“Hey,” I murmur, sliding my hand from her hip to her lower back. “Come here.”
Behind us, Lucy’s still loitering, pretending she needs to organize the same stack of appointment cards she’s already rearranged five times today.
Emery tilts her head and peers up at me. “Can I see where you work your magic?”
“Hell yeah.” I rest my hand on her lower back and steer her toward my room.
Lucy clears her throat. Loudly.
I stop at the front desk and lift an eyebrow. “You trying to hack up a lung, Lucy?”
“I’m just admiring the aesthetic,” Lucy says, leaning over the counter, her chin resting in her hands. She grins at Emery. “Killer tights. Very ‘schoolgirl goes punk.’ I like the vibe.”
I grit my teeth, but Emery laughs and steps to the side, tugging her dress up a few inches to show off the tights. “Thanks! Aren’t they cute? They’re thick too, so my legs aren’t freezing.”
“Nice,” Lucy answers.
Emery moves closer to the front desk and the two of them start excitedly chattering about their favorite stores. Emery pulls out her phone to show Lucy where she ordered the tights from.
I stand back, enjoying their back and forth.
Lucy laughs, her genuine high-pitched snort-giggle. “All right, I’ll let Declan give you the tour before he has a stroke.Just look at him. So intense and broody.” She wiggles her fingers in my direction. “Settle down, let the woman have a second to breathe.”
Heat climbs up the back of my neck. Even when I’m enjoying the conversation, apparently I suffer from resting asshole face.
Emery reaches up and cups my cheek. “I like broody. It looks good on him.”
Lucy’s bright smile softens and she nods at Emery. Her subtle signal that she approves.
“Okay, that’s enough.” I rest my hand on Emery’s hip again. A spark shoots up my arm and wraps around my chest. She must feel it too. Her body jolts and she flicks her gaze up to mine. “Do not disturb unless the building is on fire,” I say to Lucy. “Even then text me first.”
Lucy salutes us with two fingers. “Aye aye, Captain Broody.”
As I steer Emery past the counter, I glance down. She’s biting her lip to hide a smile.
The door to my workroom’s open. Unless the client wants privacy, I usually leave it that way.
Today, I close it. It’s a large room. I could easily fit another chair in here and hire another artist. But I like the space. My sanctuary. My rules.
“Lucy’s a riot,” Emery says, all edge gone from her voice.
“She’s a menace,” I correct with a fond smile. “But I think she likes you. And Lucy never approves of anyone I…doesn’t like many people.”
Emery’s lips twist with wry amusement as if she caught that I was originally going to say Lucy doesn’t approve ofanyone I date.
“I like her too. Under all the barbs, it’s obvious she cares about you.”
Now that we’re alone, the air between us seems to change. The quick quips evaporate, leaving only the thick magnetic pull I feel whenever Emery’s close.
I show her my sketches and some photos of tattoos I’ve done. Answer her questions about every aspect of the process. She’s relaxed and leaning against the long counter that runs the entire length of one wall.
I grip her waist and boost her up on the counter with a smooth, practiced motion I’ve never used on anyone else. She squeals and laughs, then settles.
“Um, this is reminding me of the night at your house.” She ducks her head and runs her palms over her thighs, tugging the hem of her dress down.
“Good, because I’ve been thinking about it and every other moment with you all day long.”
She rests her hands on my shoulders, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. I lean in until my forehead brushes hers.
