Page 8

My thumb brushes the paper's edge. “Protecting them.”

“Exactly.” Kira nods at the design.

I swallow. “I want this one.”

I keep telling myself this is just attraction, something I can outwait if I stay busy enough. But every time she walks into the room, I start noticing the things that have nothing to do with her looks: how she watches people when they speak, how she finds a joke when someone needs one, how she never seems afraid of me. The more I learn about her, the less convincing my excuses become.

Her smile isn't teasing now. “Okay.”

“Where?” I ask, looking from the drawing to Kira.

“I was thinking your left shoulder and upper chest.” Kira gestures toward the placement and I nod, then she says the words I've been dreading. “Take off your shirt." I stare at her and her lips twitch. “Professional reasons.”

“You’re enjoying this,”

“Immensely,” She answers, smiling as she sets out her tools.

I unbutton my flannel and I watch as her eyes track my every movement. I pull it off, then my T-shirt. Kira stops smiling as her gaze drops slowly across my chest, my stomach, then back up. For once, Kira Reed is completely speechless.

A primitive, thoroughly unhelpful part of me likes that and I step closer. “See something you like?”

Her eyes snap to mine. I use her own words against her as color rises in her cheeks. “Maybe.” That one word hits harder than all her jokes. The air around us crackles, neither one of us moves until Kira finally motions for me to sit. She puts on gloves, then she touches my chest causing my muscles tense at her touch. “Relax.” Kira adjusts my arm on the chair.

“I’m relaxed,” I insist, although my shoulders are rigid.

“You’re about as relaxed as a bear in a trap.” Kira inspects the stencil.

Her fingertips trace my skin as she positions the stencil. I stare straight ahead. Don't look at her. Don't smell her. Don't think about the fact that her face is inches from my bare chest. Don't imagine those hands touching me for any reason that has nothing to do with ink.

“Ross?” Kira asks, looking up from her work.

“What?” I answer, glancing at her.

“You stopped breathing.” Kira lowers her tattoo machine.

I inhale causing her to laugh. “Shut up,” I mutter, looking away.

“I didn’t say anything.” Kira lifts her eyebrows.

“You were thinking it,” I settle back in the chair, preparing myself for two hours of torture having her hands on me.

Her hand settles on my shoulder and for the first time since she walked into my coffee shop months ago, neither of us jokes. Her gaze meets mine and something shifts. This isn't flirting—not exactly. This is awareness. Hot. Heavy. Dangerous.

“Ready?” she asks.

“No,” I answer, refusing to meet her eyes.

Her smile returns. “Too bad, mountain man.” The machine buzzes.

The first line bites into my skin but I barely notice. All I can think about is her hand on me. And how badly I want to find out whether Kira Reed flirts with me because it's fun— or because she wants me too.

four

Kira

Tattooing Ross Wilson is torture. Not for him. For me. The man has entirely too much chest. And shoulders. And arms. I'm supposed to stay professionally focused while his muscles shift beneath my hand. Impossible. I have tattooed attractive men before. I have tattooed shirtless men before. I have never once forgotten how to form a coherent sentence because a client breathed. Then again, none of those clients were Ross.

“Stop moving,” I steadying my tattoo machine as Ross shifts in the chair.