6. Chase
6
CHASE
Monday morning hits differently when you know the woman you’ve been sketching and watching undress from your window on most nights will be ten feet from your station. I’m already nursing my second coffee when Evie walks in, and holy shit.
The dress is simple enough—white, summer-style, perfect for Wolf Pike’s heat. But the off-shoulder cut shows skin I haven’t seen before. A name curls along her collarbone in flowing script, disappearing beneath the dress.
“Nice dress.” Zane’s already being Zane. “Even nicer ink. New?”
“Old, actually.” She moves past him to the coffee maker. Her tone stays light and casual. “Got it when I was young and stupid.”
“Ex-boyfriend’s name?” Zane never could leave well enough alone.
“Ex-husband’s,” she responds. Her fingers touch the tattoo briefly, like an old wound that still aches.
The lettering is amateur work. Whoever did it didn’t understand how ink settles in skin. The flourishes are uncertain, the lines too deep in places. My hands itch to fix it.
“I didn’t realize you had a lot of tattoos,” Rick says, emerging from his office, frowning at the ink like it personally offends him.
“Just a few.” Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Mistakes of youth, you know?”
“Mistakes can be fixed.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
Her gaze finds mine across the break room.
“Staff meeting in five,” Rick announces, breaking the moment. “Chase, try to stay awake this time.”
But sleep’s the last thing on my mind as Evie takes her usual seat across the conference table. Morning light catches the ink on her skin, making the name almost readable. Lucas? Liam?
“Quarterly numbers are up.” Rick’s voice fades to background noise as I watch Evie take notes. Last night, she left her window wide open, and the memory of moonlight on bare skin makes my mouth dry. The off-shoulder dress she’s wearing now reveals just enough to torture me—that script on her collarbone I want to fix, but also the curve of her neck I want to taste.
She shifts in her chair, and our eyes meet. Her breath catches slightly, pink touching her cheeks. Does she know I watch her every night? That I’ve memorized how she looks with nothing on?
The tattoo’s just an excuse to stare. Truth is, I’ve been half-hard since she walked in, remembering how she arched her back last night, taking her time with each piece of clothing. No curtains this time. She has to know someone’s watching.
Zane kicks me under the table. Right. Numbers. Business. Not the way she looked straight at my window as she undressed. Not how her skin would feel under my hands, my machine, my mouth.
“Chase?” Rick’s tone suggests it’s not the first time he’s said my name. “The new client consultation schedule?”
“Full through September.” I drag my attention back to work. “Wait list’s growing.”
“Good problem to have.” But Rick’s watching me with that big-brother look I hate. The one that says he knows exactly what—or who—I’m thinking about.
Evie takes notes throughout the meeting and is professional as always. But her free hand keeps drifting to that tattoo like she’s aware of my eyes on it.
The meeting drags for another hour. I fill my sketchbook’s margins with design ideas. Ways to cover that name, transform it into something worthy of her skin. Each time I glance up, she’s looking at me.
“That’s it for today.” Rick closes his laptop. “Chase, stick around. Need to discuss that VIP client.”
Evie gathers her things but pauses at the door. “The quarterly reports will be on your desk by lunch.”
“Thanks,” Rick tells her.
After she leaves, Rick leans back in his chair. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”
I consider telling him about the window escapade. Maybe we could watch together, and someone could finally verify if she’s putting on a show or not. I shake my head, dispelling the thought. That’s next-level creep—well, only if she isn’t doing it on purpose.
“Well?” Rick pulls me out of my thoughts.
“I’m thinking that’s the worst script work I’ve seen in years.” It’s not entirely a lie.
“Right.” He doesn’t believe me. “Just remember?—”
“She’s staff. She’s off-limits.” I stand, needing to move. “I heard you the first dozen times.”
But all I can think about is covering that tattoo. Erasing another man’s mark from her skin. Making something beautiful from the scars he left.
The gallery quiets as the afternoon fades. My last client left an hour ago. Rick is handling business at The Den, and Zane is probably chasing trouble somewhere.
My private workspace is more of a sanctuary than a studio. Flash art covers every wall, telling stories in ink and skin. The leather chair in the corner has seen more confessions than a priest.
The latest sketch takes shape under my pencil—vines breaking free from chains, blooming into something wild and beautiful. Just like?—
“Those for me?”
Her voice freezes me mid-stroke. Evie stands in my doorway, silhouetted by the hall light. She’s swapped the dress for a pair of jeans and a tank top that dips low enough to still show that tattoo. The casual look suits her better than the professional one.
“Just ideas.” I try to be casual, but my voice betrays me. She and I don’t talk much. “Playing with concepts.”
She moves closer, drawn to the scattered papers across my desk. Each one shows a different way to transform that name on her collarbone.
“You’ve been busy.” Her fingers trace one design—the phoenix. “These are beautiful.”
“Better than what you’ve got.” The words come out harsher than intended.
“Subtle.” But she smiles slightly. “You don’t approve of my ink?”
“I don’t approve of whoever butchered your skin.” I stand, needing to move. “Poor technique. The lines are?—”
“Show me how.”
Three words. Just three words. But they change everything.
She’s close now, too close. I can smell her perfume. My fingers itch to touch that tattoo, to feel how deep the ink sits.
“Here.” I reach for it before I can stop myself. “The script’s uneven. Whoever did this didn’t understand how ink settles.”
Her breath catches as my fingers trace the letters. Luca. That’s his name. The man who left her.
“Can you fix it?”
“I could make it disappear.” My voice drops lower. “And give you something better. Something that tells your story, not his.”
Her eyes meet mine. “What story do you see?”
“Strength.” My thumb brushes where the name curves. “Beauty breaking free. Rising from ashes.”
“Like your phoenix?”
“That’s one option.” I reach for a fresh sheet, needing to show her. When I start sketching, she moves behind me, watching over my shoulder.
Her breath warms my neck as I work. Quick strokes capture what I see—flowers bursting from broken chains, becoming birds in flight. Freedom in ink.
“The birds could wrap here.” I touch her shoulder, showing the design’s flow. “Following your natural lines.”
“And here?” Her fingers find mine and guide them lower, tracing where art would meet skin.
The room seems to be still. I can feel her pulse race beneath my fingers.
I trace the design on paper, showing her how the birds would flow across her skin. She leans closer to see the detail, and her perfume hits me like a punch to the gut.
“The shading here”—I touch the paper—“would help hide the old letters completely.”
“You’ve given this a lot of thought.” There’s something in her voice that makes my pulse kick up. Like maybe she’s not just talking about the tattoo.
I shouldn’t say anything. But the way she’s looking at me, the heat of her so close—fuck it. I’m tired of pretending I don’t watch her every chance I get.
“Hard not to when the canvas is so interesting.” I meet her eyes, letting her see the hunger I’ve been hiding.
“The canvas?” She sounds slightly shocked.
“Yes.” I press on. “The view’s been pretty compelling lately.” The words come out rough. “Especially through certain windows.”
She stills but doesn’t pull away. “It was you.”
“Disappointed?”
“No.” Her laugh is soft. “God, no. I wondered who was watching.”
Christ. She knew. All those nights, every slow tease of clothing—she knew someone was there. The thought makes my blood run hot.
To hell with professionalism. To hell with boundaries. I’ve watched her too long, wanted her too much.
“Could make that view more interesting.” My thumb traces circles on her hip. “Add a larger audience.”
Her eyebrow rises. “What do you mean?”
“My brothers.” The words come out rough. “They’d appreciate the show as much as I do.”
I expect her to pull away, to be offended. Instead, heat flares in her eyes. “All three of you?”
Jesus Christ. The image of her performing for all of us hits me like a freight train. My cock hardens instantly.
“That what you want, sweetheart? All of us watching?”
“Yeahhh…yes.” She breathes the word against my mouth.
I’m done holding back. My lips crash into hers, swallowing her gasp. Her hands fist in my shirt as I walk her backward until she hits my desk. She doesn’t seem to care, just spreads her thighs so I can step between them.
Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer. The shape of her pussy pressed against me makes me groan. My hands find her breasts, and the sound she makes should be illegal.
She arches, gasping. “Chase?—”
A door slams somewhere in the gallery. We break apart, breathing hard.
“Yo, Chase!” Zane’s voice carries down the hall. “You still here?”
“Fuck.” I rest my forehead against hers. “I’m going to kill him.”
She laughs softly, straightening her clothes. “Rain check?”
“On the kiss, the tattoo, or the show?”
“All of it?” Her smile turns seductive. “I think I need a proper consultation. About everything.”
“Tomorrow.” I catch her hand before she can leave. “Come early. We’ll discuss all those designs I have in mind.”
She slips out just as Zane appears, grinning like the asshole he is. He eyes my messy desk, the papers scattered everywhere.
“You’re welcome, by the way.” He drops into my chair, propping his feet on my desk.
I throw an empty inkpot at his head. He dodges, laughing. “The fuck you mean, welcome?”
“Can’t let you have first taste, big brother.” He winks. “Wouldn’t be fair to the rest of us.”
“You did that shit on purpose?” Another inkpot flies.
“Hey, sharing’s our thing, remember?” He ducks again. “Though from the looks of things, she might be into that idea.”
This time, I throw my sketchbook. He catches it, flipping through pages of her designs.
“Damn.” His grin widens. “Better clean this place up before Rick sees it. You know how he gets about mixing business with pleasure.”
But we both know it’s too late for that. One way or another, Evie Ashbourne is going to complicate everything.
And honestly? I can’t fucking wait.