After Art dropped her home, Tess went to bed early, confused and despondent. What the hell was going on with him? One minute he was acting all loved up and tearing off her clothes, and the next minute he was pushing her away. His reaction when she’d mentioned going to his place sent alarm bells warning. Why didn’t he want her there? The thing about the flatmate not liking him bringing people back didn’t ring true. Was there a chance there was no flatmate? Was Art actually a married man, and he couldn’t take her home because his family was there? He didn’t seem like the marrying type, and she was sure there’d have been hints at him already being in a relationship—what was to stop his wife or girlfriend coming into the shop to see him? Surely he wouldn’t have had sex with her on the stairs if he’d thought there was any chance whatsoever of being caught.

She didn’t know, but she knew something wasn’t right between them again. When he’d driven her back to the shop, he hadn’t even taken off his helmet to kiss her goodbye. She’d asked him if he was going to lock up, but he’d muttered something about getting Kane to do it, and then he’d roared off on his bike without so much as a backward wave. Something was definitely going on with him, though she had no idea what.

Tess fell into a restless sleep, only for something to wake her again, not long after.

She jerked upright, her ears straining. Shit, that sounded like someone moving around downstairs. Art was supposed to have asked Kane to lock up the shop, but what if he’d forgotten? Someone might have found the door open and entered the property, trying their luck for what they might find.

Her heart beating hard, she slipped out of bed, silently getting to her feet. She snatched up her phone. Should she call the cops? No, it might be nothing, and then she’d look like a total idiot. She needed to make sure she had actually heard something, and the noise hadn’t just been part of a dream which she’d brought into her waking life with her.

Tess realised she had no way of defending herself if she did find someone downstairs who was up to no good.

Sneaking into the kitchen, moving on tiptoes so as not to alert anyone to there being someone upstairs, she pulled open the drawers, looking for something she could use. Her fingers wrapped around the solid wood of a rolling pin. It wasn’t quite a baseball bat—her weapon of choice when she’d been living in the States—but it would have to do.

She edged open her front door, and slowly, and silently, crept down the stairs.

Stopping at the door dividing the tattoo studio from the rear part of the building, which housed the stairs, a toilet, and the small room the men used as a staff room, she listened hard. She didn’t hear anything. Had she been imagining things?

Tess put out her hand and slowly turned the handle then pushed it open.

Movement passed in front of her. She let out a cry, swinging the rolling pin. A hand shot out of the dark and grabbed her wrist.

“What the fuck, Tess?”

She exhaled a sigh of relief. “Jesus Christ, Art! I was about to bash your head in with a rolling pin!”

“No, you weren’t. I’d already stopped you. And that’s not exactly a great use of a rolling pin. A knife would have been better.”

Her eyes adjusted to the gloom and she took in the sight of him standing there. “I wasn’t going to stab someone! Anyway, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I just needed to get something.”

“You did? At this time of night?”

She glanced down and spotted a rolled up sleeping bag under one arm, a toothbrush in his other hand, his feet bare. Frowning, her mind pieced things together. “You’re sleeping here tonight?”

He gave a sharp nod. “Yeah, just for tonight.”

“Why?”

“Umm, I lost my keys.”

“But you still had the keys to the shop? Why didn’t you just call me? You know I’d have let you stay with me if you couldn’t get into your place. Or was that difficult flatmate giving you problems again?”

His face grew taut with anger. “Just stop talking for one fucking minute, Tess! I didn’t lose my keys. I’m sleeping here. I don’t have a flat to go to, or a difficult flatmate. This is where I’ve been staying for the past few months.”

She jerked back in surprise. “What? Here, at the shop?”

His gaze cast down. “No, I’ve been staying in the flat.”

“You’ve been living in the apartment? That wasn’t in the contract.”

His jaw tightened. “Yeah, I know that, Tess.”

“So why would you be living here? Don’t you have a place of your own?”

It dawned on her that all the stuff they’d cleared out on the day she’d arrived had actually been his belongings rather than just junk from the shop as she’d thought. She knew the guys had been hanging out here, but this had actually been his home. The memory of tossing the old bed sheets made her face turn crimson. No wonder he’d been so put out at her turning up early. He’d though he’d had more time to get sorted.

She was still confused. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Tell some American I didn’t even know that I didn’t have anywhere to live?” He snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“But why didn’t you have anywhere to live. You have your own business. Surely you can get somewhere.”

He shrugged, and she hated to see the colour in his face, knowing that just speaking about this was embarrassing him. Art wasn’t the type of guy to be self-conscious, and she hated she’d made him feel that way.

“Why do you think I couldn’t get a place, Tess?”

She shook her head, baffled.

“I lost money on the flat I was in before—there was damage that wasn’t my fault and they kept the final month’s rent, and the deposit. I didn’t have any extra cash to find a new deposit—landlords literally want thousands before you can rent in London. Not that you need to worry about that, considering you’re on the other side of the fence.”

Her defences went up. “It’s not my fault you didn’t have anywhere to live!”

“No?”

“No! I inherited this place. I’m allowed to live here if I want to. I might have done things differently if I’d known you were already staying here.”

“Would you? You didn’t even know me. Would you really have just said, ‘hey, that’s fine. Stay a few more weeks’ rent free. No problem?’”

She remembered her reaction when she’d first met him, how he’d appeared rough and dangerous, with that London accent and almost permanent scowl. If she’d found he’d been living rent-free in the place she not only owned but was also moving into, she’d have been furious and unforgiving. She hadn’t known him back then, not like she did now.

Her lips twisted as she admitted it. “Okay, you’re right. I wouldn’t have been happy.”

His arms folded across his chest, and she tried not to be distracted by those annoyingly perfect muscles in his forearms.

“But,” she continued, “I still don’t understand why you weren’t able to just find someplace else. You have your own business. Surely you could have taken some money out of that to find your own place.”

“There isn’t any extra money in the business. Your increase in rent didn’t help that.”

“You didn’t know about the increase in rent a few months ago.” She frowned. “I don’t get it. Why isn’t there any money from the shop? There are always clients waiting to get work done—the place is packed. Aren’t you booked up for weeks? I’m sure I overheard Rocco saying that to someone on the phone the other day.”

“Yeah, we have plenty of clients,” he said, not meeting her eye.

“So why aren’t you making enough money to put a roof over your head?”

His cobalt blue gaze snapped to hers. “Is that all you care about, making money?”

His sudden anger confused her. “No, of course not! I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you.”

“Nothing’s going on with me. I was doing just fine until you showed up. You’re the one who came along and messed everything up.”

Tears of anger and frustration filled her eyes. She didn’t know why he was being like this. “I’m sorry, I just felt bad that you didn’t have anywhere to stay.”

“I don’t need you feeling sorry for me. I’m more than capable of looking after myself.”

He turned and stormed away, leaving her standing there, doing her best not to cry, and failing.

***

THE FOLLOWING DAY, Tess lingered at the doorway of her flat, watching down the stairs. Only, it wasn’t Art she was looking out for.

Finally, one of the other men who worked in the shop emerged, crossing the bottom of the stairs.

Tess leaned out of her door and hissed at him. “Hey, Rocco! Have you got a minute?”

The other guy turned to her with a smile. “Sure, Tess. What’s up?”

She jerked her head back into her apartment. “Up here.”

He frowned slightly, but didn’t question her, instead climbing the stairs to join her.

Tess shut the door, enclosing them both inside the apartment. She turned to Rocco.  “I might be completely out of line here, but I’m worried about Art.”

His frown deepened. “Art? Why? Art can look after himself.”

“Yeah, I know, but I hate the idea of him being homeless, and I kind of feel responsible, even though I had no idea he was living here. But now I’ve moved in and basically thrown him out, even though I didn’t know...”

She was rambling and Rocco lifted a hand to stop her.

“Just wind back a minute. What do you mean he’s homeless?”

“Oh, shit. You didn’t know?”

“No, of course not.”

“He says he’s broke and can’t afford to rent anywhere, but how can that be when the shop is packed and he’s booking up clients months in advance?” She hated herself a little for telling him this. Art wouldn’t be happy about her giving away his secrets—he was too proud for his own good—but she needed the truth.

Rocco glanced away, remaining silent, his teeth digging into his lip.

She pointed a finger. “You know something, don’t you?”

Rocco looked back to her. “I didn’t know it was going to get him into financial trouble, or I’d have said something sooner.”

Her heart sank. Oh, God. What’s he into? Drugs? Gambling? Other women?

“Tell me,” she said.

“Art does a lot of his work pro bono.”

“Pro bono? Isn’t that what lawyers do for people who are in need?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess Art sees people in need, too. He works on people who have scarring they hate, that affects their lives, and their self-confidence, and tattoos over it to create something they can be proud of.”

Instinctively, she pulled down on the sleeves of her shirt. She was relieved at his answer though. So Art was broke because he was helping people. “Why does he do that?”

“He’s never mentioned Rebecca to you?”

Immediately, she knew who he was talking about. “The girl in the drawings?”

“He showed those to you?” he sounded surprised.

“No, I found them in his stuff.”

“Ah, well maybe you should ask him about her.”

“Please, Rocco. He just shuts down on me, or walks away.”

He exhaled a sigh. “I shouldn’t really be telling you this.”

“Please,” she begged.

“Rebecca was a girl he met when they were both eighteen. She was his first love, and he was obsessed with her. They were obsessed with each other. Then Rebecca got into a car accident. The car burst into flames and she was badly burned—she almost died.”

“Oh, my God. The poor thing. So what happened between her and Art? Didn’t he stand by her?”

“He tried to, but she wouldn’t let him. She pushed him away, and then eventually moved to Scotland to be with family. It broke him, for a long time.” Rocco shrugged. “But he had the shop and his work, so he threw himself into that. He’s always kept women at an arm’s length since then... well, until you came along.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, he’s different around you. He talks about you—even if it isn’t always positively!”

She lifted her eyebrows and Rocco’s mouth stretched in a grimace. “Sorry, but it’s the truth.”

She waved away his apology. “So Art wouldn’t normally talk about a woman?”

“No way. He had two rules, which he said were for all of us, but were really just for him.”

It was her turn to grimace. “I’m scared to ask.”

“They were pretty simple. Always make sure the woman knows it’s a one night hook-up only, and never get involved. I’m assuming he’s broken both of those rules with you.”

Her cheeks coloured, but she nodded. “Yes, he has.” She let out a sigh and covered her face with both hands. “What am I going to do, Rocco? He’s built up his defences so high, I’m not sure he’s ever going to let me in.”

“Just keep trying. Art’s a good guy, underneath the hard-man act. Keep chipping away and it will be worth it.”

She nodded. “Is he working today?”

“Yeah, he’s downstairs with a client. He’ll be done in an hour or so.”

“Can you send him out the back for something when he’s done? I’ll be waiting for him.”

Rocco nodded. “Sure, Tess. I’ll see what I can do.”

She saw him out, and then sneaked down to sit at the bottom of the stairs, in exactly the same spot where she and Art had screwed a few days earlier. That felt like a lifetime ago now.

She waited patiently. The minutes passed and finally the door opened and Art stepped through. Her heart lurched at the sight of him. Now she knew the reasons for him to act the way he had, she’d discovered her feelings for him had magnified. He had a past, too, just like her.

Art stopped short at the sight of her. “What do you want, Tess? I’m busy.”

“Sorry. I just want to talk to you.”

He shook his head and her heart sank. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I knew getting involved was gonna be a mistake.”

His words were like a knife. “Gee, thanks!”

“Give me a few days, and I’ll find somewhere, okay? I have a friend who has a room.”

“Come up and stay with me.” She blurted the offer before she’d even thought about it.

“Don’t be stupid, Tess.” Every word he said stung. “We barely know each other. I’m not going to just move in.”

“Not move in. Just stay with me until you get sorted.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

Her emotions for him quickly morphed to anger and frustration. “Jesus. It’s not pity. I thought we were doing okay. I thought we were friends—more than friends.”

“You’re my landlady, remember?”

She stared at him. “Why do you have to be such an ass?”

“You think I’m being the ass? Just try to see this from my point of view for once? I’ve got a lot on my plate and you being around isn’t helping anything.”

“You know what I think, Art?”

“No.” He scowled. “But I’m sure you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“I think you act like you don’t give a shit what anyone thinks of you, but in actual fact, you’re constantly aware of the possibility people might be judging you. But you know who’s judging you more than anyone else?”

His arms folded across his chest. “I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

“You judge you. And I’m not sure you ever come up good enough in your own eyes. Well that’s fine, cause I can’t be doing with any more of your shit. I waited here to speak to you because I thought there was another side to you, and that you’d be worth my time. Seems I was wrong.”

And with that, she turned and stormed back up the stairs, wishing she’d never come down in the first place.

Wishing she’d stayed in America.