Stuck-Up Suit

Graham nodded his head slowly in understanding. “I appreciate you looking out for her.”

“Glad we cleared that up.” Tig snickered. “I would ask you if you want a tat on the house while you’re here…but something tells me you’re not into ink.”

“I’m into her ink.” Graham winked at me then scratched his chin, looking like he was pondering something. “Actually, I might be interested. Do you fix tattoos as well?”

“Yeah. What do you mean specifically?”

“I have one that I don’t want anymore. It was a mistake, and I’d like to ink over and around it, change it into something else.”

He had a tat? No fucking way.

“Let’s take a look.” Tig waved his hand, prompting us to follow him.

My eyes were glued to Graham’s ass, which looked amazing in those jeans. My hands longed to squeeze it. I wondered how he’d react if I did.

The muffled sounds of the guests faded into the background when we entered the quiet of the back room. My breathing quickened as Graham slowly lifted his shirt over his head, tousling his hair. It was the first time I had ever seen his rippled chest in the flesh. His physique was beautiful beyond my imagination. It was clear he worked out hard. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his six-pack. His skin was so smooth and tanned. It was everything I had fantasized about and more. My hands tingled with a desperate need to feel his skin. My eyes traveled down the thin, happy trail of hair that led into his jeans before my gaze scrolled up again and landed on it: the tattoo on the left side of his torso. I squinted my eyes. It was a name written in script: Genevieve. My heart dropped. Swallowing my jealousy, I specifically chose not to ask the question I was dying to.

Who the hell is Genevieve?

It felt like my ears were burning. The only thing worse than worrying about Graham being a manwhore was the possibility that there was someone out there who had actually meant something to him—meant enough to permanently mark his body with her name.

Tig looked at me, sensing my discomfort then turned to Graham. “Who’s Genevieve?”

Graham looked at me when he answered, “She’s an ex-girlfriend. Like I said, the tattoo was a mistake.” His expression lacked humor, and it made me even more curious about what might have happened between him and this woman.

Tig took out a book that featured all sorts of designs with details that could mask the letters of the name. Graham chose an intricate tribal design.

I stood there mesmerized, listening to the sound of the needle. The tension in the air was thick as Graham would look over at me from time to time. Tig was able to color in and shade over the name so that by the end, it looked like it was never there. The new tat looked super sexy against Graham’s olive skin. To be honest, I wanted to run my tongue over it.

Tig placed a clear bandage over the design and gave him after-care instructions before Graham put his shirt back on.

“Thanks, man. How much do I owe you?”

Tig held out his hands. “Please. It’s on the house.”

“I insist.”

“Just take care of my girl. That’s all I need from you. Nothing else.”

Graham looked at me. “I can do that.”

Placing his hand on the small of my back, Graham led me through the door and back into the main room.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’ll take some of that punch over there.”

Graham returned with two glasses of the spiked juice, and we both gulped them down swiftly. A stream of red liquid dripped down my cleavage. Before I could wipe it off, I felt Graham’s long finger running a line up the middle of my chest.

“Messy girl,” he said as he licked the punch off of his index finger.

That one single swipe practically did me in. I was so incredibly attracted to him, but never had I wanted him as badly as tonight. The casual clothes, the glasses, the way he was looking at me, seeing him shirtless like that…it was all too much. But more than anything, the lingering jealousy over “Genevieve” was driving me nuts the most. A foreign and uncontrollable sense of possessiveness came over me. My reaction was a wake-up call. I was already in too deep, destined to get hurt. Take that realization, add a little rum punch, and you got one hot mess.

“You’re deep in thought tonight, Soraya. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

What felt like a hot flash started to permeate my body. Never in my life had I ever reacted to a man this way. Never had I felt so much fear and desire at the very same time. Certainly, never had the jealousy monster reared its ugly head. I didn’t want him to sense it. I needed to cool off.