The guy trailed behind Luna, down the hall to the first room on the right, without incident or comment. She opened the door and the man stood there, eyes doing that shifty, darting move again. The room was filled with the usual arsenal of inks and stands. The walls were covered with drawings, paintings and past sketches she’d done for clients. A large chair, the kind like you’d see in a dentist office sat in the middle of the room and off to the side was a table, almost like what you’d find at any doctor visit, minus the creepy stirrups at the end of course. The one position she’d never had to ask anyone to get into for a tattoo was spread eagle. Thank god for small mercies.
She finally turned and found that the guy was studying her. He hadn’t stepped foot into the room. He stood there like an impenetrable force. A brick wall? A granite mountain? If he went by a code name, Luna imagined that would be it. She could just hear him on one of those radios, Granite Mountain, over and out. She nearly grinned before she realized what a crazy fool she’d look like. She composed herself quickly.
“So. If you want to step in and take off your shirt, I can see what we’re working with.”
Though the man’s face remained carefully composed, his eyes changed. They took on a wild look, where the whites nearly ate his irises. Finally he seemed to give himself a mental kick in the ass and decided the only way to go through this was to shed that damn shirt of his and expose whatever was underneath to her prying eyes.
How bad could it be? Something sure as hell wasn’t right about any of this.
Whatever battle he was fighting, he clearly decided that the cover up must be worth it. Hands the size of hams came up to his shirt, chest high. They fumbled with the buttons, struggling to undo them. Finally, after an eternity of tense breathing and even heavier anticipation, he shrugged out of the shirt and whirled, all in a motion so graceful, Luna almost couldn’t believe it had happened at all.
Holy Hannah. If backs could be gorgeous or even sexy as hell, his certainly was.
The taut, rippling muscle under that layer of bronze, silky looking skin were tense, strained even. His was not the muscle of a body builder or someone who pumped iron and steroids. No, his muscles were streamlined and beautiful. She was willing to bet that wherever the guy worked out it wasn’t at the friendly neighborhood gym.
Seeing him half naked, all animal male did something to Luna’s body. She reacted with raw, powerful lust to seeing all that latent power simmering just below the surface. The man looked dangerous and not just because of his size.
Marring a surface that would have been utterly glorious, was a hideous tattoo. It took up most of his back, starting just below his shoulder blades and ending right before the swells of his hips. There were scars too, short ones, long ridges, rounded circles, jagged lines. The tattoo made no sense. It didn’t have any graceful lines or flowing rhythm. It was just… figures, slapped on. What looked to be a wolf’s head crested his shoulder blades. Beside that was a sick looking grim reaper holding a scythe. At least, that’s what she guessed it was, but only because that blade in hand was a dead giveaway. The lion head below that was larger, taking up most of the back, or at least, what was left. It too looked half carved in, as though whoever had done the work meant actual harm, not art. Clearly they’d wanted that ink to stick.
“You’ve had it lasered.” It wasn’t a question. Luna could tell from the fading that he’d probably endured a couple blistering sessions. Ouch. She felt for him. The removal generally hurt far more than getting inked in the first place.
Luna should have known better. She should have stopped her trembling hand from reaching out, but her body reacted on a base level, without thought. Her index finger traced one particularly long, ragged scar right below his shoulder blade. A tremor ripped through her hand and it took Luna a second to realize it wasn’t her body’s reaction, but his. He uttered a shaky, raw breath and she had the feeling it took all his willpower not to move.
“Feeling up your client is part of the job?” The man growled. He whirled, the look on his face so sinister and angry that Luna quickly jerked away. Her hand burned and a vibrant, nearly painful electrical sensation buzzed up her arm. She couldn’t even pretend that her breathing was anything short of erratic.
This man fairly exuded danger. Worse, and far more damaging, the air was heady with a primal sexual aura that was completely raw, undeniable and far more captivating than it should have been.
“It is when I have to tattoo over it.” She stood her ground, trying to draw air into her burning lungs on a shaky inhale. “How many laser sessions?” God, if she was him she’d want that tattoo covered up too.
“Three. They said it’s never going to be lighter than it is now. I need it covered up.”
“And the scars?”
“What about them? I assume you can tattoo over them?”
“I suppose I could. Yes. It might not be pretty, but I can do it.”
The blackness in those icy blue eyes stopped Luna’s heart mid-beat. “They said you were the best. Anyone I talked to and I’ve done my research. I’ve seen your work. Will you take me or not?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say no. She knew she shouldn’t get involved with this guy. In any capacity. The fact that her body was already heating painfully and her heart beating out a hard, double time rhythm didn’t bode well. Apparently, her body and brain weren’t on the same page. Her brain told her to stay the hell away, but her body said a big fuck you to that logic.
“Yes. I can do it.” She winced. I’m going to get exactly what’s coming to me.
“When?” His eyes searched hers, locking, green meeting blue like hot and cold air clashing.
What’s the darn hurry? She’d wager her last months’ salary that all that ink had been with this guy for a long time, probably at least a decade. “Probably six months wait at least.”
“I can’t. I can’t wait that long.” His voice held that strange, wild edge, the tone that indicated he was close to coming undone. “You don’t have anything sooner? I’ll pay double. Off the books.”
“Make it triple,” Luna blurted, as usual her tongue skipping ahead of her brain.
“Triple it is.” The man reached down, grabbed up his shirt in a fantastic display of rippling muscle. He shrugged it on in a movement far too agile for someone so big.
Whoever said the male form isn’t art was a moron. Luna tried not to stare at his chest but he gave her a few seconds worth of the glorious display before his fingers, suddenly far too nimble, closed up his shirt. The image of his godlike chest was burned into her brain. Crisp, blonde hair smattered over pectorals so hard you could probably crack a beer open in the valley between them. Abs so defined he could have been a poster child for fitness equipment. And scars. Jesus, the scars. They crisscrossed the golden skin that could have been utter perfection.
What kind of life had he known? Luna was familiar with scars. She’d tattooed quite a few. She knew from experience that some of those jagged lines were at least a couple decades old.
Why did the guy insist on looking so clean cut on the outside? Anyone who looked twice could tell that he wasn’t who he said he was. No amount of pressed clothing or expensive, Italian leather shoes could soften those eyes of his. Eyes that had seen far too much of life.
“Tomorrow then?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“We start tomorrow?”
Nothing like getting right down to business. It was utterly shameful but Luna found that she wanted to see more of his chest, more of that gorgeous broad back and that marred skin. Fuck, she didn’t want it, she craved it. Say no. Say no and run. This guy is just another Jordan. Worse. He’s far more dangerous. Overriding all her good sense, was her unabashed desire to put her mark on his skin. To cover – no. To fix his back.
“Yah. Tomorrow. Send me your ideas tonight, to my email and I’ll draw you something in the morning. The shop closes at seven. Come by then. To the back door.”
He nodded sharply and disappeared, nearly frantic, like someone drowning who sensed the surface was close.
Luna sat down slowly on that bench where she’d tattooed so many people. Where she would tattoo him. It wasn’t only fucked up that she wanted to see him again, it was worse that over twenty-four hours seemed too long to wait. Her fingers itched to touch him, to caress that heated skin again.
The worst part of it all was that she realized the next time she felt that skin she was going to be wearing gloves. It felt like a monumental loss, not to be able to touch him. A man who at this point, didn’t even have a name.