Ink My Heart

dusk outside. Track lighting illuminates the framed art on the walls, and the space is filled with glass display cases of jewelry.

A girl comes out from behind a counter in the back. She’s smoking hot in her slinky half shirt, which shows off the circular tattoo around her pierced belly button.

“Can I help you?” she asks. Her gaze slides over the tattoos on my arms and pauses at the ring in my eyebrow while she flips her long brown hair behind a shoulder.

“Maybe.” I give her a slow smile. “I want to check out some of your art.”

Her hips sway and her heels click on the floor as she steps closer, pointing to framed pictures on the walls. “Those are our most popular basics.” She then points to a rack of laminated images. “These are more intricate.” She taps her nails on the cover of a binder on the counter. “And in here we have the works of art.” She leans with both hands behind her on the counter and sticks her chest out. “Have anything in mind?”

With her tits beneath my nose, there’s not much in my mind besides what’s right in front of me. “Not sure. Just checking things out.”

Her frosted lips curve into a knowing smile, and I grin back.

“Mandy,” a male voice says from the far end of the shop. “You need to schedule Jack’s next appointment.”

“Give me a sec,” she tells him, still staring at me. She pulls her hands from behind her on the counter. “Take your time—I’ll check on you in a bit.”

Mandy can check on me anytime. Smirking, I nod and watch her saunter away toward the guys waiting near the counter. I reach for a binder of designs, but really, I’m waiting on Mandy. Appears I may have found my “sexy new adventure.”

After glancing at the barbells, earrings, and gauges in the glass case, I page through pictures of skulls, stars, crosses, and tribal art designs. Nothing’s really grabbing me, so I open a binder labeled Custom Designs. Inside are a bunch of photos with people showing off their awesome tats. There’s a sexy ’50s pinup girl, a flaming sun setting into its reflection on rippling water, a rose that looks like it’s growing out of a woman’s hip, an arm sleeve of Japanese art…The intricate ink is blowing me away, but I’m brought back to the shop when someone says, “Show me your other side, Paul. Let me see how Todd did on the last one.”

Though the words are commonplace for a tattoo parlor, the feminine voice grabs my attention—it’s dripping with sex. Low and husky, the voice wraps around me like a lush naked body might, taking me to dark, sweet places.

Pretending to examine another book, I glance at the owner of the voice.

She is bending over and staring at the guy’s ribs. Dark auburn curls spill across her profile. I can’t see her clearly, other than her lowered thick black lashes and the pout of her red lips.

“Very, very nice, Todd,” the voice purrs to the other guy, who I’m assuming is the artist—but fuck, I wish she were talking to me.

Hell. My hands grip the edge of the glass countertop. If she keeps that purring up, I’m going to get hard just listening to her.

The guy drops his shirt over his tattooed ribs. “You should design my next one.”

Nodding, she turns toward the counter and away from me. “Anytime, Paul, just set up an appointment with Mandy.”

The guy beams at her as I flip through the book of photos absently. I’m guessing the owner of that voice designed the ink in the pictures—and all I can think about is how to get an introduction to her. I haven’t been this fascinated by a girl since…Damn. I don’t remember when. And I haven’t even seen her face yet.

I’m staring at art that I’m not really seeing when a finger drumming on the counter pulls my attention from the binder. Expecting Mandy, my mouth falls open at the sound of that voice.

“Finding anything interesting? Anything giving your skin an itch?”

Her sensual tone shoots lust down my spine and right to my dick. I gradually flip a page, getting control of myself, then at last look up and take in the face that owns that voice.

Holy shit. She’s better looking than I could have imagined. Two tiny silver stars dangle from the barbells at the end of one eyebrow. A lip ring I instantly want to suck pierces the corner of her lower lip. Her gray eyes fringed in black stare back at me. Those eyes are as erotic as her voice. She’s all contrasts. Pretty, yet edgy with her piercings. Her pale skin and light eyes paired with rich auburn hair and dark, slashing winged brows make another contrast. She’s sexy as all hell. Get a grip, Justin. Do not drool, I think. I tap on the book. “These are really good,” I say.

She stares at me wide eyed for a moment before coolly saying, “Thanks. I take pride in my work.”

Standing up straight, I feign stupidity. “These are yours?”

Her black lashes lower as she glances at the book. “Every one.”

My eyes wander over her, taking in the loose sweatshirt with the store’s logo and the leaf tattoo that wraps around her wrist. She’s not like Mandy, who is in-your-face hot. Instead, she radiates a half-buried sensuality that has me wanting to peel back her cool demeanor and get a glimpse inside. I want to find out what’s beyond those slate-gray eyes watching me warily. They remind me of mournful lyrics, the way they hint at deeper emotions and pull at your soul.

“Well, judging from these photos you have to be the most talented tattoo artist I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a lot,” I say smugly.

Her smoky eyes narrow a bit before her gaze travels the length of my arm. “Looks like you’re ready for some real ink.”

As long as you keep looking and talking, you can do anything you want to me, baby. “Yeah, I’m ready for something a little more…in depth.”

“Any ideas rolling through your head?”

About tattoos? Not fucking one. Considering what a tattoo artist might suggest, I blurt, “Something more personal?”

She lets out a low chuckle and leans forward. “So you have no clue?”

I glance at her short silver nails while I rack my lust-ridden brain. “I’m thinking something relating to music?”

She cocks one eyebrow, and a silver star jingles. “You’re a musician?”

“Kind of,” I say, reluctant to admit I’m in a band. I instinctively know that bragging won’t get me anywhere with this girl. I look her over slowly, so there’s no confusion that I’m checking her out. I slide my hand across the counter and flick a finger toward her wrist, nearly brushing the skin. “That your only tattoo?”

She stands and folds her arms across her chest. “Oh, I have others.”

“Really?” I gaze at her intently.

She leans against the wall behind the glass case. My body wants to get closer to hers, and I fight the urge to jump the counter. “They’re not available for stranger perusal,” she says.

I run my eyes over her body and imagine where the ink might be. When I look again into her gray eyes, they have a sparkling defiance—but I hold out my hand anyway. “Nice to meet you,” I say. “Name’s Justin.”

Her lips twist into a smirk, but still leaning against the wall, she shakes my hand. Her palm is soft and warm, but I can feel the rough, callused skin along her index and middle fingers, right where a pencil would lie. She must sketch a lot. The contrast makes her even more interesting.

“Al,” she says in that smoky voice, then she releases my hand. “And the tattoos are still under wraps.”

“Al?” I say, forgetting about the tattoos for a moment. “That can’t be your real name.”

“Short for Allie.”

“Allie,” I say softly, lowering my chin, “is far prettier than Al. But I’m still interested in those tattoos…or maybe in the idea of what inspires you.”

She lowers her eyelashes. “Since you’re not inking me, let’s stick with what inspires you.”

Her tone has me changing tactics. Obviously, the traditional smolder that I pull out to make most girls melt isn’t going to work on this one. “Do you only design?” I ask.

She shakes her head slightly. “No. I ink too.”

“How…fascinating,” I say. And hot. Propping my elbows on the counter, I lean toward her. “We should go out for a drink and talk about what inspires both of us.”