Taking a deep breath, he returned to the drawing, his jaw locked tight.
He looked handsome as his fingers skated across the page, trying to capture the essence of what I
wanted based on my confession and the words of the poem.
When he finished, I leaned over his shoulder to get a better look. I heard him holding his breath. I
took the opportunity to take a whiff of his hair. I missed that smell.
His sketch was stunning, and I was certain it was the one. That
he
was the one. But he needed to be
sure about me, too, and he could only decide that on his own.
“It’s amazing. Perfect.” “Cool,” he said. “Did you want to wait in the lobby for me while I get set up?”
“Can . . . can I wait in here? I won’t bother you.” I just needed to be near him.
He nodded and got busy copying his drawing to transfer paper. I answered e-mails on my phone
and looked through his portfolio, all the while thinking about how much I liked being around him again.
“It’s ready,” he said, standing up and moving toward me. “I need to transfer this to your skin now.”
I pulled my jeans over my hips, and then tugged my underwear down, making sure not to expose
myself. Although I still felt his gaze press in on me like a wall of heat.
Wearing the lacy red underwear might have been an unfair advantage. But I was desperate to know
if he was still affected by me. If the red lacy set reminded him of that one day in the laundry room, when
he first started flirting with me.
He knelt in front of me, hands trembling. He sucked in a harsh breath, as if to gather himself, and
then set to work rubbing the transfer onto my skin.
Feeling his fingers on my skin made all my blood pool to the area between my legs.
He was meticulous and precise and finally stood to grab the hand mirror. “How does it look?”
When I saw it on my hip, I felt a winging in my chest. Like the tattoo represented everything
special to me, Mrs. Jackson included. Bennett’s fingers created this magic that would now become a
permanent part of me. “I love it.”
“Great. Let’s get started,” he said, moving away. “Since it’s going on your hip, I need you to lie
here.”
He walked to the black padded table against the wall, and I followed. Hopping up, I settled in. I
stared at the ceiling while he fiddled with his instruments and dye.
“You sure you’re ready for this? The hip is a sensitive area of the body, so it’ll feel slightly different
than the one behind your ear.”
“I’ll be okay. I’m in good hands.”
He wheeled the stool closer, and I tried to concentrate on the music piping through his iPod. It was soft and rhythmic, and I breathed in deep and meaningful breaths to calm my jangling nerves.
For the next hour I’d be at Bennett’s mercy. Once the stinging precision of the needle began its
journey, I’d be stationary and helpless. Fear gripped my stomach, and I almost shot up and raced out of
the room.
But I squashed it down. This was the same fear that had immobilized me for the better part of four
years, and it was time to work through it. This was Bennett, the man I wanted in my life. The man I had
fallen hard for.
He made me feel safe and protected. Being with him hadn’t made me disappear or became anything
less. Maybe we
could
fold into each other’s lives without compromising who we were.
I’d just have to trust that. Trust
him
. And get him to trust
me
.
I felt my shoulders unraveling, the tension evaporating, calm flowing through me. He wouldn’t hurt
me. In fact, he was good at taking care of me. And because of him, I’d become a different version of
myself. A better version of myself.
I studied his lips, his skin, his hair, the way his eyes were intense and focused.
“Avery, you’re going to have to stop that.” He was looking down, loading the machine with a
needle.
“Stop what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“Are you saying, Mr. Reynolds, that you haven’t had chicks all hot for you in here?” A smile
quirked my lips. “Especially when you’re about to touch an intimate place on their body?”
“Usually, there’s terror in their eyes,” he said, finally meeting my gaze. “But yes, once or twice
that’s happened. But those times didn’t matter.”
“Why not?”
“Because, Avery, they weren’t
you
.”
I inhaled a lungful of air. “Bennett—” “Let’s just get through this, okay? I need to be professional here.” His eyes were so dark they were
almost black. “I’m giving you a tattoo. I’m not thinking about how I want to trace my mouth over every
damn part of your body, including your lips. Nope, never even crossed my mind. So, let’s get started.”
He fired up the machine, and it blotted out the moan I stifled in the back of my throat. We were
silent after that. I was intent on staring at the ceiling while he concentrated on his design.
When his fingers braced my lower belly, I nearly whimpered, but bit down on my lip instead. I
hoped he didn’t notice how my nipples hardened at his touch.
His face hovered over my navel as he pulled my skin taut. I could smell him. Coconut, sun, and
beach.
Then the needle went in. It stung, and my hand fisted the edge of the table. But the burn was
familiar, and I knew I’d become adjusted to the cadence of the machine soon enough.
“So, what’s happening at home, Bennett?”
“My mom’s a wreck. She’s realizing what a fuckup she’s been. But I told her the only way to get
Henry back is to prove she’s made some changes.”
I couldn’t help thinking his words were a message for me, too.
“I think Henry’s willing to try again,” Bennett said. “But he needs to know she’s serious.”
Again, a double message.
“She needs to start holding up her end of the relationship. Show him that she wants him and . . .
loves
him.”
“You know, Bennett, when you lose something you didn’t even realize you needed in your life, it’s
a hard lesson,” I said, both for his mother and for me. “There’s regret and sorrow. All you want is that
person back so you can show them how you feel.”
The needle had stopped moving, and Bennett’s eyes were latched on to mine, so penetrating and
full of need that it felt more intimate than having his lips on me.
He wiped away excess ink with a wet paper towel. “I’m finished with the outline. The shading shouldn’t take long.” His voice was raspy and gruff, sending a shiver through me.
Suddenly, I wanted to lie there for two hours more. I liked having him call the shots, be in control.
I’d been holding on to all the pieces of myself with a death grip for so long that to release some of them
was liberating.
“Anyway, I’m heading home right after my shift tonight,” he said. “Taylor needs my help, and
Henry’s coming by—we’re going to have, like, a family meeting.”
“Will you be staying there?” I tried not to sound disappointed about him not being around. Even
when he wasn’t talking to me this past week, at least I had still known he was there—somewhere.
“I’m not sure. At least overnight, since I’m not scheduled tomorrow.”
When he finished, he helped me off the table and retrieved the mirror.
His artwork gripped my heart so forcefully that it leapt out of my chest and fell to his feet. Begged
him to hold her. Keep her. Take the largest piece of her.
My skin pebbled with goose bumps, and my eyes watered. I was so thankful he’d created this
masterpiece on my skin. No matter what happened, I’d always be grateful.
“Hey,” he said, his hands reaching for my shoulders. “Why are you crying?”
“Because you created exactly what I wanted. It’s beautiful.” I sniffled, leaning my forehead against
his shoulder. “And even if you decide you . . . you don’t want me, I’ll always have
this
. . . this
masterpiece you created for me.”
“Avery, look at me.” He pushed his fingers through my hair. “I was hurt. I don’t ever want to be
some joke. I want to be real. For
this
to be real. For both of us.”
“It’s more real than anything’s been in my whole life.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” His fingers traced my jawline, and his kiss was soft and fluttery
against my lips.
I closed my eyes and reveled in it.
The phone buzzed from his desk. “Bennett,” Holly’s voice chirped through the intercom. “Your last appointment’s here.” He cradled me in his arms. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
I followed Bennett’s care instructions to the letter the next couple of days. Don’t wear tight clothing,
keep the tattoo moist using over-the-counter medicine, and expose it to air as much as possible.
The heart had scabbed over and was healing nicely. I couldn’t stop admiring it every chance I got,
and even allowed Mrs. Jackson a peek at work.
She continued to recover from her latest ministroke and was becoming more animated every day.
“Girl, I’m proud of you. That boy is going to have some fun with you and that tattoo.”
“Mrs. Jackson, you’re making me blush.”
“Stop playing. You don’t blush. You just can’t wait to get home to him tonight.”
It was true. Bennett had kept in touch with me from home the last couple of days. They’d had a
family meeting, Henry and his mother had made up, and he was willing to stick around and raise his
girls.
Until the next big fight. His mom was as much a work in progress as mine. Mom had been different
on the phone with me since the restraining order ordeal. She was more honest, less critical, and maybe
even a bit scared of getting involved with another guy like Tim. But that didn’t stop her from trolling the
bars every weekend.
I encouraged her to change all the locks in case Tim still had a spare key, and she agreed to call a
locksmith before the hearing next week. She even agreed to sign up for a local self-defense class. But I had a feeling she wouldn’t follow through with it.
Baby steps.
Bennett had gotten home that morning while I was at work and said he’d be stopping over at my
apartment after his last tattoo appointment to check on his handiwork. I had a pharmacology test to
study for, so I brought my textbook to work to get a head start during my lunch. Waiting for him now
felt like that first time I saw him. Butterflies were battering the sides out of my stomach, and I was
nervous I’d say or do the wrong thing to mess it all up again.
But when I let him inside, all of my nervousness flowed out of me and was replaced by excitement.
He was stunning and sexy, and I knew I wanted him in my life.
I just hoped he felt the same way.
“God, I missed you,” he said, his gaze caressing me with such tenderness.
I focused on the curve of his jaw, the angle of his cheekbones, and the devotion stirring behind his
russet eyes. There was apprehension hidden there as well and that only made me want him more.
This boy had gathered the pieces of my heart that had been scattered in the wind and tucked them
in the safe pocket of his hand. And now it was time to treat his heart with the same gentleness.
“Avery, I want . . .” He closed the distance between us. “I
need
to touch you.”
He cupped my cheeks and brought his lips to mine. His kiss was slow, hesitant, delicious.
And wholly intoxicating.
When I opened my eyes, he brushed a stray hair from my cheek and gazed at me in adoration. My
hands tangled in his curls, and I drew his mouth toward me again. The feel of my tongue stroking
hungrily against his made him hum with desire.
His hands became more insistent as he tugged my hair out of its ponytail and trailed his thumbs
along my neck, making me shiver to my very core.
His fingers explored my waist and back before finally landing on the buttons of my shirt. One by
one he unfastened them as his lips whispered against my collarbone and the top of my breasts. He
peeled my shirt from my shoulders, along with my bra straps, and then licked and nipped the tender skin there.
After removing my bra, he swirled his tongue around my hardened peak while I clutched at fistfuls
of his shirt. When he moved to my other breast, he bit down lightly, and my knees buckled beneath me.
He grabbed my waist and pulled me to him. “I’ve got you, baby.”
His lips found mine, and he moved us backward into my bedroom. “I need to check on my
masterpiece.” When he nudged me back on the bed, my fever for him continued to build, ready to
consume me.
He pulled my leggings down to my knees and then slid them off my legs. I reached for him to
remove his shirt, and he lifted it over his head. I marveled at his smooth chest and tight stomach.
