Theresa paid the driver and climbed out of the cab. She stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the building she now owned. A suitcase with all of her worldly belongings sat at her feet.

She swallowed, pushing down her nerves. What the hell had she been thinking? When she’d seen the value of the property she’d inherited, she’d assumed the place would be located in some posh, expensive part of London. How was it possible for a building to be worth so much when it looked like this? She wasn’t a snob, but both sides of the tattoo shop were covered in graffiti. She couldn’t believe her aunt had allowed it to stay this way without getting someone to come and paint over it. She hoped the apartment upstairs wasn’t going to be in such bad condition.

Nerves roiled in her stomach as she tried to get up the courage to walk inside. Maybe this was all a bad idea and she shouldn’t have come. Her father, who’d been British, had always encouraged her to use her British passport and visit the country he’d come from, but, other than a brief visit when she’d been about ten, which she could barely remember, she’d dug her heels in. She’d always claimed she had no need to see any other part of the world, that America had everything she could ever need and she’d been at home there, but she no longer had that excuse. She didn’t feel at home anywhere anymore. Not even in her own skin.

She pulled her sleeves down over her hands in a nervous gesture.

Theresa—or Tess, as everyone called her—took a deep breath. She couldn’t stand out here all day. She was already getting strange looks from people, and she was scared someone was about to grab her bag and run off with it. She had everything she owned in that suitcase. The idea of someone running off with it was a little laughable, however. It weighed a ton. She’d even ended up paying extra for the added weight, which had cost her a fortune, but she figured, considering she was moving countries with only a bag, and that she was now the not-so-proud owner of a crazily expensive piece of London real estate, she could afford it.

She appraised the building again. How the hell did a place like this go for so much money? She could buy a mansion and a whole heap of land for that sort of money back in the States. Her friends had told her she should sell the property and keep the cash for herself. Perhaps they were right. She’d have been sitting pretty for a long time, but something had prevented her from doing so. Maybe it had been her father’s words, telling her how important it was for her to experience other cultures, or maybe it had been the timing after everything that had happened, or just a perfect storm of all three. She’d needed to get away for her own sanity and then this place had landed in her lap.

Tess was still trying to get up the courage to walk inside when the glass door of the tattoo shop swung open. A man stood in the entrance in a casual stance, his forearm resting up against the doorframe. He eyed her curiously, his gaze flicking down to the suitcase at her feet.

The man’s dark hair was spiked up and messy. A silver circle, which she could see straight through, stretched his earlobe. Tattoos ran up his throat and down both arms. A tight grey t-shirt with the name of a band she’d never heard of stretched across his broad chest, and she was able to make out the shape of his pectoral muscles underneath. The sleeves of the t-shirt were also stretched, but she couldn’t see the skin of his biceps which protruded from the cotton. Every inch of him was covered in ink. Her gaze flicked across the images, distinguishing one from the other. These weren’t cheap homemade tattoos—they were detailed and every bit as beautifully drawn as a picture on a piece of paper. It didn’t matter how intricate the artwork was, this guy looked scary, and, by the way he was just standing there, staring at her, was intimidating as hell. Obviously, she’d already known the apartment, or flat as they called it here, was above the tattoo shop, but for some reason she hadn’t expected to be quite so taken back when she’d come face to face with one of the men who worked there. He looked like he could have done a stint in jail.

No, she shouldn’t be so judgmental. Just because he was covered in tattoos and had a weird piercing didn’t mean he was a bad guy. He was probably a total pussy-cat underneath all the muscles and ink. He might even be considered good-looking, if someone were into that kind of thing, which she certainly wasn’t. Though by the look he was currently giving her, she wasn’t sure he was going to turn out to be a good person at all. He looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to slam the door in her face, or wrap his arm around her waist and yank her against him.

She had to say something. Her tongue was tied, and they were just standing there, staring at each other. This was weird, and awkward.

So she opened her mouth and said, “Umm. Hi.” Her voice came out too high pitched and immediately she cringed inwardly. She hoped this apartment had its own entrance. She didn’t like thinking she might have to walk by this guy every time she needed to leave. She’d end up hiding away for the rest of her life.