What?” I shrug. “It’s important to take care of your health. We can lock the door so nobody sees.”
He jerks me tight against his front, and I let the box of gloves fall at my feet. Wow, he’s strong.
“If you don’t stop flirting with me like this, I’m going to lay you down and invite them to watch.”
I bite my lip.
He spins me to face him, then slides a palm under my shirt, snaking it up my side until his thumb is just brushing the underside of my breast. Cunning eyes pierce mine like he’s already conquered me.
The knuckles on his other hand caress the underside of my chin, tilting my face up to meet his.
“And when I finally hold you down and break you in, I’m going to show you the difference between playmates and soul mates. ”
His words knock the air from my chest.
He simply smiles, then backs away. “Have a good afternoon, Kelly,” he says. “Oh, and I need you to come in on Monday. I’m on your books.”
He’s on my books? “You want me to tattoo you?”
He turns on his heel and walks out, throwing a “Yup” over his shoulder and leaving me standing there with my arms at my sides, a box of latex gloves at my feet, and a thrashing heart in my throat.
Hours after the accosting he gave me in the supply closet, I’m cleaning up my station after a busy day.
I spray disinfectant on the counter, sweeping the towel over the surface.
Logan casually leans into the opening of my bay and tells me his request for the tattoo he has in mind.
It nearly has me doubling over in laughter. But he’s not joining in.
The smile fades from my lips. I turn, narrowing my eyes in disbelief and shaking my head; there’s no way I heard that right. He’s kicked back in my client chair with his feet up, threading his fingers behind his head, as if he was simply asking about the weather.
“Absolutely not,” I scoff. “Are you fucking nuts?”
Casper huffs out a laugh from across the aisle. Besides me and Logan, he’s the only one left in the shop. He’s sketching out a commission for his new client Anna. Casper seems pretty jazzed about whatever idea they came up with together.
My eyes refocus on Logan. I lean back against the countertops, gesturing to him with open palms. “Why would you even want that?”
“Because it’s permanent.”
“Exactly!” I counter. “This isn’t like some rose or eagle or whatever.”
“I know, that’s why I’m asking you to do it.” He glances up at me with sincerity in his eyes.
“Even if it wasn’t totally insane—which it is, by the way—what you’re describing is too intricate. I haven’t done large portraits.”
“Maybe not with tattoo ink, but you’ve done at least fifty with a pen and pencil.”
“Yeah, that’s a flat surface!” I argue, crossing my arms.
“Use a stencil,” he says. “Your piece for Bozeman is more intricate than this one.” How can he have so much confidence in me? This is way above my pay grade.
“I don’t think I’m ready for a project like this.”
“You are,” he presses.
His bare bicep holds my attention as I size up the area. “I’ve never done a piece that big before.”
“I never did a full leg wrap until I did one,” he argues, then raises his voice louder. “Casper, can Kelly do a black-and-gray portrait?”
He wanders over and leans against the half wall at the entrance of my workstation. “Where’s it going?”
“There.” I point at his arm.
“Yeah, I think she could do it.”
They’re both crazy.
Logan raises a smug eyebrow. “You’re not some brand-new apprentice anymore. You can do this.”
Casper smiles and pushes off the wall to return to his work.
With a furrowed brow, I close the distance between me and the lunatic sitting in my chair.
I extract his hand from behind his head, straightening his elbow, and the muscle in his forearm twitches as if he’s resisting the urge to touch me.
His hazel eyes track the way my fingers travel over his skin as I rotate his arm and inspect the area.
If I did take on this project, what would be the best strategy? My lips purse as I think it through.
My gaze darts between his stare and the blank canvas on his bicep. “Can I do something not based in realism?”
He gives a single nod, but those eyes don’t leave mine for a second.
I swallow. “What if it’s ugly?” I whisper. “What if it doesn’t work out?”
He curls his fingers in the waistband of my jeans and tugs me close. A shiver ripples across my skin. “Are we talking about the tattoo or something else?”
Yes.
I gulp down the hesitation and brush over his bicep. “What if you regret it?”
Our eyes meet, and the corners of his crinkle with a smile—not cocky or smug, just unequivocal certainty. “I’ve wanted you to mark me permanently for longer than you know. I’ll never regret having something that ties me to you.”