Chapter 19
NINETEEN
Chloe
With dinner over, the dishes done, and Jake finally tucked away in bed for the night, I look for the finishing touches for my pretty garden.
“What do you think of this?” I spin my laptop, so Miles can see the handmade garden bench.
He leans across the couch, squinting. He scrolls through the pictures, stopping finally on the map showing where it’s located. “It’s lovely. You’re not getting it.” He sits straight and kicks his feet up on the coffee table, searching through the channel guide way too fast for a normal person to process what might be on.
I laugh. “What do you mean, I’m not getting it? It’s perfect for that spot in the garden. It should fit in the back of my car, right?”
“I love that you teach math and have no sense of spatial awareness,” he says on a chuckle. “No, babe. It’s not going to fit in the back of your vehicle, and no, you’re not going to go and get it. It’s in a shit part of town.”
“Well, let me use your truck.”
His head doesn’t even move, just his eyes slide to the side, pinning me with an incredulous look.
“Not Maggie. I wouldn’t dream of asking you to share your baby with me. I can take the other one. It’ll be fine,” I say, focusing on the Messages app.
I ask the usual questions. Is it still available? Will you take less? Is tomorrow a good time to pick it up? Sure, I’m getting ahead of myself by listing all the questions at once, not waiting for a response. But it’s perfect.
The screen of my laptop slowly lowers until I have to pull my hands from the keyboard. Miles takes it from me, placing it on the end table next to him, well out of my reach.
“Chloe, I have no problem with sharing with you. You want to drive Maggie? That’s cool. I would love to see my girls together, bonding. Your delicate hands wrapped around her steering wheel. Watching you work her clutch and take her through her gears.”
His molten chocolate eyes darken as he turns to put his back to the arm of the sofa. His t-shirt bunches as he shifts, revealing a sliver of his taut belly.
He reaches forward, hooking a hand around each of my knees and pulling toward him. “In fact, I think it’d be hot as fuck to see you perched on her hood. One of those skirts you wear to work, your blouse gaping open, legs crossed, and those fuck-me shoes you have. Jesus.” Miles slides his hands down my legs and tucks my feet on either side of his hips.
Goose bumps pop up along my skin on the path he trails with calloused fingers. “You want dirty teacher pictures of me, Miles?”
“Dirty teacher, naughty librarian, whatever you want to call it. I call it art—pinup, nose art. Fucking beautiful.”
Desire pools low in my belly as he describes in intimate detail exactly which skirt and blouse, the specific pair of shoes, even adding the detail of stockings with seams running up the backs of my legs. “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought. Actually, I’m pretty sure I was wearing almost that exact outfit the night we officially met at the Amarre’s house.”
Miles chuckles, nodding slowly. “Oh, I’ve given it all kinds of thought. Thought about it on an incredibly hard drive home that night.” He reaches down to adjust his growing erection. “I stroked my dick to the thought of you laid out over Maggie’s hood that night in the shower. Came pretty fucking hard.” He pushes himself off the couch, settling his knee between my thighs. He crawls up, stretching out above me, his hips notched in tight. He supports his weight on his elbows, framing my face between his big, warm palms.
“Did you?” I ask, trailing my fingertips down the center of Miles’s strong back, mapping the deep groove of his spine between ridges of tight muscle. “You did good work with your imagination. Pretty sure I wasn’t wearing stockings that night, and I know for a fact I don’t have any with seams.”
He groans against my neck as my hands push beneath his shorts, pulling him in closer to me. Miles rocks his hips against me, rubbing against my aching clit, the friction delectable.
“Definitely need to remedy that. Get you some garters, too.” His tongue darts out, trailing down my throat to dip into my collarbone.
In a blur of motion, I’m in his arms, and once again, Miles takes the stairs, silently stealing down the hallway and into my room.
“So, you really don’t mind if I take her for a spa appointment?” It’s not a lie, not really.
Puss ’n’ Pits provides spa services, just not for Miles’s truck. But after he shared his spank material with me, I found the business card Jasmine had slipped into my hand and called Jensen to see if he would take my picture.
Miles shoots me a look. “Why would I mind? I told you last week, I like the idea of you behind Maggie’s wheel.” He tosses me the keys and adds, “Jake and I have some errands to run today, so take your time.”
I check my tote bag to make sure that I have everything I need. When I called Jasmine to tell her what Jensen and I had planned, she said not to worry about anything. But my makeup bag has all my favorites products.
“Okay, I guess I’ll see you boys later, then. Have fun and make good choices,” I say as I squeeze out the door.
I hook my hangers over my finger, the thin plastic film from the dry cleaner billowing out behind me as I slide into Miles’s beloved truck before hurrying to Puss ’n’ Pits.
“You’re here,” Jasmine screeches when I walk through the door. “Flip the sign and roll the lock closed, would you, darlin’? We are on a tight schedule.” Her hips sway as she leads me back to her office.
Curling irons of various sizes line one side of the makeshift vanity counter. Makeup palettes, brushes, hair spray, and an array of other beauty products fill the other. I hang my clothes on the edge of the door and pull my makeup bag from my tote.
“This seems woefully inadequate,” I say, placing the orange-fuchsia-and-white swirled bag next to Jasmine’s assembled tools.
“I told you, you didn’t need to bring anything. Have a seat here, sweetie. Let’s get this party started.” She spins the desk chair and pats it.
The minute my tush hits the chair, Jasmine works efficiently and furiously. Working my glossy raven hair, meticulously straightening it, only to set it in fat rollers. While those set, she gets to work on my face. Layers upon layers of foundation, concealer, contouring and highlighting. My eyes, dark and sultry, with mile-long lashes and perfectly winged lines. My lips stained blood red, a layer of matte lipstick over top for the finishing touch.
“Dear Jesus, you’re gonna rev that man’s engine. All right, let’s get this hair going, and then we’ll get you dressed.” She gently pulls the curlers from my hair, brushing it into perfectly beachy waves, twisting the front back and pinning fat, round rolls back on each side. Blast after blast of hair spray fills the air and fixes my hair into 1940s vogue.
“Wow.”
Jasmine rests her hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake.
“Fucking wow is right,” Jensen says, filling the doorway. His blond hair is buzzed close on the sides today, his Viking heritage showing strong. “You got the keys to that badass truck out there? I’ll move it into the shade while you finish getting ready, so you don’t burn your ass when you hop up on the hood.”
“In my tote. Hand it to me and?—”
“Got ’em.” He dips his hand in and pulls the keys from the depths, dragging my ruby-red bra with it. Jensen smirks, his brow raised high as he carefully separates the delicate lace from the edge of the wire key ring. “He’s a lucky man. I’ll be outside when you’re ready.” He flips the keys around his finger and stalks out the door.
“My God, that man makes my blood burn through my veins.” Jasmine leans back, gaze pinned to him until the locks auto-click shut. “Okay then. So, we’re going with classy pinup? Did you just bring the one outfit, or are we doing a wardrobe change?”
I pull the rest of my lingerie from my bag and look around for a bathroom. “I just brought the one. Do you have a restroom?”
“Next door down. I’m going to run upstairs to my apartment and just grab a couple things.”
I pop into the restroom and change. The red lace bra lifts my boobs and pushes them together, creating cleavage I never knew I could have. The panties and matching garter are next. The stockings though are a challenge.
When I purchased them, the saleslady made it look so easy to roll them on, getting the seam perfectly straight up the back of the leg. It takes me several tries and some minor adjustments before I give up. Close enough is close enough.
Navy pencil skirt, short-sleeved white blouse, and bright red pumps that perfectly match the lace of my bra. I step out of the restroom and tuck my tote back into Jasmine’s office.
“You ready?” she asks.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” My gaze washes over the pictures lining the hall outside Jasmine’s treatment rooms. “I can’t wait to see what mine look like.”
“Jen’s got a good eye. They’re going to be unreal.” Jasmine leads me outside to where Maggie sits at an angle in front of Jensen’s shop.
“You mind if we get a few in front of the shop?” he asks. “The lighting is on point, and—fuck me…” His words trail off as he turns to fully take me in. “Hot damn, honey. Just… damn.”
Jensen offers me his hand and helps me up onto the hood of the truck. Nerves skitter through my belly, and as he starts taking test shots and making adjustments, I realize it must show.
“Chloe, relax. You’ve got to stop grittin’ your teeth, doll. You look angry.”
I paste on a smile, and after a couple of clicks, he sets the camera in the bed of the truck and leans against the bumper, arms over his chest, legs crossed at his ankles. “Jaz said you’re from New York.”
I adjust the hand I’m leaning on and tilt my head, relaxing ever so slightly. “I am.”
“And what brought you down here?”
So, the conversation starts. We talk about me and Jake, about being closer to my family. We talk about my job and then how he made the switch from professional photographer to tattoo artist to owning his own shop.
As I relax, he picks up the camera and starts shooting again. Softly cueing me on small adjustments. Where to look. Where to place my hand. Saying something goofy when he wants me to laugh, the click of the camera coming like rapid-fire as he moves around the truck, looking for just the right angle.
“You doin’ okay? Need a drink of water or somethin’?” he asks, standing straight.
“I’m good. Are we done already?”
We haven’t been out here very long, but Jensen and Jasmine have businesses to run. I’m sure I’ve already taken up way too much of their time.
“Not at all. But do you think you’re ready for something a little more…” Jensen hesitates.
“Provocative,” Jasmine finishes for him. “Still classy but just a little bit… more, you know? You’ll be blown away, I promise.”
I think about it for a minute, biting at my lower lip, and the camera clicks. Jensen approaches and turns the camera, so I can see what he captured. I look good. Sultry. Sexier than I ever dreamed possible.
“Okay.” I nod. “Let’s do it.”
And over the next couple of hours, Jasmine poses me, and Jensen takes pictures. When we break, it’s only for a quick drink of water and for Jasmine to push me back into her shop to change. The high-waisted navy shorts and white halter top somehow leave me feeling more exposed than a bathing suit, but when we go back out, we fall back into the same easy conversation.
Finally, Jensen lowers the camera, a broad smile stretching his bearded face wide. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Let me dump these on my laptop, and we can do a little preview, let you see what I got.”
I slide off the hood of the truck, suddenly exhausted. “Is it cool if I change back into real clothes?”
“Absolutely,” he calls over his shoulder as he stalks into the shop, camera in hand, pulling the memory card from the slot.
Jasmine leads me inside her shop and up the stairs to her apartment. “Help yourself to the shower. Figure since this is a surprise for your guy, you don’t want to show up back home, looking like nose art. Towels, shampoo, everything you need is right there. I’ll grab the rest of your stuff from my office for you and then meet you next door at Jen’s,” she says, already heading back down the stairs.
After a quick shower, my face clean, hair twisted back into the mess of black curls on the top of my head, I stuff my things into my tote and wander into the tattoo shop.
The receptionist smirks at me and throws her thumb over her shoulder. “Jen’s office is the last door on the left. Girl, you looked fuck-hot.”
“Thanks,” I say, taken aback.
But when I walk through the door of Jensen’s office, all I see is an image of me looking like I never in my life could have imagined.