A Life Less Pink (3 page)

Cori made a face. “That would be awkward. I am guessing that it wouldn’t stop if you had a mate.”

“It wouldn’t, but it would stop being tempting. I come from a long line of fanatically monogamous storks. I want a mate; I want a woman to go home to after trade shows and design expos or, better yet, one who would come with me now and then.”

Cori perked up. “What kind of design expos?”

“I do a lot of artwork with advertising and logo potential. I also attend comic conventions and sell posters and such.”

She grinned. “You have a booth babe already?”

He blinked. “Are you volunteering?”

“I have done a few cosplay conventions, taking care of clients’ clothing. It would be nice to be on the other end of the process with a wall at my back.”

His smile went shy. “If you are serious and we get along, will you change your mind?”

“Nope. I told you I only wear normal clothing eighty percent of the time. The rest of the time, I am swanning around in revealing costumes while lacing up other women.”

“Would you pose for me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, would you get back into your costume, we go into the woods and I draw. You would make an amazing tattoo.”

“I am not sure how to take that.”

“Take it as a compliment. You have the looks and body of a classic pinup, you just need to pose like it and you will have a career in alternative modeling for you.”

“My clothing designs already do.” She smiled.

They ate their meal, and when she was sipping at her soda, she had a thought. “Is my lack of tattoos a problem?”

He smiled slowly. “Not really. My personal kink is that I like ink on me but not my partner.”

“Wow. Confiding kinks already.” She sipped at her soda. “I suppose that I will wear anything that isn’t pink. I can’t stand the colour.”

“Anything?”

“Yup. Leather, rubber, fishnets, whatever. Just not pink. My life has been filled to the brim with pink and I am over it.”

He blinked rapidly at the images her words had put into his head. “Really?”

“All tasteful. Nothing I would fall out of, but I have designed costumes for folks with particular tastes, and testing the design on myself first is part of the process to confirm range of motion. Some of those doms and dommes want things that are just beyond human capability, especially if binding is going to be involved at any time.”

He sat back and stared again. “Here, I had you pegged doing costumes in the historical vein. I have to say, I am shocked.”

“And so I disappoint another potential suitor. The story of my life.” She quirked a smile.

“Oh, I am not disappointed; I am just surprised that I had not accepted this as part of your potential. Another part of my brain wants to create images of you for fetish tattoos.”

“It would be a little boring if you always drew the same woman.”

“I will let my customers decide.”

She blushed. It seemed that his mind was made up on the matter.

“Right. Well, in any case, I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I am heading back to the Open Heart for a nap. Will I see you later?”

He grinned. “Of course. With a temptation like this before me, I might just rough out some designs that suddenly spring to mind. I feel inspired.”

She blinked slowly before smiling. “That is probably an erection. They go away on their own, or so I have been led to believe.”

He chortled and paid for their meal. They were going to head to their own quarters and collide again for dinner. She had a few ideas of her own, but they all involved Artur in a short leather skirt and nothing else. It wouldn’t pass for a Spartan uniform, but it would be fun to fit on him.

Once the idea was in her head, she could only pick up the sketchbook she had picked up with the clothing and start to work.

She had dressed him in clothing throughout the ages and felt like a silly teen when she closed the book and scrubbed the graphite from her fingers.

Cori checked the clock and realized there was a reason she felt hungry—it was approaching evening. She changed into a neat dress and heels and headed down to see if her lunch companion was available for dinner.

There was no one on the main floor, so she headed out into the Crossroads and toward the café. If she had to take on the male population alone, she was going to start now.

She settled at a table by herself and perused the menu. Gazes were on her, but she ignored them and made her selections. When the server took her order and the menu away, she looked out at the occupants of the café, meeting the men’s gazes one by one.

Some were amused by the contact, two looked away and flint appeared in at least one pair of eyes. He was definitely not for her.

One of the amused men got to his feet and came over. “May I join you?”

She waved for him to take the seat across from her. “Please.”

He extended his hand. “My name is Bernard.”

“Cori.”

He took a seat and began casual and non-threatening flirting.

Cori enjoyed the exchange, and once dinner was over, they made their way to the Crossed Star Bar, and she parted ways with him, letting him pursue a woman of his previous acquaintance while she settled into a comfortable booth with a glass of blended rose wine and a bowl of pretzels.

A man with dark hair that fell in a heavy lock over one eye swaggered up to her. “Would you care to dance?”

She set aside her wine. “Yes, yes, I would.”

Cori scooted to her feet and joined her companion on the dance floor for a quick turn around the floor to a jazzy number. He was a good dance partner, and he was the first of a dozen who requested her attentions.

Each one was a good partner, but there was no additional spark on either part. They had a good time and went their separate ways. When her feet ached and her legs were humming on their own, she stopped at the bar, replenished her drink and found another seat.

Couples got together, some parted and some clung. It was fun to watch from her perch on a barstool.

The bartenders, Spike and Chuck, moved around each other with consummate grace. They poured, mopped up, retrieved glasses and ran the washer without any collisions or unnecessary distraction. There were no furtive glances or touching, so it was obvious that, while they were wearing the bands that marked them as mated Crossroads inhabitants, they were not mated to each other.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Artur moved into her peripheral vision.

“Please. Did you have a nice afternoon?”

He settled on the stool next to hers, and he nodded. “I did. I finished the design for Andy and he is delighted with it. The next time he sees Arkenon, he is going to get it done.”

Chuck must have overheard, because he wandered over. “Ark is due in next week. Did you finish the drawing?”

Artur nodded. “I did. I was finally inspired this afternoon and I got it done, coloured and ready to be transferred to his body when your brother arrives.”

Cori noted that Chuck wore his own fair share of tattoos, most of which had a swan-based theme. Cori suddenly had an idea of what Chuck’s wife was.

Chuck leaned forward. “Can I see the designs?”

“Andy has them.”

With an eager smile, Chuck spoke quickly to Spike, and when she grinned and flapped her hand, he was out from behind the bar and heading out the door.

“I am guessing he really wanted to see them.”

Artur shrugged and drank from the beer that Spike delivered. “To be a shifter and have a lasting tattoo, you either need to go far too deep for safety, or you need to have enchanted ink. Arkenon uses the right inks for the right job. You can shift with them and have them remain whole when you return to your normal form without distortion over time.”

“So, a good tattoo artist is hard for a shifter to find.”

“You could say that.” He sipped at his beer again. “Have you had a good night?”

“The dancing has been fun. I just got back onto the barstool.” She grinned.

“Would you dance with me?”

She gave him a long look. “After I have a few more sips of wine. Fast or slow?”

“Slow then fast.”

“Oh, you like to shake things up.” She could almost feel her eyes twinkling.

“I do. I apologise for my absence, but once the muse took hold, I was helpless until the design was done.”

She cocked her head. “Apology accepted.”

She sipped at her wine, and the dancers continued their tireless spinning in an effort to find the one who moved with them on an instinctual level. Cori had found a few that were close, but she didn’t want to settle for close. She wanted to feel her inner beast dancing wildly at the thought of being next to her mate. Nothing else was worth going to the Crossroads for.

She took two more sips of the wine, and then, she pushed the glass aside as a slow song came on. “Ready when you are.”

Artur got to his feet and held out his hand, leading her to the dance floor with a grace that spoke of ballroom experience.

It was a good thing for her that flamingos liked to dance. It was in their blood.

She swayed against him slowly as the music took them around the floor in lazy circles. She swallowed as she realized that it wasn’t just a matter of close enough, she was really in the arms of a man she wouldn’t mind dancing with forever.

When the slow song ended, he sighed, and when the beat tapped out, she laughed. Flamenco.

She spun away and paused a few feet away from him, throwing her head back and stamping her feet in a rapid staccato. She twisted from side to side, and he threw his head back in response, put his hands on his hips and echoed her.

Delight bubbled up, and she laughed endlessly as they put on a flamenco display for the amused shifters around them. The only thing that would have made it better was if she could have had a flared dress with a hem she could flick. It was a dance of power, of determination and of seduction by the music and the man.

Sweat gleamed on his neck as they turned, stamped, twisted and flung their arms up and around until they were facing each other, side by side and moving in a minute pinwheel.

When the music built to a crescendo, she stomped her heels hard and felt one give way. They froze with their hands linked above them, each with an arm around the other.

Applause and hoots of appreciation rang out in the bar, and they stood, looking into each other’s eyes as they caught their breath.

Artur kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her off the dance floor. When he set her down, she was careful to remain on her toes.

Cori smiled shyly at him. “You are a very good dancer.”

“You as well. I can only imagine how that would have looked if you were traditionally attired.” He ran his hand down her back and up again in a slow caress.

“Would it surprise you to learn that I have that costume?”

He laughed. “It would surprise me if you didn’t. Not that I am complaining, but is there a reason you are using me as a load-bearing member?”

She blinked at his phrasing given the erection she could feel below his belt. “I broke my shoes.”

He laughed and swept her up and into his arms. “Come along, Cinderella. We will see if we can’t find an elf or two to cobble those mean shoes.”

As they cleared the bar to cheers and laughter, she muttered, “I could have just taken them off.”

“This is much more fun. Well, fun for me. I am afraid that you might have to get used to my occasional
knight in shining armour
moments.” He bent his head and rubbed his cheek against hers.

She crossed her arms over her chest and sulked. “I will?”

“Don’t tell me that you didn’t feel that on the dance floor.”

“I felt a lot of things. Sweat, the pulse of the music, your abs, the rough patch in the floorboards.” She shrugged dismissively.

He chuckled. “A hard sell. I like it.”

She looked up at him and twisted her lips. “Sorry, I am usually more direct than this, but this is unknown territory for me. I have never courted a mate before.”

“Nor have I. This is a new experience for both of us. Did you want to get a new pair of shoes?”

She nodded. “Please.”

He changed their direction to take them into the general store, and he smiled at Andy. “The lady has snapped her shoes.”

Andy grinned and took a look. “She has indeed. Wow. You have really broken these in since yesterday.”

Cori grinned. “I work fast.”

As Andy went to the back to find another pair of shoes, she heard Artur whisper, “Oh goody.”

It was hard to elbow a man while he held you as your only means of support, but Cori managed it.

With her new shoes in place and her return to her own feet restored, Cori looked at Andy. “I hear you have a new tattoo design.”

The beaver wasted no time in getting a portfolio and opening it to a picture that took Cori’s breath away.

Andy smiled, “I love steampunk, and Artur is one of the best designers, so I have been corresponding with him about a back piece. Arkenon recommended him for this kind of storytelling design.”

The woman in the tight corset had one hand pressed to a clock face and the other on a very elaborate gun. She was wearing a heavily bustled blue gown, but it was hiked up to show one booted foot on another clock face. The woman was wearing a top hat with goggles and a veil over her eyes. The waves of hair were up in a loose chignon and had golden streaks in it. The entire piece was alive with colour.

“Wow. This is amazing. Can Arkenon reproduce it?”

Artur was blushing. “He can. He does it frequently. He is excellent at designing beasts and representational work, but he lacks the inclination for works that tell a story.”

Andy was still staring worshipfully at the image. “Artur is also letting me use this as cover art for my book.”

“I don’t doubt for a minute that she has a story. She looks like five minutes ago she was up to something.”

Andy beamed. “Exactly! There are clues all over the image if you know where to look.”

Cori looked for the clues. A shard of broken mirror, the tail of a cat under the table skirt, a pipe with a coal spilling out of it, there were dozens of possibilities in that image. “Amazing.”