I stared at the picture that Maddox wanted me to delete. I felt guilt rumble in my gut, knowing I was doing something really wrong to him by looking at it. I had really captured something special, though. The actual picture floating in the air, just slightly turned. The angle was perfect. The meaning was perfect.

But Maddox wanted nothing to do with it.

Because of what that picture meant to him.

I could faintly see the picture within the picture, and it was of a woman. Obviously someone who meant something to him.

It’s none of your business, Hazel.

My finger slid to the button with a small trashcan.

I couldn’t do it though.

I couldn’t delete it.

I turned the camera off and looked over my shoulder just in time to see Maddox walking through the door. When he did, it was like everyone stopped what they were doing to look at him. I wondered how many people knew him. How many people he’d tattooed. How many people were in awe of him. How many women in the coffee shop that he slept with.

Jealousy wasn’t a good fit for me, but Maddox managed to kick that up inside me, along with other feelings that I wasn’t sure of.

He ordered a coffee and while waiting, and he turned and stared at me. He crossed his arms. He had such big arms. Muscles on top of muscles. His eyes were dark and brooding. Like two lasers pointed right at me.

And he didn’t move until someone called his name.

Even when he walked to the table, he had this swagger about him. People moved their chairs without him asking. His entire aura and persona was one of power. Control. Knowing what he wanted. Not afraid of anything.

Except…well…whatever that picture meant that he was staring at.

Maybe that’s why he was so mad at me. I had found out something about him that nobody else knew.

Maddox pulled out his chair and spun it around. He straddled it, his eyes still locked to mine.

“Here we are,” I said.

“Did you delete that picture?” Maddox asked.

“No.”

“You think this is a game, Hazel? Messing with someone’s private life?”

“I’m paid to do a job, Maddox. I’m sorry…but I’m also not sorry.”

“Right. So let me say this again. I go near you, and you melt down. Yet you have the nerve to sit there now and offend me. So, give me the story.”

I shook my head. “This isn’t about me.”

Maddox reached across the table and took my hand. I jumped and felt a warm shiver run up my arm and through my body.

“You’re wrong, sugar,” Maddox said. “This is all about you. You’re digging into our private stuff because you’ve got your own. You want to know about the tattoo on my ass? Tell me about the one on your hip. You want to know about that picture you took? The picture I was looking at? Then tell me why you’re afraid of me, yet you can’t get away from me.”

He ran his thumb across the back of my hand, sending more warm pulses through my body. It was so instantaneous. It scared the hell out of me.

I took my hand away. I forced a gulp of coffee, even though it was a little too hot. My eyes watered. I looked away.

“I was drunk,” Maddox said.

“Excuse me?”

“I was drunk. I was hanging with some friends. We were playing cards. I was trying to impress this woman. She had been kind of flirting all night. I lost all my money playing cards. I wanted one more hand. So I made a deal. If I lose, they pick a tattoo and get it on my ass. I only did it to impress this lady. I lost the hand. They chose the lips, and me being a man of my word, I dropped my jeans and got right on the poker table. Ass up.”

“What happened to the woman?” I asked.

Maddox smirked. “Am I sensing jealousy?”

“Just curious.”

“Right. She ended up remembering to put on her engagement and wedding rings right after I got my ass tattooed. Her husband ran the poker games, and they cleaned up really nice with a lot of my cash. So, I walked away, broke, horny, and wearing a souvenir on my ass.”

Maddox drank from his coffee.

He spoke like he didn’t have a regret in the world.

“Wow. That’s a good story. Much better than mine.”

“So tell me yours,” he said.

“I was eighteen. Defiant. Wanted to do something crazy. I didn’t like the taste of cigarettes. I was too scared to try drugs because I had a friend lose her life to them. And I refused to drink.”

“Why?”

“I…” I looked down. “I just didn’t want to drink. So I got a tattoo.”

“Stand up and let me see it,” he said.

So demanding. His voice powerful. No fear.

“Uh, no.”

“Uh, yes,” he said.

“Maddox…”

“If you don’t show me your tattoo, I’m going to stand up and drop my pants. I’m going to show you my tattoo again. Right in front of everyone here.”

He was serious.

I was shocked.

I looked around the place.

Maddox then stood up. Without a care in the world, he grabbed at his belt buckle.

“Okay!” I hissed. “Wait!”

I stood up. Nobody was watching us, but I felt like they all were.

Slowly, I lifted my shirt just enough to show him the stupid moon-and-stars tattoo I got when I was eighteen.

“Not bad,” he said. “I could touch that up for you.”

“Touch it up?”

“Yeah,” Maddox said.

He stood up and walked around the table. Next thing I knew, his left hand was against my left side while the pointer finger of his right hand started to trace my only tattoo.

“You could tell it wasn’t good quality ink,” Maddox said. “There’s some fading, but that could be fixed. Just fresh ink, sugar.”

I was breathless for a few seconds, his touch to my skin making me warmer than I could remember in a long time. Maybe warmer than I’d ever been in my life.

Maddox looked at me. “Okay?”

“Okay,” I whispered.

“So, if you ever want me to take care of that for you, I will.”

“Okay.”

He took his hand away. Then he grabbed my shirt and pulled it down with a quick tug. Everything about him was so bold and right in your face. He leaned back and grabbed his coffee from the table.

“For the record, sugar, I don’t know what you made you get all jumpy back there in the shop, but I would never do anything to hurt you. I would never hurt any woman. I’ve broken a lot of hearts in my life, but never the outside. Okay?”

He started to walk away.

My hand shot out, and I grabbed for his wrist but missed. I had a handful of his shirt, my fingers touching what felt like hard stomach muscle under his t-shirt.

I felt like my knees were going to give way.

“Maddox,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean to offend you. The camera…”

“I would never break your camera,” he said. “Your heart? Probably. But not your camera. At least that camera is honest.”

Maddox then put his hand to mine and released my grip on his shirt.

I stood and watched him walk away.

Our little scene had garnered plenty of attraction from the people in the coffee shop. But I ignored them all. I just watched Maddox as he left.

I felt empty.

I felt like I let him down but had no idea why I cared.

I grabbed for my camera, turned it on, and found the picture of the picture. The one he wanted me to delete. I licked my lips and slid my finger to the trashcan button.

I hit it. I confirmed the deletion of the picture.

And just like that, the picture was gone.

I never deleted pictures. Ever.

But for some fucked-up reason, I didn’t want Maddox to ‘delete’ his trust in me.