“But doesn’t it just mean that she had blood on her hands?”she heard someone say.Wiping a tabletop on autopilot, Harper glanced at the teenage girls sitting at the next table.
“She says, ‘Out, damned spot,’ but I don’t think she actually had blood on her hands.I don’t think she actually killed someone.”
Harper paused.Macbeth.Act 5, if she wasn’t mistaken.The hallucinations of the manipulative Lady Macbeth, it was one of her favorites.She wanted to help the girls, but schoolbooks and notes were another reminder of things she swore she’d left in the past long ago.That life was gone.Harper thought about the blue envelope sitting in her employee locker in the back of the shop.She could no longer ignore the letter, regardless of how much easier life would be if she never opened the damn thing.For the second time that day, her chest tightened.It was better to know.After a quick glance around to make sure no one else needed her, she slipped into the back room and ripped the envelope open, wishing that the past could really stay buried.
***
“What the hell did you make me drink last night, Cuj?”
The coffee scalded Trent’s tongue as he took a sip and leaned back against the front window of Second Circle.Straight-up black as he liked it and strong enough to stand a spoon in, but nowhere near enough to take the edge off the five-alarm bell ringing in his head.
“Some weird-shit martini those girls were drinking.They wanted us to toast your birthday one more time.I told you they were trouble.”
“I didn’t hear any complaining when that blonde had her hand down your pants.”
Cujo rubbed his hand over his bald head and then fingered the bar in his eyebrow, grinning smugly.
“Man, she was freaky.How was the redhead?”
“Curved in all the right places and a yoga teacher,” Trent said.Cujo barked out a laugh.Trent looked down at his scuffed-up boot resting on the window ledge and made a mental note to take care of the sill’s chipped paintwork.
Second Circle Tattoos was his baby and his pride, the by-product of a misspent youth salvaged by his mentor, Jimmy “Junior” Silver.It had been a long journey to the store’s current location on one of the up-and-coming streets in Miami.Years of apprenticing before going out alone—years he and Cujo had spent in a crappy studio before biting the bullet and investing in this place.The team he’d built had a solid rep, with people coming from out of town to see them, and the craziness of his calendar reminded him daily that people liked his work.
Knocking back a long draw on the coffee, Trent caught sight of an incredible brunette, classically beautiful, making her way down the sidewalk on the other side of the road.
Cujo let out a long, quiet whistle.“That is one mighty fine-looking distraction.”
Trent stared, grateful he’d pulled out his shades to enjoy his coffee break.Shit, what was she wearing?A staid button-down shirt that appeared two sizes too big, paired with saggy khaki shorts that seemed to have lost their will to live.Take away the ugly clothes, though, and you were left with a seriously rocking body.He was such a sucker for the athletic type, toned but still curvy.Likely a foot shorter than his own six foot six, but with legs that went on forever.Her skin was porcelain white, and hell yeah, as a tattoo artist, he would bet from a hundred yards away that she was a tattoo virgin, the very best kind of canvas.
She wore her thick, dark brown hair in a messy updo, revealing a beautiful neck and that soft spot, just behind a girl’s ear, that he always loved so much.
As she got closer, he could see she was holding a pastry box from the coffee shop down the street.
“Those for me, darlin’?”he shouted across the street, breaking out the smile that chicks seemed to go for.He heard Cujo laugh to his left but stayed focused on the woman.She looked confused for a moment before she realized he was calling out to her.Damn.A slow, shy smile—and then there was that simple flush of her skin.Such a turn-on.Holy shit.
He waited with bated breath for her to say something in return, but she kept walking.
Disappointed, he could only imagine just how beautiful those pink cheeks would be if he wrapped her in his arms in the soft sheets of his bed, all that delicious warmth curved around him.
***
Harper inhaled deeply and shook her head.She crossed streets until she hit the boardwalk and the steps to the soft white sand.It was after six and the beach was starting to empty, parents dragging tired and cranky children back to their waterfront hotels.The tall palms swayed rhythmically in the cool early May breeze.The sun was starting to descend over the dark blue water, frosting the rippling surface with sparkles.
He had spoken to her.Trent Andrews.To her.The tall, shaggy-haired tattoo god had called out to her, and she’d scuttled off like a church mouse.Once upon a time, she’d have had the confidence to come up with something more original than just a smile.
He probably assumed she knew who he was.Which, of course, she did.Heck, everyone in Miami knew who he was—not only was he one of the most talented tattoo artists out there, but he was a local celebrity of a sort in Miami.She’d seen pictures of the work he was able to do covering up scars—and it was beautiful.So beautiful, she’d been dreaming of what her own back would look like.He could fix it for her, she knew it, and if she was going to get past, well, herpast,she was going to need a pretty spectacular cover-up artist.
She did the mental math.Between what she had brought with her when she’d moved to Miami and what she had been able to scrimp and save over the last four years, she hoped she had enough money to cover it.She could always stretch out the appointments if she had to.
Without thinking, she reached around to touch the base of her back.It was an automatic, self-protective instinct.Not that it could change anything now any more than it could have four years ago when the knife had cut into her.
With a design in mind and a tattoo artist selected, the question wasn’t whether she wanted to get a tattoo.That part was easy.But could Trent make what was already on her back disappear?And could she force herself to lie there and let him?
***
Shit, it was still cool at night.Trent pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over the top of his baseball hat.So what if he looked more thug and less upstanding citizen?It would keep people out of his path, getting him to his bed sooner.
He took one last look around the studio, and turned off the main lights, leaving the design on the huge front window illuminated by a couple of can lights in the ceiling.The alarm panel beeped as he keyed in the code before turning to leave.
