CHAPTER 2

THE RED BARRON WASN’T THE kind of place Roman Bishop ever would have expected to see an angel. This place was a dive in the truest sense of the word, with hard music, cheap beer, and dark corners. Damn—he wanted to see her light up one of those corners.

Swathed in a soft pink dress and white fuck-me heels, she had him entranced. She moved the curtain of her dark hair, exposing the graceful curve of her shoulder, a creamy canvas that made his hand tingle with the phantom buzz of his tattoo gun. It would be a fucking honor to mark her. The glow of that lovely skin had drawn him away from his friends like a moth to her flame. Hell—he had never seen a woman like her and he was no virgin schoolboy fumbling in the dark.

“You’re too classy for a dive like this, beautiful.” He slid into the vacant seat beside her even as he cringed inwardly at his own cheesy pickup line. “Are you lost?”

She turned clear absinthe green eyes his direction and his breath caught.

Her full lips teased a soft smile. “Just waiting for my date. He’s late.”

Roman’s heart sank. Of course, a girl that gorgeous wouldn’t be alone. “Can I at least keep you company? I’ll buy you a drink and keep the riffraff in this joint at bay.”

Great, now he sounded like a desperate ass. If she minded, she didn’t show it. If anything, her smile grew and she turned more fully his direction.

“I’ve got a drink.” She held up her wine glass as evidence—yet another sign she was too much for this shithole. “But I would welcome the company.”

They chatted for ten minutes. Every word confirmed her as both witty and intelligent, proving she was more than just perfumed eye candy. He almost wished that’s all she would have been. If her mind had been inferior to the package on the outside, he could have enjoyed the view and forgotten her, but now… He cut the thought off as the shadow of her date loomed over them—literally.

“Am I interrupting something?” Her date looked like a yuppie, complete with chinos and a striped polo. Why the hell would a guy like that have her wait here?

She glanced at the dainty gold watch on her wrist. “Waiting for you. You’re thirty minutes late.”

Yuppie-boy held out his hand for her with a cocky smirk that Roman’s fingers itched to bitch-slap off his face. “Don’t worry, doll. I’ll make it up to you.”

“We’ll see about that.” Her smile turned sugar sweet as she slid out of the barstool. She did not take his hand, instead brushing past him towards the exit. “Are you coming?”

Leaning towards Roman, while eyeing her admittedly fine ass, her date whispered as if they’d been frat brothers or some shit. “She’s sassy and demanding but totally worth the ride.”

The sleazebag—he’d been downgraded—hurried to catch up to her and hold the door. She looked back at Roman and her smile warmed. It hadn’t met her eyes when she smiled at her date. She’d given that gift to Roman, and he didn’t even know her name.

Roman’s pencil tip dug into the front desk. His mind forced back from the memory he’d been drifting in as Declan Stone, his best friend and fellow artist, yanked the sketchpad away. Roman made an ineffectual grab for the spiral bound paper.

“What the hell, man?”

Declan leaned back in his chair, holding the artwork just out of reach. “Just checking out what you’re doin’.” He tossed the book down in front of Roman and pointed at the pinup girl meticulously drawn from memory on the page. “You’ve been spaced out since that chick last night.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“So forget about it. She left with somebody else.”

His friend was right. She did leave, but something about that look on her face as she had—as if she resigned herself to it but really wasn’t interested. A woman like her could have anyone, which left him wondering why she’d gone, instead of telling the douche canoe to fuck off. Ultimately, it wasn’t his place to get involved. In the rare down time he had between clients, he had better things to do than moon over the one who got away—like keeping the doors to their shop open.

Ink Spinners Tattoo & Gallery had been a dream and a labor of love for both Roman and Declan—one whose timetable moved up thanks to Roman’s ex. The old brick building was one of the last the NewBo District had saved. They closed on the purchase just one week before the wrecking ball and saved it from becoming a new urban development made to look vintage. Thanks to the local historical society, they got it for a song and spent the better part of the year renovating it. Now the shop looked as if a steampunk barbershop and a Victorian apothecary had a baby. For a couple of black sheep local boys, they were doing all right.

Roman dragged his hand over the rough stubble of his jaw. “You’re right. Not like I could find her if I wanted to.”

“Funny you should say that.” A cocky grin split Declan’s face just as the bell over the door rang.

Roman turned, smile at the ready as the girl in question sauntered through the door. “Damn.”

Her steps faltered at his whispered oath, but he couldn’t help himself. Ten seconds ago, he had no hope of ever seeing her again, let alone in his shop. Good girls like her don’t have ink. Everything about her whispered that he was right, especially the way she dressed today; a blush pink blazer, layered over a white t-shirt that she tucked into a pink and black rose patterned pencil skirt. She had tamed the dark curls he remembered from last night into a bun, and oversized pearl earrings hung from earlobes that he already visualized sucking on.

“You’re Ann’s step-brother?” Her voice held the same breathless wonder that he uttered his own curse in seconds before. When she continued, her tone was brighter, with crisp efficiency. “I’m here about the job. Ann Kennedy referred me.”

The attitude switch about gave him whiplash.

She held out her hand and as he stood to take it, her soft, slender fingers seemed swallowed up by his darker, tattooed mitt. “Roman Bishop and this is my business partner, Declan Stone, you are…”

“Oh yeah, I’m Gigi Duval.” She stared up into his eyes, leaving her hand in his for longer than necessary before she seemed to notice and pull back.

He forced down a groan at the simple loss of her warmth in his hand. She wet her pouty pink lips. When his gaze zeroed in on the subtle movement, the corners turned up, ever so slightly. This couldn’t be good. Mere moments into formally meeting her and he was already smitten. Would it be strange to propose marriage now? Oh wait—she had a boyfriend—at least she did last night.

Gigi would give anything to rollback her day to lunch and hand that card back to Ann or better yet, keep the card and refuse to give that forced promise. Life could be an unforgiving bitch and right now, life clearly had it in for Gigi. Why did it have to be him?

There was no one in the history of man that made a plain white t-shirt and jeans look that good—except maybe James Dean. Roman’s clothes weren’t plain. They were a statement. A white wall, allowing the brilliant color and bold black lines of ink running up both arms to speak for him. Her panties were insta-soaked just imagining tracing each intricate design with her tongue. Add to that, the amber fire of his eyes, he was just too much. Roman Bishop was the worst kind of temptation.

If she hoped to keep that ill-fated vow, let alone her precious rules, she would need to turn tail and run back the way she came. Unfortunately, her fat mouth must be under the sway of her hormones or her dwindling bank account.

“Ann said you need an office manager. So here I am, resume in hand.” She whipped out a crisp sheet of paper from her folder as evidence. He took it without even glancing at the words. “Has the position been filled?”

“You’re hired.” His voice held a note of awe and his eyes seemed to spark.

“I’m sorry? Aren’t you going to interview me?” She raised one eyebrow as she looked from Roman to Declan, who stood chuckling beside him.

He leaned forward across the desk, his fingers gripping the edge, turning his knuckles white. “If you couldn’t do the job, Ann wouldn’t have sent you. You need a job. I have one to fill. What more do I need to know?”

“I have a few questions if you don’t.” Gigi took a step back towards the door as she said it.

This was not how this should have gone, despite his assurance that it only reflected trust in his sister. Something about the way he looked at her like a hopeful lost puppy—the way he had last night—made her worry this might not end well for her. He seemed like a nice enough guy in the bar, but she didn’t want an attachment and, of course, there was that damned promise to consider. She had to keep reminding herself.

Roman ran his hand through his slicked back hair with a bashful half-cocked smile. “Yeah, I suppose you do. I guess I should have thought of that.”

“For starters, what would be my responsibilities—hours, salary? You know—the basics.”Then at least she could tell Ann it wasn’t a good fit, rather than admit she couldn’t be around her friend’s delectable step-brother.

“We’re open Tuesday through Saturday and you would work the front desk, taking appointments, answering phones, that kind of thing.” Roman looked back at his friend, as if expecting him to chime in. The big guy nodded and Roman continued. “But you’ll have help with that because your primary job will be the website and the gallery. We do an art show every other month. You would be in charge of that. Would you like to see it—the gallery, I mean?”

“Absolutely.”

He walked around the edge of the counter and extended his hand out to direct her towards a black partition wall erected on the left side of the space. A three-dimensional skull of layered gears decorated the wall. He followed behind her as she moved to the gallery entrance. He never touched her, but the awareness of his hand hovering at the small of her back had a physical force as they walked. She dismissed it as wishful thinking—her inner sadist wanting someone she shouldn’t have.

She hugged her leather folder to her chest as if it would somehow shield her from her own desire as she wandered through the maze of black walls. The paintings ranged from dark and exotic to colorful pop art using mixed media.

“Are they all yours?” She asked, her voice embarrassingly breathless.

He paused in front of a gothic looking piece of a broken man on his knees, screaming in agony.

“Mine are in here,” he said, gesturing up at the painting in question. “Most are from the other artists who work here. I’d like to feature artists who come through to do a guest spot in the shop.”

His thoughtful expression as he examined it made her wonder if he’d painted this one to represent himself. She had a strong urge to soothe whatever caused that level of pain. There were so many shadowy corners back here for her to do just that.

It could be so easy to back him into one of those dark spaces right now. If it weren’t for that promise or rule number three, she would get down on her knees and find a different job later. It would almost be worth it to see the rest of his ink.

She shook herself from her dirty thoughts with a shaky indrawn breath and took a step back, as if physical distance would lessen his pull on her. “Have you thought about renting the space for parties? I could imagine a great upscale office event here.”

A smile split his previously pensive face. “See that’s why you’re perfect for this job. I need that kind of outside-the-box thinking.” He jammed his hands in his front pockets and kicked at some unseen spot on the floor. “I know color and how to make beautiful art. How to use it in business… I’m not a businessman. I mean I own one but…”

“I get it. You need marketing help. I know how to do that.”

His shoulders sagged in apparent relief at her understanding. “I probably can’t pay you what you’re used to or even what you deserve, not at first. If you’re okay with that, the job is yours.”

“This wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.” His expression dropped like a disappointed toddler and she rushed to amend her statement. “It’s better than I expected. That being said, I’d like to think on it and get back to you.”

His return smile was hesitant, which didn’t render it any less heart stopping. “I can respect that. Just let me know if you have any more questions.”

They continued through the maze of walls in silence until they were back where they started.

“I’ll be at the Red Barron again tonight if you feel the need to talk it through or have any more questions.” His voice was quiet and deep, just for her, as he closed the distance between them. If that wasn’t a blatant reminder of his attraction to her the night before, she’d burn her little pink book—or maybe not. “If you’re worried about what your boyfriend will think, I won’t make it weird.”

“He wasn’t my boyfriend.” The words slipped out without thought, but she didn’t regret them. Not when another smile lit up his face. Despite the false hope of his openness, she found it intoxicating. She should be ashamed of herself for encouraging it, but it made her want to swoon just the same.

“Thanks for the tour.” Gigi held her hand out to him, waiting anxiously for him to take it.

Roman took it, trapping her small hand between both of his. A thrill ran through her and she choked back the sharp indrawn breath threatening to break free, carefully schooling her features into passive awareness with a tight smile. Rules, Gigi. Remember the rules. Was she aware that she was pathetic for being excited over this small shred of physical contact with him? Yes. Clearly, she was going to have to call in a date to fuck the edge off, because there was no way she could ever hook up with Roman Bishop.