Sinner didn’t glance away from his task, and for a heartbeat, she studied the way his hair swept across his forehead.
No… Sinner was just hot.
“I’m wearing gloves.” With a short flick of his wrist, he laid in a curved line, followed by two more.
She recognized the image now—a heart was taking form.
Sinner finally looked up, and this connection—whatever it was—hit her harder than the sound of the tattoo machine ever had.
He held her gaze, the depths of his eyes unguarded in a way that felt dangerous. And Smith never prepared her for this type of danger.
“I could tattoo you too.” His deep, low voice sent an unwanted shiver through her.
Why was her body reacting to him like this? She needed to get a grip on herself—starting now.
She made the mistake of glancing at his hands and her mind swirled with the thought of those hands on her flesh.Markingher.
“No.” She wet her dry lips. “I can’t have any identifying features.”
His gaze roamed over her face. “You look pretty unforgettable to me.”
The room dimmed at the edges as heat washed through her.
Sinner tilted his head slightly. “Doesn’t have to be somewhere anyone could see.”
Her pulse spiked.
Con and Sophie traded a certain look that only couples could read.
He continued to work through the outline. When he took a break inking Sophie to switch colors, Opal slid her foot outward, just enough that the toe of her shoe touched his. Just to see if she could get a rise out of the man.
After all, she had to know. If she could rattle him, anyone could, which might blow their cover in this op.
At least that was what she told herself.
He didn’t look up at her or move his foot away. He just wiped the ink with a clean cloth and set needles to skin again.
Opal was thinking about more ways to get underhisskin. Luckily, Izzy chose that moment to intervene. She hooked an arm through Opal’s, stunning her all over again with how…friendly…everyone was.
“Come on. You look like you need food.”
Opal let herself be pulled away, relieved to get a break from Sinner. Soon enough, they would be trapped together in a small space. Possibly stuck with one bed. Of course, to keep things professional, she would sleep on the floor.
She jammed the thought deep in a part of her mind where she stuffed all unwanted things. Then she turned her attention to the table loaded with food. Pizza, sandwiches and enough snacks to feed a small army.
Again, the clubhouse rose in her mind. There had always been food—plenty of it—and rough hands passing plates across scarred tables. She’d thought about that kind of abundance more times than she could count, lying awake in a motel bed whilehunger gnawed at her, the stipend from the “program” already gone long before the month was over.
Even when her mother returned to work, they were stretched thin, but Smith always made sure she ate, especially after training.
Izzy handed her a plate and a bottled water. “Eat.”
Opal drifted to a platter of sandwiches and selected what appeared to be a turkey wrap. She added a few slices of melon to her plate.
Izzy watched her, but it didn’t make Opal feel judged. The woman tipped her head toward a long leather sofa, and they moved to sit.
Opal balanced the plate on her lap and picked up the fruit.
“I saw the way you two looked at each other.”
