I jerk my gaze away and try to keep it on the matter at hand.
I get close to her hand with the tool, and her leg starts to jiggle. I smile at her and reach over, putting my palm on her knee. “You have to sit still.”
I move my gaze from her knee to her face. She’s still biting her lip, staring at my big hand on her leg. Whether she realizes it or not, I can feel her inch her leg open—and fuck me, but the urge to slide my fingers up the inside of her shorts has me about to come in my pants.
I swat her leg softly. “None of that. Let’s get this tattoo done and get you out of here.”
Her eyes come to mine, but she doesn’t agree, just stares at me.
I go back to looking at her hand, and just as the gun is about to touch her skin, her soft voice interrupts me. “You feel it too, right? It’s not just me... you know we’re going to have to talk about this.”
I grit my teeth and close my eyes tightly and count back from ten. When I open them, I can’t look at her. I’m looking at the instrument in my hand like it’s some foreign object. Fuck, I’m distracted. I put the gun down and mutter, “I’ll be right back.”
I leave the booth and walk back to the front of the shop. I pace back and forth trying to calm myself. She probably thinks I’m a fool or some kind of crazy person for walking out on her, but I knew I couldn’t tattoo her, not when she’s basically asking me if I’m going to make a move or not. With my hands on my hips, I decide right then and there that I need to tell her. I’ll tell her about my past, and that will be that. I don’t know any woman that would want to get mixed up with a convicted felon. At least not one they just met.
With my decision made, I stride to the back and into the booth. She’s looking at me with that same smirk again, and there’s no doubt in my mind she knows what she’s doing to me.
I put my hands up. “Let me do this. Let me concentrate on the tattoo... and then we talk.”
She sits up straighter in the chair and puts her hand on the table next to her. “Okay.”
Like a man on a mission, I work with determination on her tattoo. I do my best to tune out the softness of her hand, the smell of her perfume, and the longing way I can feel her eyes boring into me. I do the red heart first, and she doesn’t even flinch.
“You okay?”
She nods. “I’m good.”
I grunt. Yeah, she’s good, there’s no question about that.
I do the black Q over top of the heart, with a black crown over it. It’s pretty and feminine.
And after cleaning it up, I grab my phone from my pocket to take a photo.
I lift her hand from the table and hold it in mine, angling her finger before I take a shot. I look at my phone, and I know I’ll be looking at this picture again later. I didn’t realize how it would effect me, with a picture of her hand in mine.
I give her the instructions and go over everything with her.
She’s nodding her head. “I got it. So now do we talk?”
4
Ginger
I know I sound impatient, but probably because I am. I would have nixed the whole tattoo thing if I thought he would just sit here and talk to me instead, but I have the feeling he would have shoved me out the door in a rather quick manner if I didn’t get any work done.
He claps his hands together and sits back down in his seat. He scoots his chair back as if being this close to me bothers him in some way. He tried to hide the fact that he was hard while he was working on me, but the big bulge in his jeans that I swear twitched every now and again was more than obvious. And I wasn’t able to quit looking at it.
“All right, let’s talk.”
I lean forward. “Let’s do it.”
His jaw tightens. “I’ll go first.”
I swing my legs to the side of the chair and nod in agreement.
He coughs. “Uh, okay, so I know you said you want me.”
I interrupt him. “I do want you.”
His brows crease in frustration. “Listen, I’m not available.”
I sit back surprised and look at his hand again. There’s no ring on his finger. “You have a girlfriend?”
“Uh, no—”
I interrupt him. Maybe he doesn’t wear a ring when he works. “A wife?”
“What? No.”
I stare at him a minute and then start to get up. “Oh, I get it. I’m not your type.” I mean it’s definitely not the first time. Most men flirt with me, I think it’s because I’m always so outgoing. But not every man likes a woman that is well, on the plumper side. Maybe my soft and rounded middle is not the thing for him.
I walk two steps before he stops me, grabbing my arm, and then when I turn around, he releases me quickly. “It’s not that. Definitely not that.”
Because I can’t resist, I take a step toward him and put my hands on his waist. “Well, what is it?”
My head is leaned backwards so I can look up at him, and he’s bent down to where our faces are so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. He looks shocked, and I know any minute he’s going to push me away, maybe not physically, but mentally, and I’m not going to let it happen.
My hands slide up his chest and
